If life were to be without layers, it would be called a pit-stop instead of a journey. It is the journey that adds color, and that opens the door to our growth and expansion. Without the layers we’d live lackluster inside vast space, touching nothing. We try hard to reduce life to that of complete simplicity, removing disappointments, pain, and the loneliness that can easily engulf the human spirit. We try to reduce life to one single experience: illusion. This isn’t the path. The path inside life’s journey is to embrace the full experience of the comings and goings, of the rises and falls, and to create a reality that resembles more closely that which you desire for yourself while remaining open to difference. Tolerance. Flexibility. Trust. No person will journey this life-space without having experienced both the dark and the light. Compassion. Nothing lasts forever, including that which we take most for granted. Breath. We breathe now that life might fill us, that we might feel the life-vibration. Gratitude. We know that all things in all ways will not always be things. Like air through fingertips this journey of life through time and space. Let us walk.
Awake. I only want to stay there where the quiet touches the hand that leads me to the center of my being. What distractions take me away only to be led again to the start of the beginning? Is this the way of the path, the journey that is life? We repeat cycles even after having learned lessons. It is a dance. It is a reminder of how small we are inside the vast universe. Gratitude. Close to my heart do I hold its essence that I may never forget the way. Beside still waters. There is nothing feared in darkness, a reminder of the light, and I carry it like a torch through a tunnel leading to a cave atop mountains. Alone. This is the solitude of my soul, sitting full lotus surrounded by air and clarity. What more is there for me to inhale if not air and clarity? This is the way to All. This is the encounter of Oneness.
Posted in Prayer, Meditation, poetry, prose, stream of consciousness | Tagged self inquiry, contemplation, buddhism, prose, self expansion, oneness, connection, meditation, prayer, gratitude, spirituality, stream of consciousness, writer, poetry, balance, contrast, cyclic existence | 6 Comments »
May I be led always to truth. At times have I ventured off the path, walking instead in the direction of my minds-way. What of this practice have I learned? How many steps need I take in the direction of my mind when the path is that of clarity outside of thought; of one’s deepest intuition–the voice of the All. Still do I open myself that the way not be lost, that my voice settles there inside the silence of a vibration echoing the soul of me. Where upon the road walk I if not to the arms of truth? There is nothing greater. No breath of your exhale has penetrated me more deeply, and I inhale you that I, too, might breathe.
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Sitting in the seat of my life listening to it fall heavy to the ground. Drops like tears of sorrow, of melancholic dance with bright eyes and life-filled souls. No one exempt from the path of emotion, and feelings run deep even at the surface. Hide. Some hide behind the illusion of all being well. In truth, all is well even when it appears otherwise. Acceptance. We accept the comings and goings in the same way that we accept the way that it falls heavy to the ground. Rain. It washes away time and space bringing us present to the quiet noise of its heartbeat. There is a rhythm to its call. With closed eyes do we see the way only to open them and stumble upon the path. Confused. What of the eyes being closed brings us closer to truth? Meditation. It is there in the dark behind the lid of one’s eye that connection happens. No longer distracted by the light of movement and sound, of judgment or circumstances. Free. With eyes closed are we free to see clearly the way. There in the hollow shelter of |S|elf do we chant our return to being. For now have you joined me, and we sit in the seat of life listening to it fall heavy to the ground.
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With gratitude do I open myself to being. It is here suspended between the earth and the ether that I come to know all that is known. Rest. Inside the vibration of life have I taken a seat, cushion-cozy that I might not move before time. Everything happens in time. The soul of the one who journeys knows that to move with haste is to separate oneself from meditation. Practice. It is a practice as are all things worth walking toward. I move only in time, and time has yet to sweep across the seat of me. Still. Even when the inner stirs and the way of my mind fleeting do I return again to the center. Breathe. I breathe that I might remain seated, cushion-cozy waiting on time. Everything happens in time.
I write because I know no other way to breathe. The breath of me lost inside the unknown words becoming known as they leave me and appear here where the eye sees. I have seen glimpses of the light. It leads me closer to the very source of that which is said. Nothing has been said at all. An echo inside the arms of blur, blinded by truth’s radiance and haunted by my desperate attempt to know it more fully. I would ask to be granted the serenity, but the path is less of the more, and the deepest part of me seeks authentic compassion, and I know it only as I practice its way.
This is why I write: to breathe deeper knowing inside a soul with a hole leading me to wells of chants having rang hollow. Still waters run deep, and I swim them that I might connect with the essence of Life. Oneness. Breathing underwater through gills that leave me thirsty for more and fed-full as though no more can be taken. I have held it all, and the All holds me.
I write to live inside this connection with Truth. I’ve held its hand before, other times only by the tip of its finger, too skeptical to acquiesce, too knowing not to give in.
From my sleep have I called out to you that a dream might wake me, turning me inward toward truth. Freedom. In truth, we are all free. It is but the trappings of our mind-thoughts that pull us down roads toward the illusion. Nothing holds us unless we choose to be held. Release. We let go, first of fear in order to allow, and then we practice allowing. All is present before us. Nothing is missing inside the arms of this life-force, this high vibration of |B|eing. Choice. It is but a choice in our choosing, and we choose in every moment that we turn toward yes; in every moment that we allow ourselves to be changed. It is possible to change. What was no longer has to be, and what is now can be different if desired. What of the core of you desires freedom, and what of your deepest truth have you allowed? Practice. This life is but a practice, and we step-in-pause until we arrive at the endless continuation of being.