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.
God has always been my best friend. This energy of freedom and peace combined inside the quiet place within, has been God to me. Nothing outside of the essence of my being. It resides inside the depths of my inner meditation. Solace. Tranquility. Even when I close my eyes to the truth of God does It remain: a felt presence with a touch inside a whisper.
I am here. I am here because you are here. We are one inside this life-vibration. To deny the right of me is to deny the right of you. Where are you along this life-journey? In what direction have you chosen to walk when you’ve sat with your back turned to me, resistant?
I am here. I am here, God because you are here. I have walked the path alone only in my imagination and fear of being disconnected. In truth I know that you always are and that I have never journeyed even a step outside the realm of you. My refuge. Unknowingly have I crawled inside of you that I might be sheltered from the storms of my own thoughts running rampant as though being chased by commitment and dedication to the path. Haunted.
You have been haunted. What of the haunt lures you that you play a game in tug-of war even when you lose your footing, releasing the stronghold of illusion?
Always have I turned toward you. I’ve not lost my way for long before walking again the path that leads within. This is my home. Within.
We are here. We are here because we stand together. One.
Posted in Connection, God, poetry, prose, Spirituality, stream of consciousness | Tagged aloneness, authenticity, connection, God, higher self, meditation, poetry, prose, relationship, spirituality, stream of consciousness, write, writer | Leave a Comment »
I awaken to the light that I might find my way in times of darkness. There is only contrast along this road. I have known no-thing before. It has only been in the moment of the antithesis [of…] that I came to know. Balance. I remain balanced here that stagnation not find me, even as I sit in the stillness of all that is uncertain do I awaken to the voice of truth: Move. At times I hear it again. Move. It is an echo in my soul, a calling to return again to the center of a |B|eing, knocked off. Replaced. Knocked off. Replaced. This cyclic existence of what it means to trust, and to let go inside of the trusting. How easy it is to forget the way. It isn’t until we remember having forgotten that we return again.
Posted in Practice, Buddhism, poetry, prose, self expansion | Tagged buddhism, prose, mindfulness, compassion, journey, comings and goings, stream of consciousness, writer, poetry, balance, contrast | Leave a Comment »
I used to close my eyes and write. The poetry would find me even in the smallest of spaces where but a crack of light could be found. Within. I would tilt back my head receiving from an unknown source that I’ve known my entire life. Truth. All things are connected. Nothing is an island inside the vibration of life. Connection. We need only to embrace in order to arrive. We arrive at the very moment of our connecting. Where is the willingness? What happened to the open spirit who beckoned life in and sang the songs of her soul? In the dark have I sat for long periods contemplating the light. Do I return? Where if not here in the now do I go in search of all that I already know? This is the course of the journey. This is the practice of the human experience: We rise. We fall. We sleep. We wake.
Posted in Acceptance, Being, Connection, poetry, Practice, prose, stream of consciousness | Tagged allow, buddhism, connection, contemplation, journey, life, poetry, prose, stream of consciousness, writer | Leave a Comment »
It falls from the inside of a whisper, gentle the way wisdom touches you in times unknown. Clarity. How clear does one become when that which has been blurred by experience creates an opening? We walk. It is there along the road of life’s journey that we embrace the fullness of being. Now. What was is no longer. Nothing more is to come. There is only the |N|ow. There is only this time, and even when this time changes does now remain. We grow in time. Evolution. We expand like a drop of water becomes a puddle of rain.