here. listening. trying to anyways. it is a tall task to listen in this life – which is so unbelievably short. the next task and the next will alway be pressing on the part of the brain and decision process that has carried me so far, but without soul. the numbering of days is so apparent – how many more do i get? how precious these days as they wind down toward the end of the the tunnel. i drag my feet here, not in a hurry to meet the light of the next incarnation-or the light of the unveiled transitioning. you might laugh and call me young to write this way, i get that, but the later half of this journey is a reckoning that i will not allow you to dismiss. i’ve an appreciation of the map and for the tracking and i’m open to seeing it truly so to not miss the rewards i can gather in each spot. i’ve worked hard to reach a certain emptiness in my guarded sanctuary that i’m not in a hurry to move out of or to fill with the knowns that lead to no where. i am a bird woman at heart, i meet your eye with a certain intensity that is steady and flittering at once. i look forward to meeting where one can meet that wordless gazing. most i meet are projecting out what they wish others would see in them; i know this dynamic well and have compassion for it for having played it for years (and still I slip into it occasionally when I forget). how do we shed the self and deepen at the same time? no answer is forthcoming for my question, yet all becomes apparent as i walk it. the deepening is a happening that seems to be the side effect and not the directly hunted objective. deepening is ripening, which fruits know how to do – are made for doing. Also occurs to me is the fruit’s apparent purpose in being consumed or for wasting and rotting on the ground, turning into a seed, for starting it all again. the drum of traffic in my tiny house reprimands me – scolds me for stepping away – places to go, purposes, motion, yet i make effort to hear the bird in the urban landscape on a mission in its song. a salamander, a ferrel cat, herbs, a sago palm tossed off by a neighbor, i’ll take what appears and bow. here now for me is a space for typing words, for listening to a train whistle, and the splattering start of rain on roof and road, I’m lingering before the shower and before my day. to you, i bow as well, in your day, aware of the appearing phenomenon where ever you may be, your sharing space beyond the words with me here is a communion that i can’t explain. love to you, there.
leap of faith
30 AugSomething became apparent yesterday. I discovered the leap of faith I’ve been dancing around for years. The leaps of faith in the religions I grew up with were more up front. I found them early on and leapt with abandon, perhaps from conditioning for being good, perhaps for the love of mystery and the possibility that true goodness did exist. In short, I believed. I was not much of a Thomas.
The one I just discovered might be so obvious that my mention of it will have you shaking your head with my slow processing speed. No more beating around the bush, here it is: If everything that I see, feel, hear, smell, taste, and experience in this world changes, the knowing of the thing that doesn’t change for me is a leap of faith. The direct experience of the unchanging can not be known because (and here is where I am using my mind to try to solve a riddle that stretches out of the realm of mind) to know it would be an experience of it and experience is a changing phenomenon, by its very definition.
Stand up, flag me down, you who can answer my riddle. Can you send a lightning strike to the heart that makes the unknowable known? I’ve had experiences of beyond and daily I flow in a realm that meshes with the mundane, but is not of it. BUT tell me tell me if you can what is the mystery in the heart of a man. Is there a black (w)hole of connection to the unchanging within my heart, within every heart, within every quivering bit of matter?
I am not distressed. This little epiphany just has me pausing. Sitting sitting feeling feeling all to know what is unknowable. Must we always leap to reach? Is this why there is no where to go?
Love to anyone kind enough to tread in this unkept field of blossoms. I love that you are there and here. This expression is me, moving beyond my knowing, allowing the questioning to come. I am not separate, and yet this body being has existed from within this marga spot only, seemingly. Can she merge with knowing before she’s gone from this body? Oh, the strangeness of it all.
Life as Improv 