Thank you for listening, and Namaste :-):
Your job is to stay:
stay, when the walls seem to come crashing down,
while others seem to laugh and spit at your ideals.
stay, while anxiety gnaws at you from the inside,
while it calls you nasty names and threatens not only your competence, but your sanity.
Stay, and know that you will not disintegrate,
you will not crumble into a thousand little pieces,
and the vultures will not come and feast on your bones.
(Even though they loudly threaten and beat their wings.)
This horrid reality that has become your worst and closest friend,
It is only a movie that plays in your mind, over and over,
taking a rare break on a holiday, then promptly resuming.
There are other movies, too, of course, that one can watch,
many that are far more enjoyable: fantasies, romances, mind-bending thrillers;
they play at the peak times of rapture, or when others are around and demand a happier tale.
but the default, it seems, is this slow, monotonous horror movie,
in which the seams are always slowly ripping and life is slowly spilling it's contents,
its wretched guts, out for everyone to see and mock.
It's a gruesome picture, terrifying—so absolutely numbing and thoroughly convincing.
Your brain cannot make sense of the pieces and put them back together.
Your heart cannot find the courage to put itself on display again.
Your spirit has lost hope, feels defeated:
Why, this movie again? Why, after all this time, after all that has been gained?
Why, why? What can I do to rise above this?
Who knows the answer?
I know only this:
Do not try and rise.
Do not give yourself false hope. (It will not work.)
Only, wait. Stay.
Move behind the projector--
See, not so scary.
See, the wheels are turning, but it is only the wheels of imagination, and of karma.
We will not try and change the picture,
we will not try and force it to a halt.
We will only sit, and wait. Stay.
There. There it is, the silence behind the noise.
The animator behind the movie,
There. (The wizard of Oz is not so great and terrible.)
Have you slowed with me?
Can you feel the wheels slowly coming to a halt?
Yes, stay here, now.
Here, where there is only ocean, and sun, and a warm breeze caressing your cheek.
Here, where there is space, infinite space,
and a deep feather bed on which to rest.
And, when you are ready, you will rise, slowly.
And, when you rise, the world will great you, warmly.
No more monsters, no more lies,
for your mind is calm, and your heart is open, and your spirit has found its home.
So, perhaps I have not been listening.
I will begin now.
Tell me your story;
I long to hear it.
I long to know what you know,
the way you know it, and why.
I long to see with your eyes,
hear with your ears--
to be still, and feel your silence.
For if you are not heard,
my friend, then I am alone,
My completeness rests in you.
You, who are the dearest part of me;
You, who are complete, in and of yourself;
You, who are perfectly whole, and so beautiful;
So, very, deepful beautiful;
I long to see you.
You, who feel broken, and bruised,
and battered, and alone;
You, who long to hide and to never come out,
You, who wrap yourself in a sheath of
silence and wait until everyone leaves,
then curse their names and collapse into
you, who feel despicable;
I will not shine the light too bright;
I will not look at you and freeze in horror;
I will not banish you;
I will not run away.
I will only stay, and be there with you.
That is all.
That is all.
And if you choose to speak, I will listen.
And if you turn away, I will wait.
And if you go within, I will follow.
Never pushing, but always there.
For I am awareness, and I am love.
And I cannot just turn away.
I made a covenant to you long ago,
a covenant which I must keep.
I made a promise to never leave you,
to never abandon you,
to never force you,
to never coerce you or
shape you into a false mold.
I made a convenant, which I must keep.
And so, I am here.
And I will wait for you.
Wait for you to dissolve,
wait for you to reform,
wait and watch as you emerge in all your brilliance
(you sweet and beautiful butterfly).
You are utterly unique and priceless.
You are the one to whom I turn,
the one who gives me life,
and I am the one who is all that you need,
no more and no less.
I am listening.
I am listening to whirr of the computer motor.
I am listening to the sound of my fingers as they tap, tap, tap on the keys,
to the sound of the cars as they zoom through the puddles outside.
I am listening.
I am listening to the noise of my own inner critic--
There it is. . . Now, silence. . .
I am listening as my cat bathes himself in the hallway.
I am listening for inspiration.
I know it is here somewhere,
for I always find it.
It begins as a swell in my chest that rises through my heart and brain.
It takes over my writing, for it knows far better than me what to say.
I will let it speak. I will listen.
What is this thing, this inspiration?
Is it part of me?
Is it a force that possesses me, when I allow it to take over?
(That sounds sinister!)
Is it a knowing?
Yes, that feels right. That feels true.
It is a knowing—but not a knowing in the head.
It is a knowing like the knowing of the sun, and the rain,
and wind on my back, and the earth beneath my feet.
It is the knowing of things that go beyond me,
that are within me, that support me.
I am listening, and I am feeling as my breath
becomes deeper and steadier,
until it aligns with the pulse at the core of the earth,
until it stills all thought and reveals the superficiality of all other things.
I am so deep now; I am in the core,
where the pulse of the earth and the pulse of my heart are one.
Can you meet me there?
Can you meet me in the space that lies in the kernel of all things?
Yes, there. . . there. . . there. . .
You know the way;
just trust and listen.