Thank you for listening, and Namaste :-):
Stay
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--
yes,
there.
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.
Butterfly
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,
incomplete.
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,
not
ever;
You,
who wrap yourself in a sheath of
silence
and wait until everyone leaves,
then
curse their names and collapse into
nothing--
you,
who feel despicable;
come
forth.
Show
yourself.
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.
Listening
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.
Yes.
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.
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