Joy dissolves to Equanimity
the Path and the Destination is the same
it’s simple, really
The wave contemplates the concept of Source and its perception of self. It looks and sees that it is made of the water. And within itself it sees the sunlight and the wind. It looks deeper and sees that earth and space is there too. The wave is related to the lake and the lake is related to the clouds and the rain, and the grass that grows and the animals that eat them. It is the raging river and the frozen arctic ice. The ice cube in the lemonade and the newborn kitten in the kitchen. And the whole earth, the galaxy and all the galaxies in the universe, and all the other universes; unfolding, expanding, Source experiencing itself.
The wave knows that she is wave or not-wave, and snow and mist and thunderous waterfall; sequentially and concurrently. In the present moment a wave is writing on snowflakes that became a tree, drinking a glacier sitting on a cloud in the milky way. And in the here and now a wave is breathing and knowing, and channelling reality.
Nowhere to be except here. Nothing to do except smile.
The mountain is a mountain is not a mountain is a mountain, winking in and out of existence, moment to moment in endless beginnings.
Yes, yes, I get it. I loose it. I get. I get that there is nothing to get. It just is. And I still loose it. Because there is still “I” and there’s “it”.
It is what is, what it is, is what we make out of it. Ups can be downs, bad can be good. Winking, winking, winking.
Flailing in the midst of tempest debris everywhere promises retracted recoiled when angels feared to tread the rock that forms when hurts congeal unyielding I who should have known better am the bitter fool instead
Tempest in the primordial mind debris everywhere chaos in the moment of destruction mind spits castles into the air structures fractured shelters collapse no refuge anywhere the “I” breaks down yields to calm mind becomes aware
Still in an espresso cup tempest swirling still steaming alchemy still waiting to yield the rich bitter deepness where are you now sweet angel in retreat outside where sweetness reside
I see you my dear, in your designer shoes, your MBA hung around your neck, like an anchor to the status quo. Drug induced sleep is still sleep. Normal people have normal anxiety, normal unhappiness, normal quiet desperation, don’t they?
I see you weary prince, wearing your hurt like a mantle within your castle walls you pace, misery magnified in each lonely echo, drowning soft laughter floating in through windows too high to see.
I see you anemone crab, beautifully armed with the toxins of another, trapped within your soft shell, helplessly scavenging the debris for morsels decaying and dead. Eyes looking up at the endless blue wondering what floats above the waves.
No, it’s not fatal.