For if a great many people do not quickly and radically reverse their lives—and no I’m not talking boy scout recycling efforts. I am talking about the gearing up and urgency that would need to be far greater than that of the last world war—how can it not be seen that the Nazi holocaust will seem a tea party alongside what’s coming?
But it is not warriors we need. That is part of the problem. We do need people as disciplined and caring, not just of their buddies but of all life, human and nonhuman, of all creation that God in his/her great love for us and all life masterfully crafted, slowly, carefully, meticulously, over a near eternity this incredible planet, as finely balanced and perfect and precise, and wondrous and beautiful in infinite ways, precisely moving in perfect harmonious exquisite synchronicity of infinite living elements through the seasons, over the years, languorous and slow and allowing for a plenitude of experience, of possibilities for joyous play, exuberant and bountiful youthful sense of power, pride, belonging—for ALL creatures, and an infinite number of them—each of them single individuals sharing with us this possibility of joy, wonder, happiness, laughter, pain, grief, wisdom….this divine adventure taken by so many humans even, each doing their best between the poles of the monstrous and the angelic, creating in the end, whatever the outcome, lives as different, as unique, as incomparable as any snowflake to another.
And all the while, surrounded from birth, breathing the divine. God always so close you can’t see. But in every little thing pushing you to the exquisite slow, painful then wonderful unfolding into greater and greater wisdom, goodness, love, truthfulness and loving of truth—no matter how long it takes, or even lifetimes—slowly, slowly, turning, turning, expanding, flowing ever outward in wider and wider encompassing surrounds of wisdom and love—no matter how long it takes.
And on the way the dawnings of blissful openings of being, leaving the darkness of pain and ignorance more and more at our roots. Just as the lotus grows out of the muck of the dirty swamp, feeding on that muck for sustenance. Just as our hardships, mistakes, even our cruelties lead us in time that much more beautifully and committedly loving of love, of life, of goodness, of God.
And our eyes ever more aware of the beauty always there but more and more radiant as the darkness slowly dissipates, and the lotus reaches its tender shoot higher and higher into the murky water. It too in time becoming increasingly aware of light that is above and that the darkness is more and more in behind it.
Until, just as we, there is that moment of arriving on the water surface and feeling and breathing being free and so joyous, blissful, and understanding of the marvelous divine perfection of the experience, even when it seemed hopeless, just as we. And in gratitude and glory it unfolds its perfect, delicate pleasure in the expressions of joy that are the splendid beauteous aromatic creations that we call its many petals, but for the lotus is its song of gratitude. As much as our unfolding may open our hearts so deliciously loving and alive that we must sing to God, to Love, to the Consciousness that is the only Existing thing and equally coursing its wondrous way throughout all creation—lotus, Human, in the loving ministrations of all God’s creatures toward each other as we feel the attraction of like to like, of divine to divine…..
And would this wonderful incredibly sweet sound of God’s Life in us and around us, harmonizing over billions of years and to the ends of the Universe, the chorus of the divine, the harmony of the spheres, this grand, often dramatic and percussive symphony, the only reality, the only one really desired, the home of all whose sound is even telling you it is Om, where one belongs, where one loves and is loved and dualism-nondualism are irrelevant for equally delightful are the movements of this endless ever changing symphony, which must be separate and forgetful and also awake and one for the sheer beauty of it, for the sheer pleasure of remembering again the most wonderful truth of oneself, and then maybe again.
Of such possibilities and perceptions are the expanses outside, outside one’s skin. As one’s identity is not merely that within the gushing palpitation below the skin but expands to include spouse, family, children, others, all creatures, all beings known and unknown, with malice toward no one. As such unity is our food our destination our bliss our home…
Oh so sad and yet tender and beautiful and juicy we take our prodigal souls ever home. And more and more recognizing our brothers and sisters on the way, delighting in the exquisite separation that we will continue to enjoy until ready to release, to let go. Like a swimmer letting go of the side of the pool to sink deep into the crystal water, where it is then all the Universe that one experiences and then one becomes aware that one is just as much of it as in it.
And slowly delightfully then just not conceiving of any boundaries and the swimmer disappears to those still holding on to the delightful game of pretending that there is any such thing as a thing, as boundaries, as nations, as bodies… Fun, that game of thingness… for a while…
For it is just a game, a made up concocted set of parameters, boundaries, and rules. That we sit down on a pleasant Sunday afternoon to play, to enjoy the amazingly creative plays, humorous remarks, and outright belly-whomping creative utterances that our playmates entertain with and we enjoy also performing as things we do and say come so perfectly from, well, … it’s just there.
We just are, we can’t help be, and whether irritated or laughing uproariously or snickering secretively as we plan our next play…in sweet anticipation of the reactions, surprise! befuddlement! or knowing smiles from another…it is all unknown and to be discovered.
So who would spoil such fun by ever letting on, even, or especially, to oneself that it is all known, there is no separation. Why we even might enjoy it more if we allow ourselves to suppose that the stakes are real—at which point we know we have taken the wondrous forgetfulness game of humanness. One only does that to enjoy the sweetest waking of all, that from the soundest and most undisturbed of all possible dreamings.
However you conceive it, though. You needn’t buy my reverie. In fact how could you? Though you and I could be mirrors to each other it is the absolute knowing that we cannot be the same snowflake. No. You have your world, and your unique way of enjoying sweet existence.
Continue on this site with
Apocalyptic Wake-Up Call:
Who Would Want Such an Ending?
Why Not a Hero’s Tale Instead?
Go to Post That Precedes This:
Apocalyptic Wake-Up Call:
Apocalypse Emergency, How Can You Turn Away?
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