I’d like to think that the things which have weighed me down are whittled to nothing, taken away, burnt into cinders, flown to the abyss or simply disappeared. In any moment now a lightness of heart will release endorphins to my body, and I can shake the business of guilt, shame , resentment, anger and pessimism. It will send signals to my mind letting me know it’s okay. I can breathe. I think “Finally“… until the next time.
We go back into ourselves
The encasing breaks down-it shatters, it sheds, it dissolves
We reverse into our future
swallowed by the illuminated gravity of singularity
Our path is dissolved
And we are home
My breath, just as the sun is the life of the Earth, is the life of my body and the gift of my spirit. As I inhale, I am filled with all that precede me. As I exhale, I give to all of those that will succeed me. There is no shortage of breath as long as the hand of the giver is still wide open. With this I must know that in any moment the hand can be withdrawn and allow my body to fall limp and breathless. Read More
I am powerful
I am beauty
I am brilliance
I am enough
Through the grace of the divine can I refine and attune to her pure nature
Refine my integrity, deepen my humility
So that I may use of myself to show others the way to their power, beauty and brilliance
And help them walk the pathway of liberation
And liberate myself
Into the boundless reigns of freedom!
Yep, that’s the game that I played, and for a very long time
I pretended I was happy when I wasn’t
I wanted to hide in the secret abode in the darkest part of my shadow
I used to play make believe with myself that I thought life was worth something
Then the shadow encompassed everything
Its own aura was too visible to fool me, the one that was pretending that is
I put on three costumes a day
One for work, one for the slow passing of the daylight hours, and one for my nighttime unconscious sleep
My mind told me what I wanted, so I went along acting as though it was the best thing for my soul
I pretended my mind and I were friends
But really it was an act of bowing down just as an obedient slave does to his abusive master
You see, I am in a game, a twisted game where I tried to hide from myself
Only I became miserable while playing and fell asleep
Jokes on me, I forgot I was playing
What’s the hardest part of this game?
Believing I had stopped pretending
“It’s all gonna be okay” I say
“I’m never gonna do this, and for sure I’m never gonna do that” I say
“No! Shame on you for feeling that way” it says
All the while an uncontrolled fire is raging inside screaming “Stop it! Release me!”
My stories, many stories keep me pretending
One day, I tell myself, the stories will end
The act will be over and the costumes will lay to rot
Today. Today is the day
I slowly remember I walk in a dream and wake up to the stories, the many stories
They crumble to dust and blow away
Shut down the lights
The pretender has left the stage
I sat in the park directly in front of the sun under a canopy on a picnic table. The sun was full, large, and approaching orange at the horizon of my view-point. There were cars driving to and from on the streets below, kids playing soccer on the grass, teens playing basketball on the courts, and patrons walking their dogs. It felt like the noisy busy energy one would expect being in the midst of all the surrounding activity. I pick up the Native American flute and put it to my mouth. Right before I blow my first note I look out and take a deep breath. I play. From low to high, high to low, I play the notes. I played what my fingered wanted. I listened to the sounds coming out of my flute; simultaneously I can hear the space around me. The activity in the park was still happening, but it became silent. I continued to play and I got a vision from what I was feeling. The vibrations my flute penetrated the space around me puncturing holes on the space fabric. Hearing the sounds around me was like hearing the world through a transparent shield. Though somehow they were clear and crisp. The chirping of the birds, the dancing whistles of the leaves on the trees, it was moving in stillness.
I played more music, spontaneously letting my fingers use more variety. I looked down, and upon my right leg was a fly. Initially I blew on it so it would fly away. It did not fly away. So, I moved my leg slightly to help it move along. Still it did not budge. I shrugged by shoulders in acceptance and continued to play. With part of my attention still on the fly I began to wonder what it was doing. It rubbed its legs together and fluttered its wings, but it did not move from that spot. Now, being really interested in this fly, I put my face very close to it. I looked and it then blew on it to see what it was going to do. Still it did not move. At this point I assumed it wanted to hear more flute music, so I continued to play. Not too soon later it flew off to some other adventure.
The sun fell lower in the sky and grew a darker illuminating everything with a tint of sunkiss orange. It drew my attention. It was in my line of sight sitting in the middle two of four palm trees that were parallel to each other with gaps in-between. While sitting just below the leaves of the tree, the moving wind moved the tops of the trees from left to right, back and forth, giving the sun a hypnotizing pulsating effect. It was penetrating my attention and warming my skin its blanket of rays. It felt like kindness and love; it was gentle and soothing. Its blanket spread out into the stillness of the entire park- still, quiet, warm, and comforting.
I continued to play again letting my fingers do as they will and a profound glimpse of a moment from the book Siddhartha appears to me. In that less that a split second I could see it was that moment when Siddhartha sat on the river in a boat with his friend Vasudeva and listened to the river. He heard many voices at the same time overlapping each other until they all become the one single sound of Om. That was the moment when Siddhartha realized everything and everybody is All One, all one consciousness, and he reached his ultimate attainment. That section of the book which would have taken me more than minutes to read flashed before me in an instant. But I had gone into a moment that was beyond the story as if slightly experiencing the story for myself.
I eventually became so calm and relaxed on the inside and outside that I ceased playing the flute. The sun was sending its greetings as it was setting for the day. I absorbed myself in the sun’s aura and warmth as it was making its final descent. I bowed to it in gratitude and reverence; after all, it had listened to my music. I say good-night and leave the person that initially came into the park- a different person left the park.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Wall to Wall.”
One wall, two wall, three wall, four
Oh the things they could tell you once you step beyond my door
Frogs, and bears, and tigers, and feathers
Swans with swords, and it only gets better
There are many things of color with phrases upon them
It speaks so simply but you must listen beyond them
Each piece on my walls from its whole are the parts
To see each one by one is to learn the way of my heart
Sometimes Id like to think I chose them, but they chose me
How they came into my life was all meant to be
One wall, two wall, three wall, four
They can speak the journeys of my life when you come through my door
Once in a night, they have told me of my ancient pasts
And of my wrongs, of my goods, and lord, of my bads.
They can tell you of my journeys of the dimensions we’ve been together
On my walls hang my friends that help me to remember
One trip around the walls is all you need to know
That love lives here and it what I use to grow.