November 2, 2015

This meditation on that original power that gave rise to everything in form, that power which is in fact our very being, helps me when I need an antidote to my own sense of helplessness.

“Listen to the birdsong.  You made that.  Listen to the wind, and feel it on your skin, feel it in your own breath, feel it until you know it like you know your own person.  You made that.  The earth itself throbs underneath you with the life it gives all things, but you gave it that life in the first place, and though it seems to feed you, and you seem to need it, really you made that too.  You bore it, you named it, you hold onto it, and you can at any point let it go.  You aren’t visiting this world, this world is visiting you; it is one of an almost endless stream of things you are capable of creating, things that must dissolve while you, the bearer of them all, remain.  You are the only thing that stays, and anything you glimpse you must have created, anything you feel you must have conjured, and anything you know is nothing more than a tiny fraction of your own infinite knowledge appearing before you because you summoned it.  And any moment that we do not know this absolute truth is a moment in which we must also have conjured the veil that hides it from us.  We are the bearer of all things, even of obfuscation itself.  You made all of this, and you have done a brilliant and glorious job of it, but do not hold onto any part of it for one second longer than it delights you, for there truly is no other reason to have conjured it in the first place.  If you are enjoying this, your own creation, then let it make you smile, but when you are not, release your own grasp on it; it is that grasp that makes anything live.  I congratulate you on your world; it is a lovely invention.  And I congratulate you just as much on its dissolution.  We are not captive here.  In fact, this is all our prisoner.  Love it sometimes, enough to let it go.  Enjoy it until it is over and know that the end point of all things is entirely within your choice.  The love that you have for all this will never, itself, expire, even though everything that is here, as you clear your vision and empty your mind, eventually succumbs to the ground from which it arose.  And that ground is love; your love and you as love.  Go softly into your own creation.  Treat with gentleness everything you have conjured, most especially your own precious form.  Treat with kindness what you only invented in order to love it, and love, I assure you, is all you will see in return.”


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