This Play of Words, This Symphony Divine (Cette symphonie divine)

This play of words, leading to futility. A necessary exercise in failure for which the reason cannot be known. Maybe by pointing, someone will go past my words and realise the word is not the thing.

Why is fanciful explanation needed? Why do we so wish to overcomplicate things? Is it because the mind wants kudos, that, in its cleverness, it was able to produce the most accurate description of reality and therein lies the problem. In our attempt to know this, we have built huge edifices to truth. We appointed ourselves as custodians, and then, in that final act of arrogance.

That there is no way but this way. That this is the final and ultimate truth. After this, there shall be no more. Heed our warning or you will be in peril, and you will have upset our God, who will strike down upon thee in terrible vengeance.

The innocence of the heart objects; is this realisation not our birthright?

Blasphemy; blasphemy is heard from the pulpit. How dare you question our omnipotent God. Even though we secretly know we have created this false God. So, we condemn and go to war and yet that innocence, the beautiful child, that timelessness, dances amongst us immune to slander, knowing no pain or lie. It is our moment of vulnerability, the intimacy when we are alone, this sweetest of symphonies, whirling away in the sweetest abandon.

Constantly reminding us,

Remember who you are.

Remember who you are.

(Inspired by Shostakovich Waltz No2)

Keystrokes…

There is utter silence. After years of frenetic activity, there is finally silence. This silence is occurring in the most unusual of places and it turns my focus inwards. Sometimes, I struggle to function and must come out of the silence, but, I sense its call drawing me back.

I have found now that I want a life outside the constant talks and producing content, and there is a settling and a desire to put down roots.

It’s about caring for me now, about caring for my family and mending relationships that suffered as I constantly moved about travelling and speaking. I have spoken of this for years and made attempts to do this but now I see it is occurring naturally. There is a structure occurring in this work, and yet, there is a real freedom in this structure. There is a joy in writing now and exploring the theme of self-realisation.

I recently registered that it had been sixteen years since I stopped seeking and it is bringing up new insight, and I find myself looking at the topic of self-realisation differently. I am excited and I can’t remember how long it has been since I felt like this. I feel things and those feelings provide insight at a depth I have never known. I know the word deepening is inadequate, but that is how it feels. Like a child exploring their terrain, I am exploring once again. Taking tentative steps and becoming aware of all these beautiful expressions that exist.

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“The heart has its own language. The heart knows a hundred thousand ways to speak.”

- Mevlana Jalaluddin Rumi

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There is a joy with each keystroke and seeing words appear on the screen. Ideas appear in a non-linear fashion and, like a child throwing paint on a canvas, I find a beauty in this, and yet I am finding the non-linear is leading to the linear. What will this exploration throw up? Where will this lead? I explore the vastness I am. Like a visitor fascinated by seeing that masterpiece for the first time and witnessing its magnificence wanting to drink in every detail.

Those years of chaos are being replaced by a structure and yet there is freedom in this structure.

What will this exploration bring up next?

The Language of Silence

There is a silence that watches itself. The silence and that which watches it may appear separate but are in fact one.

““There is a voice that doesn’t use words — Listen!””

— Mevlana Jalaluddin Rumi

In this silence this language is heard. This voice heard. Offering understanding and insight to itself. There is silence and it appears as if nothing stirs. The desire to be or do anything doesn’t arise. There is just this silence speaking to itself, hearing itself. Immediate and alive. It does not stop speaking to itself or hearing itself.

The insights are constant, the understanding deepens. It is seen everything is taken care of and this seclusion needed. Everything feels jagged or not right when an attempt to communicate is made and not needed. The personal self, trying to do something here is not needed. It, this beautiful silence is taking care of itself. It is self-governing, sovereign over all things. Dictating what is and what isn’t needed. It is life. It is this silently silent reality that pervades all things.

I sit and stare engrossed in this silent conversation. I have lost my learning and know nothing and yet this conversation of one makes perfect sense. Constant and yet effortless. This conversation is what is important and when it is done, I will return to “life.” Return to a life which tells me I must act or behave a certain way. And yet I will not return as I left, and I will not be as when I left. Something has changed in me and yet I can’t but help think it was always there. A diamond in the dirt waiting to be discovered. Waiting to be known. I end as I started.

There is a silence that watches itself. The silence and that which watches it may appear separate but are in fact one.

This Silence that watches itself is you!

Photo by Michael on Unsplash

In this meeting, can we dispel this idea of duality?

Let us see this illusory existence as a mirror.

Look now into the mirror what do you see? If at all anything.

In this meeting. In this singularity where the idea of two is no more. In this expanse. In this openness. We are home.

From this centre we look out at this illusory creation called life. Why is it here? What purpose does it serve? Is it for God’s amusement and entertainment? A divine play being watched by the creator. Is there mercy in this play?

A route home from the separation. An opportunity to know thyself. To provide relief and still the heart and calm the mind. If so, how? How can this pain of separation be eradicated while in the very existence that by its very being here prolongs duality?

Let us see this illusory existence as a mirror. Look now into the mirror what do you see? If at all anything. Notice now how you feel looking into the mirror. What comes up for you? Whether it is bliss and joy, or pain and despair can you allow it to be? Can you then locate where this emanates from? Can you then accept this place of emanation?

Going further can you accept that this is the centre. That all emanates from here. That in the acceptance of this place that you are home and that even non acceptance is still happening in this centre and that you are the centre experiencing itself. That all manner of experience can occur in this centre and that this centre can choose to accept or reject these experiences. It is the screen upon which this is all occurring and yet what is being projected onto this screen is not separate from it. That it may appear to be a duality or the thinnest of veils but that this is the play it plays and that is fine.

In acceptance which can be done but cannot also be done, that THE IDEA and please read that again THE IDEA of seeking can disappear, and the perfection and the paradox of the play can be seen and yet no one is seeing it. No one experiences. No one knows.

That this singularity does not need to know it is the singularity. That it is. It simply is. One without another. A silence known by no one and yet our rest, our security, our love. OUR HOME…

An Eternity in an Instant…

On Patience and Letting Go of Control.

Can we let go of trying to control? Let go of our impatience and anger and to be more trusting of life. To see that life can be simple and life can be good and that we can be happy. That we can put down that which ails us. Those moments in which we were robbed of our dignity, our honour, our pride. That those who disrespected us, slighted us have moved on and yet we live with what they did and continually hurt ourselves believing they suffer when in fact they do not. That our resentment is indeed like drinking poison and expecting the other to die. That our anger and our bitterness serve no one. That in being bitter we do a massive disservice to ourselves and to the world. That our art is trapped within us, our symphonies, our beauty. Simply because we refuse to let go. Because what is better than what we have. Even if what we have is killing us. That we refuse to accept that drinking this poison of anger and bitterness is killing us not the other.

Can we let go of trying to control?

Let go of our impatience and anger and to be more trusting of life.

That we deserve to be happy, and that we want to be happy, but we are so scared to be amongst those who are happy. They scare us and yet they are not that unlike us and that they too feel pain and suffer but unlike us they do not hold on. That they let go and that if we would but allow ourselves for a single moment to just look at this pain. However terrifying that may be that we may find a possibility. A possibility that tells us that maybe just maybe we may be able to put this pain down. Overwhelmed by this thought we run away and hide. And then that call again from life and again we go to that which scares us and look upon it and again the idea that we could let this go. And again, we hide and again we visit. We visit our pain, we open that pandoras box and stare upon our pain and misery. Our shame our guilt and we breathe. We realise that we can take our time. That this is not a race. Healing never is.

So now we are joined by another possibility that we can take our time. That once where there was impatience and panic, the seed of patience is now sown. So again, we visit the monsters, again we sit with our shame and slowly but surely the light enters the wound. What was in darkness is illuminated. What was crooked is made straight and sitting in that pain, that shame and that emptiness we experience release. A release so pure that no idea of pain remains. No idea of us remains. It was all a dream and that as we wake and stare into the light. We see we are in fact meeting ourselves. That this is who I am. One without another. That this was a story. It was a dream but now I am awake only to realise that there has only ever been wakefulness. That this story that this play simply appears in this singularity. That one leads to the other which leads to the other which is always in the NOW.

That we are free. That we are home. The story seen through. The illusion seen for what it was. Nothing more than a beautiful lie.