Every weekday morning nearly without fail, I run into this little girl when I stumble outside with my dog and cup of tea. Always with a blended spirit of caution and carefree joy, she would walk in the same direction with the same leap in her step no matter what weather. Watching her, she reminds me of how constant and promising Life can be just as much as she easily reminds me of all the natural disasters that manage to happen within. The way she goes forward is so assertive and greatly contradicts the way she responds to my thirteen year old dog; the second she sees my dog from a friendly walking distance, her sense of assertion melts into a puddle of crumbly mud within the blink of an eye. No matter how small an encounter with someone else, it can serve one like a mountain of sight. Enlightening or confirming, it is connected to you because you took in the sighting. Now it is the way we direct the retina of our mental filters to receive what is constantly taking place before us. Only one would need to keep an eye open, the eye that absorbs the spectrum of Living. I am talking about the School of Life.
As I consciously catch the minor ramble of my ego and silence it, I feel all my thoughts gradually draw far from where they usually mutter and do their business. There, I smile at existence,… just existence. Existence. It does not happen all on its own. More often than not, existence is brewed by an act of Love. No matter how cheesy this may appear to you, whatever type of cheese you may choose, it will remain of nothing but the ego. So, boil your eggs, let them cool down, most importantly, decide how you will eat them. It is primal to eat like it is spiritual to love.
There is something enchanting about solitude in night. The solace of night allows you to be no one but You and the shade of blue in the night sky cloaks over you like grandma’s quilt. The slow echo as nightfall hits your horizon brings on a sweet melody of just being. There is no circling in any type of subconscious-blinding panic but only a soft swirl of silent breeze that says silence has its own dialect. Silence is like a lushly green forest with an incredibly deep center point that makes you feel like you are encompassed yet so far away from the entry point. You can see so much but hear nothing and for the most part, not your eyes but anahata, the vibrational wheel of your heart, is the most moved. Still, it is about seeing not feeling. I say seeing because when Silence speaks, it is not about this layer of existence. It is the center point of that lushly green forest as it comes to life and messages are delivered to the doorstep of your awareness.
In the quietest hour right past dawn,
silence speaks as the tone of the honest king.
Hope shimmers like the face of a kind queen.
Doubt dribbles on the silhouette of the wobbly-minded jester.
Daylight gives birth to day,
warmhearted creatures softly toss towards waking
as brand new smiles and dreams come alive.
Today will always be today.
Every minute will be its own.
Every breath is sacred.
Every reflection is telling.
Absorb. Embrace. Delight. Reflect.
It is a sacred cycle.
Scatter it if you like.
Free Will exists and always will.
Like a wise one I read through the overly popular streams of internet, “To eat is human, to digest is divine.” (T.S. Copeland).