Three cups for soup a drink of warm tea
The thing here is that we really really really can do anything, there are no bonds or restrictions or things holding us back other than the things that are within the mind, or the memories of the body. There is nothing that is truly keeping us down other than the past and future for in this present moment right here right now we are free.
What is it that you’re resisting? Why are you holding back on love?
I formed my face into something other than the one I wear, others on the street may pass me and shrink away for I dawned one not of beauty but of reclusive pain. One for things never said and feelings never shared, and they may pass by and wonder…”who is this retched creature, and why does she wear the body of a young woman. Why is her hair braided with intentional care and her clothes clean and boots well and fit, yet her face shrunken and hollowed, her eyes gone back to the pits of somewhere we have never seemed to return from, that horrible hollow place that we deemed unfit for life, that we decided to simply abandon and discard and throw our waste into, like a pit of hell, why do her eyes speak that she’s been there, has come back and now walks amongst us… should we ever even let a creature like that live? Walk past us on the street, nonetheless, when she seems to have seen and to have known and to have comprehended it all? All that dies down there, all that’s sent to die. All that’s thrown out, all the desolate and discarded. The vile and putrid and corrupt. The parts of ourselves we have cut off, like missing limbs and fallen out teeth. The things we thought we could forget yet never seem to run far enough away from to truly get away. The things we blamed on others, sending them down there to die, to disintegrate. Why does she keep coming back? Why does she walk into that place willingly, forming her own trails and routes and pathways, ones that she seems to now walk with a gentler step. Planting wildflowers in the darkness, taking each step with a quiet grace, a touch of magic and light. She seems to have gone so far in, for her eyes scream it all, yet why does she even choose to come back out? How could anyone ever wish to return to this life, after witnessing and being surrounded by such pain, such hardship, such angst, such intentional darkness in the hands of our fellow man, when she seems to know that what she sees around is also within her? How can anyone ever wish to return? To braid such beautiful hair, so similar to my daughters when she was young. To choose to play again, to sing again, to love again. What a strange creature that one is… best we keep away, in case it’s catching.” the passing man may say, hurrying his bride to the other side of the street to get away, to not look into those horrible, honoring, loving and all knowing eyes. Like the eyes of a cat. Who can see beyond and through, yet still chooses to lick themselves clean, to purr, to snuggle and to bask in the sun. What a life, to witness it all and to be witnessed, and to choose to carry on. To keep carrying on. To opening, to surrendering, to listening. To living, what a strange life. What a beautiful life, what a wicked and cruel life, yet one of my own choosing.
And in that regard, what a great opportunity to choose more. To see what it’s like down there, in the bottomless abyss. The empty nothing, the eternal yet fertile darkness, the black void. A space for sweet dreams and night mares and horrible afflictions and pain. The place of magic and wonder and everything beautiful and consciously sacred in this world, in all of our worlds. Yet in the darkness, within the unknown, what we discover, what we learn, what we realize is that all is sacred, all is within the hands of divinity, all is a product of the divine, all is created and therefore all can be reformed, destroyed and reshaped into something of wonder. Something that feeds the soul rather than slaughters it, something that pays its due diligence with patience and listening and a deeply devotional respect. Through presence. Something that whispers sweet words and eternal prayers into the wind. Something that knows each seed can grow a whole tree with fruits for years so why not make each moment into one? Each step into a song, a hum, a Lullaby of peace. A proclamation of a life that yearns for more. To bring richness and flavor, vibrant colors and deep belly laughter, the repeated kind that grows creases at the edges of our eyes as we age. The understanding, embodied feeling that we are all in it together, each and everyone of us and our grievances can be settled, in order to for us to come and join hands. To squeeze the palm of our neighbor with a knowing pressure to offer the reassurance of care, of understanding, of love.
Yes, we can crawl deep down into pits. It is here that plant our seeds.
