As I write and remember I am filled with a longing for that time - a time, a feeling, a sensation, a fullness that feels lost to me here in this time and space. The terrible sweet pain of loss sweeps through me. But time has flowed on and to yearn for that time is like feeling my heart squeezed and squeezed till every last drop of blood trickles out.
The colour of that time was a dazzling pulsating purple that slowly turned into a vibrant white. Everything has a season of flowering and of returning to rest. Wintertime. A time of retreat. Stark beauty and naked truth.
And the truth is that I am floundering and separated from my inner self. That is the pain I feel. That is the longing.
Once the journey to the inner self was made through wanting to know the truth of deep suffering. Now the journey is made to know the disconnection from truth that comfort and soft living creates.
Yesterday I boarded a bus and then wandered through empty, windblown streets. The leaves twirled around touching my sandalled feet. I felt disconnected both from the outside and from myself and I walked with that feeling allowing it just to be. For some reason I noticed the absence of dogs and their long panting tongues. The sun was hot and dry and my head spun with dehydration. I don't know what happened but at one point my feet turned homewards and I knew that it was ok. I had been feeling that I had moved very far from my Source but suddenly I knew it was right next to me separated by just a thin Veil. A Veil so thin that I could catch glimpses of what it hid. I felt comforted. My steps quickened as I neared home and inside I slaked my thirst with cool water that returned me to life.
The Veil is still there but I can glimpse Home through it. I do have a journey to make to learn what I need to do to pull it away, but I know that I am already there too. This duality is strange.
The dusty travels of the spirit and soul are sometimes hard to capture.
The colour of that time was a dazzling pulsating purple that slowly turned into a vibrant white. Everything has a season of flowering and of returning to rest. Wintertime. A time of retreat. Stark beauty and naked truth.
And the truth is that I am floundering and separated from my inner self. That is the pain I feel. That is the longing.
Once the journey to the inner self was made through wanting to know the truth of deep suffering. Now the journey is made to know the disconnection from truth that comfort and soft living creates.
Yesterday I boarded a bus and then wandered through empty, windblown streets. The leaves twirled around touching my sandalled feet. I felt disconnected both from the outside and from myself and I walked with that feeling allowing it just to be. For some reason I noticed the absence of dogs and their long panting tongues. The sun was hot and dry and my head spun with dehydration. I don't know what happened but at one point my feet turned homewards and I knew that it was ok. I had been feeling that I had moved very far from my Source but suddenly I knew it was right next to me separated by just a thin Veil. A Veil so thin that I could catch glimpses of what it hid. I felt comforted. My steps quickened as I neared home and inside I slaked my thirst with cool water that returned me to life.
The Veil is still there but I can glimpse Home through it. I do have a journey to make to learn what I need to do to pull it away, but I know that I am already there too. This duality is strange.
The dusty travels of the spirit and soul are sometimes hard to capture.
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