No matter how many times you fall off the horse, you got to keep getting back on. So saddle up. I'm back on the horse, and catching you up on, A Year Ago, Today.
October 22, 2015:
Bisham Abbey, England
Sitting in a bed. A mower drones outside the windows. There's a persistent ringing in my ears. Its the calm, the quiet. I sense myself extending, grasping, doubting, searching for something outside myself to cling to...I am scared. No that's not the right word. I have fear inside of me. Its seed is a sense of longing. Desire. The ego has reemerged. The ego, my protector. You've served me so gallantly, so courageously and loyally. Through the darkest , most abysmal of moments, the ego inspired resilience. Merciless, it stayed, it chose time and again to remain. It valued me when I felt of little value, when i was not listening, when the mind roared, the heart ached, the stubborn ego remained. I am thankful for my valiant warrior, and protector. Yet the time for surrender has come. I give up. There cannot be war if there are no sides to oppose one another. If there are no separate entities, no factions. If all is one, there is no war, no battle, no conflict. The ego, is me. Absorbed, and made whole with the child, the lover, the fighter, the listener, all the forms of me. Merged into the wholeness of nothingness.
The urge remains, and the witness sees the urge, hears the urge in my voice, my action. The urge remains, yet it is separate. The urge to compare, to belong, to make myself better, no, not better, better than, as a means of proving something I suppose. Proving what though? Proving that I exist? That I deserve to exist? How can one deserve to exist? One simply exists. The urge to cling, to consume myself with frivolity, the urge to escape in sorrow and sadness, the urge to harden the walls, to protect; the urge to prepare for battle, to escape, to doubt.
The heart aches in such a beautiful way. It sings with the melody of autumn. The beautiful, gracious death of summer, the acceptance of winter. A time to rest, to recover, so come spring, new life can emerge. Open, vulnerable, my heart aches.
Belief is a poor mans nourishment. Trust belongs only to the rich of heart. Trust, with thrust there is no need for belief. One can only trust what is, trust the roots of presence. Belief has no roots. Belief keeps the soul separate from what is...belief, hope creates longing, desperation, neediness...accept what is...whatever it may be. Joy, sorrow, suffering, bliss. Embrace it. Look deeply at this very moment. Accept it. Embrace it.
A good nights slumber. The ebbing of the tide. The ownership of responsibility. The acknowledgment of fear. Laughter in a simple exchange with the man serving breakfast. The flow of energy. Meditation. Mobility of body. Calm. A game. Play. The confrontation of fears. Remain open. Dear heart. I am hear for you child. Trust. The ceasing of trying. Stop. Stillness.
My heart loves. Love a woman. The beautiful presence of a woman. In another. Myself. To love oneself, in our entirety. My heart buds. With each breath, deep roots lifting and opening. Trust. Focus on the center. Accept love. Surrender to it, and let it go. You are whole. As you are. In all you do. Afraid of nothing, but the nothingness of my shadow. Afraid of everything.