And after all that, there’s still the understanding that the moments I share here are a part of a greater undertaking. The decisions that I make are part of an invitation to the harmony in motion that is woven into my being. Under no circumstances is that whisper extinguished, although often overpowered by the prevailing winds of fickle emotion, intellectual reason, chaos, despair, pride, in a wilderness where the rivers run deep underground. A richness buried.
I don’t know what this time I’m in really means, not that it has a specific meaning other than I’m alive, there is love, and I am invited into that sharing. Sometimes I think the needs of the ego to create a greater sense of purpose with which to derive meaning is comedic. Not that it’s unworthy of consideration or care. I do think that there is an element of truth buried in that search for meaning that the ego often finds so despairing. I don’t know how serious it is though. I have this feeling that I’m invited to dine at the table of belonging and the communion in that space doesn’t need to be justified by doing. It doesn’t need to be made into a five point plan on becoming. It’s simply an invitation to loving. This all sounds very woo woo, but I don’t think it really is, because loving is offered freely and anyone who has ever tried it know that it’s a harrowing invitation to love purely without the poison of manipulation and self interest (in this sense I am speaking of egoic interest, not innate personhood and these two things are not the same, although I do think they converge and diverge at times).
To love oneself is perhaps the most peculiar invitation of them all. To allow the part of me that arises through birth and declines into death to exist and have a place in the world. To hold space for that striving and longing and wanting and being and also make room for that depth of knowing that draws me into something true. A love that is present in the lived experience, but is also present beyond the lived experience. That is to say, whatever is buried in this vessel knows that an invitation is present, and the first step on that path into the recesses of the desert is a letting go of manipulation and opening my hands.
structures of home 