Life is simple. There are no lies, no evil, no bad things … nor are there good things for things as they are, aren’t in all realities, the very extension except for the indicative that bridges us, the letters that marry to manifest, that first breath, the first word, the very first incarnation in the spheres of reveries.
Awakened in the dream of dreams we return to rectify that which needs rectified, heal that which needs healing, breathing the continuance retuning to a more refined and dignified humanity, tending shoulders and wings to those who need to cry upon warmthness of hearts; … through the journey of journeys, harmonising the scales of mercy, for one, for all, in completion. The choice is a responsibility to the integrity of being — the Verb is an option in the mundane, minds rarely comprehend. Not all brains translate the minds without.
We live and leave when it’s convenient to leave, and live through chapters, through the templates of creation.
The emptiness of the mundane were first manifested through the shatterings, that which was first conceived in the world as the manifestation of the incarnate Fire. It’s quintessence, is that. That which is indicative of the Divine Realm, of a Divine Breath flowing in the fluidity of being, that which is indescribable to our ignorant selves, pretending to be better than the rest of civilisation. We flatter ourselves in the masquerade, and fall in love.
The first element, thereafter the trinkets, things and events that we decorate the emptiness with, void of purpose and it’s meanings, it’s stories, that which agitates the edge of all edges, pushing, denting, towards a corner in a playground that reflects like a polished mirror being laughed at, hated, jeered, or even stoned — The terrestrial drama is indicative of our states of mind.
Love, only Love breathes, this simplicity … the indication of that which is the Tao of Living.
We are that which is, us meeting in betwixt time, and space, filling the broken chalice in the maelstrom of Life, suprarational ad infinitum. You talk to and of Me as if you know everything of me. You don’t. I won’t allow this disdainfulness, to save you from the fire burning within you, until you truly have the courage to love … for between us, is a love story, the celestial dance of the Sun, and the Moon; the Father and the Mother; the Compassionate and the Merciful, the Ark, and the Sangraal, the First and the Last; the Above, and the Below, the Hidden, and the Apparent. Even in gradations of the vibration, is but an indication, a minute nano pinhead of Love. In betwixt, is where we meet yet most of our reflected perspectives are veiled; busy in profits and the morrows shutting us out of their lifelines.
The child, being the secret that returns, returns to romp in the Playground of Love. This is the indication of the journey, of the much awaited and guided.
In the new world, just outside the windows of the castle, or the cottage if we live there, some as strongholds of families past, others crumbled to dust whilst the one’s or two’s recently refurbished; the continuing civilisation threads through the labyrinth of dreams, the thoughts we create between our selves.
Do we genuinely become? Since we’ve conveniently disregarded what is utmost, we see ourselves separated as skins with colours, minds with virtues, and taxonomy of bionts. And we get woven tighter into that tapestry with the hopes of one day, to have enough courage to dream of freedom, and dwell in empathies.
Do we not own the self that we ourselves veil and eventually become yet escape the responsibilities as accountable entities, noble, yet we proudly call ourselves civilised, educated, and out of sheer arrogance and ignorance, we dance pyrrhically, just before a colonisation, before battles of amentia, proclaiming terrorism, or genocide for the benefit of an ailing civilisation. We bear the garments, we build histories, civilisations to either gloat and impress tantrums, to show the world in our blindness how insipid we are in our carriages, and how elegant when we are but servants in the fields of gold, tending to the crops, mulling like donkeys, braying about how life would be in the morrows all that from a drop of non-thingness that reveals, at the ends of all beginnings, the journey of our lifetimes.
One lifetime, through many eyes, through a thousand million nostrils, through the excruciating pangs of wars and promises of peace all because we were too busy pretending without truly living our embrace. We fight, we separate, we leave oes throughout centuries, these carbon copies of our own psyches, fragmenting the very soul that divorced us from our very essence, of Love.
We blame, we shout and scream, we complaint, and sometimes through some shiatsu, intercession we come through the senses, kneel in repentance, ever grateful for the light, at the end of the illusive reverie. In the chaos we took centre stage, and states we first created unknowingly not because we were empty, but on accounts that that first separation and that first marriage into forms, breath from the finest elements that became the vessel our garments, woven in alchemy within that first glance thrown into the wells, we became husband and wife, man and woman, day and night, rising and setting, inhalation, and exhalation of meeting, and separation.
We realised that to remember … our utterances and our sighs, were memorised, written in tomes, and repeated by many without contemplating the hidden arcana, the alchemy of our garments, the pleasurable senses we favour as sentiments. Everyone we’ve ever met or not, carry our stories and live their’s, in the best effort to make it a dream of realities, a reality of our thoughts unspoken, unwritten.
The Verse is unique. Yet as One, non-dual We Live therein.
We tell each other stories to unravel the pains, the miseries into comfort, that lasts a blink of an eye, a century, a millennium or two, all to keep our hearts company on our journey home. There were never an intention of deception … we were children, the embodiment of every thought of pureness, of innocence in the gardens. Yet we were mistreated, abused, murdered, and bombed upon.