Something about the rain
Always put him in his place
Regardless of time and circumstance
He sat obediently
Schoolboy gripped by spectacle
Steady, silent specks darkening dry dirt
Lifting scents of damp dust
Colouring summer’s tiring leaves
That lay so lightly on the lawn
Chiding him for truanting
Daydreaming, forgetful child
The softest of scoldings for the man
Looking at her in that sunlight
Flecks of amber in her eyes
Hair curled around her ears
Lips mouthing her quiet thoughts
Her face unlocked and parted
And over her golden fields
Ardent seeker for truth you are, perhaps…….but spare a thought for the relentless pilgrimage truth makes, against all odds, to be at your feet at the birth of every moment of your life.
Time to turn back now, my love
End the uncertain story of our friendship
Time to return to solid ground
Look upon each other once more
On the level of being alive, the only actual level, there is no help. No help. No help needed. No help happening. It is a non-function, purely made up, as unnecessary as Life itself. Life has never helped nor does it need help.
You do not need help to see. Take the two of us, you and I, for example. There is no difference between us in the extent to which Life has revealed itself. There is no difference in our levels of knowing, in our levels of living, in our levels of existing, in our levels of seeing.
Everything is equally seen. Note, I am not saying we all see the same things. I am saying we all see, equally. Further, what we see is equal. Face it, we are windows. That’s all we are. Windows.
You know well the fear of pain, but how come you fear not the unexpected blade of pleasure? Are you not equally defenseless to both?
Every single detail of your experience has been authorized, sanctioned by life itself. Your experience, every detail of it, known only by you, has been ordained by life. Yes? Or another way. There is nothing in your experience, nothing amid what is happening, that life has not conspired to present to you. There is nothing that you are not supposed to be viewing.
Look around wherever your standing, sitting or lying. For me, right now, I am in a kitchen, painted off-white, two pictures in front of me on the wall. To the right, there is a bread board, some olives (8 to be exact), some pieces of bread and, I would guess, about 50 variously sized crumbs. It’s hot, the windows are open, there is a dripping sound from the drain pipe that runs down the side of the building. These are the things I’m talking about. Every single happening, every tiny detail, has been pre-approved.
Nothing can happen without the help of life. Nothing can happen outside the scope of life….there are no separated quarters or levels of “unauthorized”, “illicit” life. Of course, it may appear to be a “private, work-in-progress”, but there is really no private and so no progress. Everything is public, open, within one shared field of time and space.
No new. No now. Sorry, but they are just more myths. Yet what has greater lure, greater lustre than the newness of the now, the nowness of the new? And we wake with that same expectation, same excitement. “Today may be the day, and if not, there are so many tomorrows….we’ll surely find the new and it’ll expel every trace of sorrow, every ghost within us.”
But there is no surer way of remaining with the old, than by seeking the new. In hunting the new, the now, we only capture the old. Seeking in all its forms reduces experience, diminishes it, down to a pointless point, totally missing whatever point the moment had in mind for us. It is the same core dynamic that is going on within all seeking. Enlightenment is the natural state already before search. No further enlightenment is possible. The day can’t be made more new. Experience can’t be made more complete.
In the same way that a sail and a rudder combine to create a boat’s forward motion, our cherished experiential targets create a sense of “passage”, of motion, purpose, direction. The act of filtering and distilling the day’s experience gives it a place in a larger, imagined journey. We are left with “a day in my life” instead of “life for a day”.
The concept of “the new” is reinforced by the appearance of days upon days and, as such, we seem to be justified in our hope for a fuller tomorrow. But is there really such thing as “the new”? I don’t think so. Or at least, not in a helpful way; either everything is new or everything is old, so what? What is certain, is that, just like other entrenched spiritual concepts, all “the new” succeeds in doing is guiding our vision and sense of stillness away from what is, whatever what is is, and toward something that isn’t.
Present before comes Past
Fullness before comes Lack
Wonder before comes Trial
End before comes Start