Another Thing Entirely

Dawn leaks from whatever lovely poustinia it had been occupying throughout winter's night. It can be said that this light is meant to fall upon those structures which further our unfolding. Yet at some point, we must surrender to what is beyond us and actually let go of the very containers we needed. Birdsong calls us to expansion: Did you know you are vast and open like the sky? We are another thing entirely.

I remember thinking that his body is his book, but not his story. How else could one transmute eros into the maintenance of agape? There is value in the personal for a time. Balance. A settling of sorts. Whispers of gentleness emerge and flavors of tenderness. Chickadees and daffodil shoots. Melting creeks and dampened bark. In this new-old sway, the cosmos can pour forth in us.

There is a holy, un-created abyss, too vast to know. The only hope we can share is the ecstatic transformation flowing from loving-kindness. Allow the light of love into these concentric circles so that we can play our role in the cosmos – afford balance, build a raft in this unfathomable sea, dance with all the partners.

February fades and accordingly, my heart breaks free from its suburban cadence. What is wild transcends any narrative one tries to tell. Book – story – selfhood – they only feed the hungry essence of the “abler soul.”