Touch the Mystery

Campfire essence hangs in predawn air. Cardinals bring daylight's first song, followed by robins and a few warblers I have yet to identify. The world is so ordinary and thin on one hand, and on the other, more grand, more opulent than my human perception deserves.

In the midst of it all, this cage of pain. My embodiment no longer moves without barbed tendrils digging into all the usual places.

From the window a sickness on the the trunk of the great pine is acutely visible. Why am I alone in seeing this? My hand on its bark, the great ancestor whispers.

One can absorb the deeper story, become it. The mystery is touchable, shining through space and time. How shall we act when we consider eternal being? Why don't we rest here in the unification of psychology, spirit and will?

Instead, friction.

Yet like a long summer day settling into starry visions, our elongated actions do find stillness. We are June on the rise and October on the fall. We are Jesus bringing wine to the party and crying out to our father in the throes of torture.

And have you ever noticed how ground becomes sacred and things tend to burn when up on the mountain? Transfiguration leads to spiritual autonomy, and our egoic state of consciousness has no capacity to understand or agree with it.

Allow and relinquish.

Find the place without center.

Let us no longer feel forsaken.