Totally Everything
/St. Catherine of Siena said: all the way to heaven is heaven itself. I am coming into awareness of this, even with these mountains in me; even with wildfire smoke in my lungs.
Did we ever make love? We recognized it; we followed it; yet we were scared of it, too.
The nothing we made is all gone now.
No together and no alone.
Only this.
*
What if this sentence is the first or last real sentence I ever write? Cosmos asks us to enter the still-point, a mirrored pond which regards each thought or movement as totally everything. Stillness says: practice attention and be free. Give up every thing and know what you do not know. In this way, the heart of who I am is lost.
*
Who am I now?
*
Fireflies drift and sink as tiny alms to moonlight. Musk from damp pines lingers in a reminder of place and circumstance. When moments are perfect, attention is called to them, thereby rendering such moments the object of attention. Said more simply, the moments become imperfect when noticed to be perfect. In this way, it seems more honest to allow every moment to be what it is – without label – without perfection.
Whether waiting for life to be perfect or striving to make it so, I blemish the perfection inherent in every moment.
All the way to heaven is heaven itself.