Wednesday, August 28, 2013

Protect Us From

Protect us from a foggy view! 
Medicine wheel remind us how we'll go through
While we're here on solid land, 
Let's grab a thread from every side from every side
Cause it takes each color we each hold 
To make that wheel that we'll design that we'll design
To make that wheel that we'll design that we'll design

- Lia Ices, "Medicine Wheel"

* * *

My eyes are weary. They burn in the mornings as I write. I have worn glasses for almost 30 years to correct for astigmatism, far-sightedness and a lazy-eyed crossing. My eyes play tricks on me - seeing mirages, missing the obvious, watching heat shimmer, blinded by snow - completely gullible and prone to misreading the signs. My eyes suck.

Yet, I still see and that is something.
That is something.

In a mystery too profound to describe, light enters my body, waves and particles crashing into the rods and cones studding the back of my eyes, flooding them, overwhelming them with that part of the spectrum we can manage, and so I see.

Oh, protect us from a foggy view!

* * *

What do we know? This, too, is simply that part of the spectrum we can manage. There are depths and furthest edges we cannot conceive of, let alone know. Yet, we still try, no? There are 12 steps and courses in miracles and yogis and gurus and hustlers and con men all selling a stripe of snake oil promising access to the secret and all you've done is given them access to your wallet, your fears, your fervent hope. Monks and mystics go their solitary way trying, by force of will and submission, to touch their god and it is all fogged up.

The problem is this: by presuming there is a separation between yourself and life, between yourself and your Self, between your body and your soul, between the universe and you, between the God you pray to and the prayers you send then there is a separation and that presumption sets you off on a road that brings you the results you are living. The first step is wrong and so every step is wrong thereafter. The toils and snares of the journey are simply reminders we're looking at it through the fog of our pride, hubris, false humility, fear and anger.

Oh, protect us from a foggy view!

Each time you hit a wall, each time you fall, each time you get stuck and fucked and going nowhere, this this this this this is the pulse of the life inside you (which is the correlate of the life surrounding you) calling you out of the miasma of your dolor and giving you a chance to see it and say it so someone else can see it.

We're here on solid land for just a while, just a little while. It is not a punishment, but an adventure, a gift, a chance to have the experience of having experiences, the chance to see and having seen know there is no out there out there, but it is you, held in you, released by you, part and whole the same. It sounds like a load of crap, mumbo-jumbo, an endless circling of the airport, but listen, does water have a form? None. Not a bit except for the bank of the river, the edge of a shore, the glass in your hand. You are the shore. You define the course of your life by the things you think, say and do, by the things you believe. If you believe God is other than you, outside of you, beyond you, then you spend your days yearning, unrequited, always in the gap. If you believe God pulses in your veins then you experience quite a different life.

The fucked life is the life in the gap.

Do you see it?

* * *

We know forever never ends. It never ends because it is always happening right now. This is it. This is your moment, your endless, eternal moment to live the life in your veins, in your brain, in your belly, in your gut. You get to color it as you will. The life you live is yours to design as you will. Never listen to or believe any hustler with a holy book, or a holy grail or a holy guacamole. You got this. You know it already. It is in you, the gift of stars and atoms, of the light that enters your body. If you can get here, if you can get past all the various versions of "Thou Shalt" and instead live from the essential fact that you belong here, now, and have something to give, to do, to experience other than feel disconnected, then its like a thousand person chorus singing right behind you.

Get here and you are no longer the shore, but the stream itself.

* * *

Oh, protect us from a foggy view!

* * *

Boom, my best beloveds. Boom.


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