A Warm Embrace

I must admit that I look forward to the day when I can finally shed the gloves, stocking hat and the heavy wool blend coat for something lighter, feeling the warm of the sun rather than simply it’s brilliance high above without it’s warmth embracing my skin.

To be released from under these dark clouds which carry moisture to fall upon the ground, though necessary for life, it’s continual presence does dampen the soul, where a taste here and there of the freedom and life of Spring, the trees beginning to leave and the flowers aching to come forth from the ground, once again burried beneath several inches of snow.

I often find it strange how so many people desire to put words into forms upon paper or to fill a blank screen on their computers, so as to express the things that they see and experience, attempting to bring it to life in some elaborate way so as to seem wise, intelligent and to hope that their expressions might be desired by the eyes of others. Oh, how this can bring life to the ego, who is the very destruction of my being. The more it is fed the more it demands. Still, through expression comes something. Maybe simply release and relief.

Watching a movie that is biographical in nature, I wonder if the story is as it was for the person who lived hundreds of years ago. Can I rely on this depiction in order to form an image of their life. As I attempt to allow this image in my mind I find that I can’t believe their life to be as it is being depicted on the screen. So I simply watch the movie as a story with no intent of being true and thus begin to enjoy the movie for the simple merits of the story being expressed, though in the name of a person who once lived within the world many years ago that we now inhabit.

One thing that has been difficult for me to accept, though I understand the truth of it, is that humans really have no idea of their own lives, what they mean and who they are, or even their place in the universe.

All the science comes forth with great “discoveries” based on their observations, declaring them as if they were truth, are nothing more than fictional interpretations, much like the biographical story, that have no true bearing on life except the story that is being told.

Humans are here, much like ants on a stone floating through seemingly empty space, and yet they seem to believe that they understand the nature of the universe. Through theories they form perspectives, such as one great explosion that brought forth all matter and the outward expansion of the universe. While others desire to believe that some thing or being that they named “god” created it all, simply for humans to live within it.

It’s fascinating to think that none of these things are correct. It’s even more fascinating to think that I, just a every other humans, have no idea as to the true origins of the universe, the creation of the Earth nor any other aspect of the observational environment, leaving it to be nothing more than an unsolvable mystery of which we are simply a part of.

To live simply to live. To live not with fear of death nor survival of the body. To not seek to understand what is around but to simply become what is inside, for even what is inside cannot be understood, only expressed.

One can understand the madness that surrounds as the minds of so many seeks to find some sense of physical continuity of their forms. To feel of some importance within the world, feeling that if they can simply change something or make something better than it would make their lives worth living. All the while missing the very point of their existence, to simply express the nature of their hearts upon the canvass of the physical world.

There is no good and evil, right and wrong. It is all simply different tones within the same song. Each playing upon the other, bringing forth melodies of which could never be heard if it weren’t for the other. An eternal dance of seeming contradictions which are actually complimenting each other as they come together, at times in conflict, to bring forth greater expansion of the heart.

White without black would mean that neither exists. Light without dark would mean that neither exists. No depth or perspective to anything. No form or expression. Simply being within the nothingness from where we all came from and will one day return only to again come forth into form, as form is the expression of the nothingness brought forth as life, movement and matter. It both exists and doesn’t exist. It is both illusion and reality.

Just as when one writes a story, which is real within the mind and can become real within the minds of others, still remains an illusion, an expression of imagination, brought forth through words to express something that both exists and doesn’t exist at the same time.

This is what has been so difficult for me to come to fully accept, always feeling that I would be missing something or giving something up that has some sort of value for these things have been given value for me throughout my life and without them, just as the clothing I’ve been taught to wear, I would feel naked. More than naked, it might make me feel empty. Yet, it is from the emptiness, the nothingness, that all things come into form. From no thought comes all thoughts. From no being comes all being. From no form comes all form.

This is concept that I can completely feel within me but still there is this conflict within me. To know that I am not both observer and ego but I am one. I am not dual. I am both my thoughts, the seeming ego or physical self as well as the very heart of who I am. They are not divided nor separted. Just as you and I are no divided nor separated. Nothing is divided nor separated. All is one. One universe that is us all.

Yes, it is difficult to fathom such things while here in this perspective reality where so many continue to believe that they have the ability to control their lives and even the lives of all beings on this Earth, while looking up to the sky at night and dreaming of doing the same as far as they can see.

I look at another and see myself. When this happens it is breathtaking. Yet still I cannot experience it fully or continually. Through this view one could never desire to hurt another for they would only be hurting themselves. But isn’t this true? Each life taken by the hands of another damages not only other but humanity as a whole. It is like looking into a mirror, attacking another so as to attack themselves. Hating others because they hate themselves. Killing others because they desire to die or don’t feel that life is worth living. All is a projection of what is within the form based on how they themselves feel about themselves inside.

I can only wonder what it must feel like for a soldier to kill another in the name of country, especially if they don’t have the desire within them to kill themselves. How painful this must be for them. To take life when they still value life. One cannot value life and then take life at the same time.

This is why humanity, as it seems to be on a downward spiral, is simply expressing their own distaste and pain within themselves as a whole. So many of them don’t believe nor desire what they see happening in the world, much of which is more story that reality, bringing forth the terrible nature that they believe to be more important than the true nature of humanity, which doesn’t bring forth ratings and money to those who portray it. Just like a writer who seeks only to make money will write stories simply to gather the attention of those around, even if it depicts no truth at all. To instill fear in others if that is what will gain them the attention they seek.

It is interesting to see how humanity is being guided by what seems to be nothing more than ego. Never satisfied, never satiated. A seemingly separate entity that they strangely don’t desire to live as yet while they continue to depict this expression upon the canvass of the physical.

So, as I said before, the writing of words doesn’t make the writer more intelligent, wise or of any great esteem. Nor does it offer any intelligence or wisdom to the minds others who, as they read the words, shouldn’t give them any esteem greater than their own. It is merely an expression. A release and relief. A dance or song of sorts, danced or sung with those who might find and read the words, while sharing with them a warm, loving embrace.