The universe creates herself only to destroy herself so she can again create herself.
This is what causes some to experience such a great contradiction in viewing life outside the seeming “order” of human “rationality.” Now can black also be white? How can dark also be light? They seem separate but neither exists without the other.
Without evil there can’t be good. Without hate then love doesn’t exist. They are one. Everything is one. To see them as contradictions only divides one against the other, and thus causes conflict, both in the self and in the world around.
To fight against one in an attempt to be victorious over the other simply causes both to become out of balance, because they are one, not separate from each other.
Without ugliness there can’t be beauty. There is beauty in ugliness and ugliness in beauty.
To feel one’s feelings, whatever they might be, without fighting against them or seeking to change them, opens one up to the true sponteneity of nature. To allow yourself to feel hatred, yet not necessarily act upon it, opens one up to experience love.
From what seems to be barren soil can come, from seemingly out of nowehere, a lovely little yellow flower that wasn’t there yesterday but today, upon passing, it stands tall in it’s miniature glory, alone in it’s beauty upon what seems to be an ugly landscape. Only tomorrow to bend over and then fall to the soil to again be absorbed back into it, leaving again an empty, barren landscape.
Once open to the flow of life, without images of how life should be but allowing life to be as it is allows for things to simply pop up in life. It creates a sort of magic to life, where all the things that one might need simply appears while one is simply being in life, living within the present, seemingly unaware of what has been and what may come. A life of nothingness which is the very state that brings forth all creation.
Creation is an act of sponteneity, not a planned or formed act. It simply happens through an open heart and mind that allows for and accepts life as it is, not as they think it should be. Grateful simply for the experience of being of which is all of life.
Life is simply being, an expression of being, an apparition of universal expression as she strokes her brush upon the canvass creating life only to destroy life so that she can again create life. Over and over again is the process, no purpose, no destination, for their is no line to follow, nor linear time to adhere to. Only creation, constant creation of which destruction is one with creation.
Without destruction there would be no creation.