There's freshly minted pristine heaven light bursting forth everywhere
as the windless balmy dawn eclipses up all night
stars. It's a clear teal sky tinged with amber cream cloud wisps. Now,
barely winking over the hill, here's the sun. Wrens a-twitter greet the
nothing going on
but this gorgeous sunrise. Nothing at all. And I'm not here.
moments of emptiness. These moments of I'm not here-ness. These
moments of sheer marvelousness. Everything in its place,
is in his heaven and everything's right with the world (as
Robert Browning may have said). Life lives itSelf. This magic feeling:
nothing to do ... nowhere to go ... and there's all the time in the
This is being. This is The Being. This is all. This is
everything. This is You. This is I. And I'm not here.
No one teaches this in school. Absolutely nothing in the society I grew
up in, in the many societies I've lived in, in the two countries I'm a
citizen of, in the five countries I've been a resident of, or in the
dozens of countries around the world I've explored gives permission to
be this all, this everything, this nothing (this I'm not here).
Indeed, after the rapture of it I notice even my imprinting has the
going on about loving my Self. No wonder day to day ecstasy is hard.
We're programmed to reject it in the name of being unselfish
It's not what I figure out, clear up, inquire into, think through, or
even what I create in my speaking, regardless of the value in all that,
which grants access to emptiness and marvelousness. It's where I'm
coming from that's the access to being empty and marvelous. I'm
always coming from where I'm coming from. Always. No
exceptions. Ever. As such nothing but an on a dime U-turn of my gaze is
required to access it.
You're enough. If not, nothing works, no one's satisfied, and there's
troubles a-brewin' everywhere.