What is this stuff
This substance of conscious experience
To which each intentional breath draws our awareness
And indeed our whole present sense of self
Who am I
But this experience
Now and present echoes, visions of a past
And just as unreal, our visions of a future
Who are you
And am I not alone
Who am I to believe so assuredly in you
That you exist as love and light as I
What is this love
That draws me close
To self and you and all I think and feel and do
This evening I find myself seated crosslegged before incense and candles. Sing violins and I break routine pulling out my laptop passed 9pm. Path 5 now plays and my attention turns gratitude to the christmas lights I’ve hung overhead to impress my girlfriend and impress myself.
But most of all I find myself. I find myself on the edge of each note, each jumping wisp of smoke, each flickering light and the tension in my back. I find myself in the clattering of these keys, my tired knuckles and my ankles against this cold hard floor. I am easily loving presence in this peace.
But what when I am with you? So heavily in the mess, the confusion of man, the human. How small the human. How shallow awareness of your infinite self. Have you not tired of playing the human?
These nights I pass beyond these walls. Beyond these confines of self as you all may know, there is love and God and all that is or ever was. At night, alone, I am the universe.
Have you not tired of delusion? Has your soul yet called your name?
You are all that is and ever was. I mean not a solipsistic or selfish view. We are all that is and ever was. We are it. I mean not “that’s it” or “nothing more”. I mean how grand! Have you not remembered the moments when all was good? Do you not remember the connections of love you have felt? Do you think them gone?
There are no things but the space between. There is nothing to have or to hold. Not your wife. Not your life in your hands. I mean not that life has been chosen for you. I mean not that you have power over your destiny. I mean that life is. We are. It is all. You are it. I mean not that you are alone. If I mean to confuse you it is only to bleed these most precious words unto one another.
We are it. It is Source. That which we share. We are. The eternal now. And the echoes of past experienced there within. And the creative visions of potential morrows. And each other. Most of all each other.
We are not but mirrors. We are it. I am not you but rather we are. We are that stuff meeting itself. We are the eternal moment of conscious experience. We are most in touch when the stories and fantasies quiet. We find the fullness of each other in the truth of now-self experience.
That Self whom we have come to know is of the network. The network is the we and the totality. That which you think and feel and affect is no so separate from myself. In fact, that realm in which we relate and react is so narrow as to be entirely shared. The depths we could go are hardly recognizable by man.
I mean not that you or I are superior. And I expect those most filtered to remain on the judgmental side of deepest freedom. But that chasm cannot be crossed alone. Indeed the very passing is the knowing and loving of our brethren. And indeed there is only the self to relate, to love or hate in our brethren. And the work, the only work of man is to know the love that he is as the relation to totality.
This is my Self, paying worldly price of judgement by the lost or confused, extending my Self to meet the Other of you. Extending my experience in the warm patience of un-needing. Knowing myself as full in now and still recognizing and honoring the joy in this fantasy of exploration with Other. If you feel called, know in this that I am here for you. Know that I await without waiting. I know you already. I am grateful for your coming. You are love.