Simply being
That which allows
For both, ecstasy and sorrow
With a steady breath…
That which upholds dignity
And yet endures disgrace
Without bemoaning the loss of face
And without the haste to change…
That which has known both-
Deep affection and bitter estrangement
And knows that both
Are light and shadow
Co-existing in love’s eternal light.
“That” is not an imposition of will
It’s not an austerity
Nor a firm resolve…
“That” is an all-encompassing
All embracing
Grace.
In the interstices
Of our daily activities
Exists silence.
A just-is-ness
A pause. An emptiness
That is not an end or a limitation
But a dissolution
Of senseless activity…
A soft, but firm reminder
That freedom, potentiality and truth
Lie within the weave
Of thought and action
But are not bound by them.
Fashioning (ourselves)
Is a spiritual action
That understands
The value and potential
Of the states of nothing-ness,
Just-is-ness, being-ness…
And the role they play
In our becoming.
You’re out of sync…
In disharmony with life
When you begin
To see it as ‘yours’.
Your expectations grow
Ambition takes over
Your hopes and prayers
Get oriented towards control…
Life and its circumstances
Must favour you.
Accomplishment becomes your purpose
Love becomes an acquisition
You feel entitled to privilege
And wealth becomes the hub
Around which these revolve.
That which is abundant-
Life- forever giving
Becomes something you perversely
Try to steal for yourself.
When you fail to see the truth
You cling to law, ethics and codes of conduct.
Your education too
Gets appropriated.
It becomes subservient to mediocrity
It remains satisfied in meeting
Systemic objectives.
You graduate in degrees of ignorance
Forever in pursuit
Of the illusory.
Racing through your days
To the finish line.
But then comes a dawn
When accomplishment feels like failure
All acquisitions become soul-destroying
You’re unceremoniously stripped off
Your sense of entitlement.
The notions around which
Your life was anchored
Get swept away
By the currents of time.
Nothing lasts…
Except life.
The tragedy is not death
The tragedy is life not understood.
The system of production
Has become the system
Of work
Of family life
Of education.
We come together to produce…
Produce what?
That which is marketable
Why do we produce it?
Because our worth depends on it.
What if the demand
For what you produce falls?
You are problematised
Counselled, guided, re-arranged
In the system…
So that you may
Learn. Align.
And become
What the system
Wants you to be.
Your passion
Must generate a buzz
Your leadership
Must be led by the system.
Perception is what the system manufactures.
In a controlled world
Where our system-induced lifelessness
Loses the ability to absorb life
We consume experiences.
We confuse excitement for passion.
The system of production
Is designed to give you
What you want.
It cannot profit or sustain itself
By giving you what you need.
What mistakes am I making?
What mistakes have I made?
Is regret even a reasonable emotion?
…When you know that you’re on a journey
If you didn’t take a path
That you could have
Does it matter?
Destinations are just stops
…Milestones that you arrive to
And then move on.
They’re not permanent
…You’re not permanent
Concern is just a desire for permanency.
Let go of the need
To predetermine outcomes
Make better judgments
After you have made the bad ones.
Live life
The way it’s intended to be lived.
The pain of an ending
Is never so much
As when you know it.
And yet the sobs are silent
Muffled as they are
By the gags of normalcy.
Decency ensures
That the lines on your face
Are drawn into a smile…
That pretends to keep you social
While ensuring
That your façade reveals nothing.
You are close, yet far
In continuation
But discontinued.
Remembered
But not needed
Loved, but relegated.
‘Forever’ is no one’s destiny
It can only be our prayer
…Our hope.
And hope- we forget
-Can only convey us…
It makes no promises.
Separate we must.
All beginnings must end
All journeys must traverse a destiny.
Our days are ever-developing patterns
Of activity, of attention
Of thought, of belief
Of hope, of feeling
Of organization, of comfort
Of sustenance, of communication
Of staying connected
And of togetherness.
Humanity is the art
That emerges from
Intelligent Design.
I am most uneasy
With others’ descriptions of me.
I feel limited…constrained…
Flattened to two dimensions;
Defined and imprisoned…
My space to be
Taken away from me.
My gaucheness will now
Become a slip.
Or, take for example, my forgetting things
This will be seen as something uncharacteristic…
-A change of heart?
-A change in the chemical balance of my brain?
-A sign of self-neglect?
Descriptions-
As generous as they are (if they are good),
Diminish your essence
And leave you instead
With a grand idea
That which, can perhaps survive
But never really live.
That which can grip you
But never become as easy
As your breath.
The inability to see oneself
Is the design of freedom.
You’re free to be
The unknowable and the indescribable.
When the minute
Inspires the hour;
And the hour
Builds the day;
And the days
Deliver the week;
And the weeks
Accomplish the month;
And the months
Grow the years;
And the years
Create a lifetime…
You realize-
It’s the little things
That matter.
The New
Is an emergence
An arrival
A change
A release
From the old and the irrelevant
Into the ancient and the eternal.
Wit. Wisdom. Wonder... 