I SPOKE ABOUT WINGS, YOU JUST FLEW

 

From time to time, someone writes that they feel a deep connection with me and are sincerely and even desperately seeking this that I seem to speak about. Sometimes they are ones who have only written me, other times I met them at a retreat or in my past apparent travels.

One man wrote that it was as if we who speak of this lived in another world. But there is only one world, and not even that. Yet the world of separation has become a fable of ghosts and phantoms, held together by beliefs, as dramatic and filled with emotion and seeming turmoil as any fairy tale, and no less nor more real.

Sometimes one who believes in a separate self imagines I can love them and help them find what they think I have. But the love that I know would only break their heart and destroy them, not complete them as they imagine. I do not live in a world they can ever understand, though it is more accurate to say that none live in a world any imagined one can ever comprehend. And there is no way to give this, share this, "awaken" someone (I don't like saying it that way, but...). Some tell me they are devoted to this “quest,” but it's not about a pure heart or intention. Those are only make-believe ideas, as is the very idea of a search or quest or path.

This is mystery (though what is ‘mystery’?), and why and how and even what it is we truly cannot say or know. Why we seem to share this perception is unknown. And we can put it in the most beautiful words, but from the perspective of those living the illusion of the separate self, we have vanished from their world. From here, that world appears a realm of phantoms and ghosts dancing a dance unfathomably beautiful, even if they cannot see it. They move not knowing they are intricately bound to each other, are each other, are us, even as we are no longer what they imagine a person to be.

If I ponder my own emotions about old friends, past lovers, and family, and try to remember the feelings "before," it gets harder and harder to find even echoes of those feelings. For even "before" and "after" are hard to believe in these days. I suppose that is why I mostly tend to communicate with  apparent "others" who seem to reflect the empty mirror of this Miranda thingie’s dreamed existence.

Yet when a particularly beautiful and earnest message appears with a haunting plea for help in finding what already always is, it breaks my heart, and makes me cry and also laugh at the absurdity of ever trying to express what I cannot even describe. 💓