Distractions abound. The world clamors for my attention. To lure me, it offers food with no nutrition, information with no knowledge, only empty substance. This place is an energy vampire. I return home to a focus within, sensing my own soul as pilot of this expedition. What say you, Soul? Toward what destination should we plot a course for next? Sail between the sirens with ears plugged, it says. Hold fast to the desires of your own Heart, for here is the wellspring of Truth. Each moment holds infinite possibilities, plot your course wisely.
Hope is the fuel for each moment. My heart tells me to be satisfied in this moment while I seek nutrition and excitement in the next. This is the way of being; feed on what is while craving what is to come. Hunger drives me. For food. For safety. For security. For entertainment and interest. I am a seeker of many sorts.
Yet all that is has already occurred. Today is the day made to watch today. The voice of the One calls to me. He speaks in riddles of silence. I suffer when I wish he’d say more, or that I was different, or that I was somewhere else.
I was raised in craving, by others who constantly sought that the world be different than it is. Then they shamed me for wanting the same. They said obedience was paramount then called me a “policeman” when I tried to enforce the rules. They told me truth and justice were honorable then called me a “tattletale” when I observed infractions around me. They complained about the condition of the world then teased me when I noted greener grass in adjacent pastures, saying I should be happy where I am. I was raised in a schizophrenic household, by leaders with no heads of their own. And I suffered for it. Yet this is the fabric of my existence, the bolts that would become the garment of Me. I am here because of them, was broken because of them, and am healed in spite of them. Recovering from their wounds made me who I am today.
The persistence of being blinds me to what is. The process of being me disguises the energy’s origin. That quiet stillness waits to be noticed while not caring if one does so. Principles of attraction rather than promotion. Advertising would make me no different than the world with its bells and whistles and colorful enticements. Empty calories. There is something far greater, and deeper, and quieter. Yet I only know it because I’ve tasted the sweetness that gives only passing energy while hungering for sustenance that sustains and provides over time. Everything ends except my deepest Soul. From where that resides, all the world rises and falls in chaotic harmonies. There is no purpose to this purpose. This is the act of Creation. It does what it does. I am where I am. Yet I am.
Wait upon the Lord, that one may mount up with wings of eagles. The wind that carries one into flight cannot be coerced, or beckoned, or cajoled. The eyes of God look to and fro for those waiting on its strength with hope and patience. It’s in the stillness that one finds strength, in despair that one finds resilience, in pain that one finds peace. My resistance to what is only deepens the grasp, reinforces the friction. The Tao ever patiently erodes all that prevents its progress, like water flowing over the face of granite. Gravity and time overcome all resistance, patiently carving away anything in its path, the subtle forces of universal energy making their way from mountain to ocean to sky to sea again and again and again. I am crushed in my resistance and uplifted in my surrender. What “is” is both greater than me and me in the same breath. I exhale to yield and inhale to find support. From this action springs life today, tomorrow, and forevermore.
The drive to create is an ever-present flame, the pilot light of hope, ready to ignite whatever passion may arise. This is patient impatience, waiting for a spark and seeking to burn. For what? Creation feels good, and fulfills the soul. It’s what being seeks to do while being. Purpose. Yet all is washed away in the end. Everything is forgotten. So why build? The process is what matters. Outcomes fade into the darkness of eternity past, but the process builds upon itself from one moment to the next. The wave crashes onto the shore only to be replaced by a never-ending sea of energy and possibility. Why try? Because trying is living. Failing and rising again is love, love for what is, love for what will be, love for the creation that behaves this way despite all odds.
Creation in the face of destruction is hope that springs eternal. Though it be crushed a thousand times, the ant rebuilds its hill, never complaining, never sitting idly by in defeat, never giving up doing what an ant simply does. Nature instructs, silently being instead of doing, preaching without words a sermon most profound. I am changed when I observe her steps into the night. The fallen tree, her life expended, becomes home to new life still, and energy for weary travelers still on the path. No life is lost, even when it vanishes into another realm. Where did that life go? That life that created each twisty passage of bark and formed each knot, that flowed differently in seasons wet and dry, merely transformed yet again, off to visit another place and time and passion, flitting about the universe like the energies within my own internal universe do. I am one thing today and will be yet another tomorrow. I change while remaining the same. The process evolves over an unchanging substrate. I am, observing what I become, what I will be, what I have always been.
