The Company of Truth

I seek The Company of Truth.

In this Lifetime, this space,
this Tiny Bubble I occupy.

I have long-known The Company of Truth:
the Color of their Eyes, the Clothing they wear;
the lack of Disguise.

The Company of Truth is the blessing of sharing time
with those who know, those who have walked
the path of Inner Freedom
amidst Outer Struggle;

Those who have crossed the threshold of the Open Heart,
and who celebrate the Beauty of Living
the consciousness of This Silent Glorious Song.

Tree of Life, Company of Truth

This is not trivial;
This is not the Popular Path of Lemmings;
this is not the Calling of Convenience,
the Temple of Day-to-Day Commerce,
the Sacrament of Obligation
to those who pull our Every String …

This is Monumental.
This is the Unconstructed Tower of the Spirit Of You.
This is the Fragile Sprout of your Innermost Core:
seeking maturity to Flower, To Vine, To Tree,
to Seed: to spread Abundance in the Wind,
Dandelion Birds soaring to unspoken Heights.

The Elements of YOU

Unhinged.

The Company Of Truth is a Gift.
From one eye to another.  From heart to heart.
From empty caverns flow the Voices of Full Rivers.

From need, from Necessity,
from the Sincere Longing
to Know Home
to Go Home…
comes the Journey Itself.
The Map.
The Vehicle.
Driver & Destination.

The Company Of Truth
is Truth Itself.
Revealed in the Glorious Form
of Humans …
Being …
Rainbows ….

Rainbow, The Downpour

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Support & Clarity

There are two items on the Human Menu that became important for me today.

Support & Clarity.

The issue of “support” arose, because life is a challenge, period.  No matter who we are.  Everything from the basics of literal survival to the arrangements and intricacies of relationship, business contracts, living spaces, health struggles … and on and on.

In our societies, we are taught the value of “independence” as a strength.  Rely on self only.  Be strong.   Don’t depend or lean on others.  And yet, as human creatures, we are very fragile.  In fact, extremely fragile.   We break easily.  Our apple-carts get upset easily.  Because of this “independence” vein that’s programmed in there, and also because of the way societies are structured, we tend to get isolated easily.   Alone in our own little room, so to speak.

The point is, we need others.  We all need help along the way.   When the illusions we protect ourselves with wear thin, we see and feel and know our own vulnerability.   We need a hand to help us row the boat in the storm; but more than that, we need the voice to ask.  This is the tricky part.  Who wants to appear weak?  Helpless?  Homeless? In dire need?

The beauty of humans helping each other is that so much more can be done.  One plus one truly becomes eleven.  Two pairs of eyes, four pair of hands, a dozen strong legs … this type of spirit can truly build a city.

Clarity has to do with our purpose, our innate reason to be alive.

Most of us think that being alive has to do with fulfilling the fundamental mundane requirements of day-to-day life, being comfortable and happy due to a protective layer of material “padding” around us.   For some of us, this no longer works.

The answer to why we’re here has to be deeper.  It has to be more fundamental – it has to resonate with our “core”, our spirit, our true heart.   It just can’t be tied to the “fluff”, the packaging, the eye-candy, make-up and gimmicks that propel the market-driven world along day after day.

There’s a voice inside of us that longs to be heard; longs to be listened to attentively; longs to have those deep, silent necessities take wing, be expressed by the heart and to the heart.  We need not only to communicate with the deepest pearls inside our own “cave”, but we need also to bring those pearls out into the daylight – to celebrate them, to share them with others, to remind and affirm to our fellow travelers, that there is so much more to life than the mundane; there is so much more to feel, to drink deeply from, to celebrate, to share, to acknowledge.   There is a dance to do that we all wait for, long for, pray for.

This “dance” IS the essential reason, the central purpose of human life.  We know this in our core.  Not because it was part of our educational or parental programming, but because we were born with it, we came into the world with it.

So, how important IS this?  We, the weary travelers who come and go.  We, who know in our guts that we’re just passing through, that we really don’t belong here, that this is really NOT our true home.  How important is it to acknowledge the inner gift, the higher purpose, and to remind each other, so that we’re not lost and lonely in our isolated little rooms of discontent, attempting to “manage” the unmanageable – the meaningless day-to-day trivial pursuits that drain us, frustrate us, and exhaust us …?

Clarity: knowing self, reminding self, reminding others.

Every tiny spark of light helps us all see the way.

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The Art of Eternal Childhood

An email from an old friend. He’s in the throes of raising an 11-year old daughter – amazed by the pure and vital energy of childhood – and asks, “why have we lost this as adults…?”

My answer would be, we haven’t lost this, but we’ve left this. We’ve left this for a set of distractions, protections & consequences that effectively annihilate our chances of returning to the place of innocence, possibility and magic that we knew as children.

As a child, I always knew there was something suspicious, inauthentic and dangerous about the adult character in general. We all know a lot as children, and have access to an amazing range of “emotional intelligence” – intuitive, perceptive and creative capabilities. We sense and live in the spontaneous and ongoing beauty of childhood; we don’t understand or comprehend the “hardening” that has masked and throttled the authority figures around us.

As we grow older, we silently, agreeably adopt and adapt – internalizing all the subtle toxicities and poisons that are handed to us on silver platters: ego, emotional suppression, material obsession, power acquisition & manipulation, playing the proper game and saying the proper words at the proper time – in the proper tone of voice. We learn to obey the Kings of the Adult Architecture: bosses, families, spouses, preachers, pundits and obligations … all at the cost of our own soul.

My own personal journey into Adulthood was interrupted by a “side-trip” into the Land of Self-Knowledge. A side-trip which became the Journey of Life Itself. All the other “main trips” eventually panned out as distractions and misadventures; the subtle and frail voice that pulled me into the heart of Knowing Self, became the most powerful, beautiful, joyful and insightful voice in my being.

Part of the process of Knowing Self seemed to be the reconnection and resurrection of the lost inner child, that – it turns out – is really “me”, after all. The “sweet part” of us, it turns out, is still very much alive, and simply waits like a long lost seed, in the deepest cavern of our hearts, for springtime to return.

But, yes, life presents the challenge of feeling somewhat unique and alone in your “child-craft”; your innocence, beauty and magic seek others to play with – others to share the innate beauty of life with – but, alas, such companions are few and far-between. Most so-called “adults” are busy with the concern of the “adult world” – politics, money, relationship frustrations, sarcasm, jadedness and various mixes of toxic distraction and approved anesthetics.

It does make you value what you do have: access to your own inner song. It makes you value the few companions in life who can indeed share your hearts’ journeys. It makes those moments of play, delight, rainbow-watching, flower-sniffing …. all that much more precious, fragile, fragrant and delicious. And, last but not least: it makes you savor your True Companion, the inner friend you’ve known all along, the one who has been and will be with you every step of the way.

So, the celebration of Eternal Childhood seems to be where it’s at for me.

Sorry, other stuff bores me.

I just don’t have the time be be “grown up” anymore.

The field of life awaits, and it’s brilliant with a million colored flowers.

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The Agreement of Connection

Something about Nature, and the act of Being Out In Nature.   There’s a Cosmic Oxide produced by Running Water, Falling Leaves and Shooting Stars.    This replenishes  lost juices in your solar cortex.

There’s the smell of rotting leaves mixed with October Mist, punctuated by cold, gurgling streams, offset by the distinct possibility of Bears and Cougars in the territory.  There’s the raucous cawing of crows, an occasional eagle soaring high, high, high in Penthouse Douglas Fir Apartment-Land.  There’s egrets with no regrets, herons with no errands – silently sitting and waiting as gaunt lifeless silhouettes, on placid sparkling canals.

They invite you into their own mystique: soaring, calling, waiting, floating, swimming in the invigorating dance of their own True Little Bird-Souls.  Betraying the divine, detached, perfect beauty of their own unique program – performed flawlessly on this majestic stage of Nature’s mantle.

Something about Nature and the Art of Feeling It, Seeing It, Hearing It … as it really is.   There’s something about being inwardly at rest, far from the incessant internal dialogues we’re plagued with – in a place where the Glorious Cool Fingers of Fall can enter us, fondle our 3rd Chakras, spin our eyes counter-clockwise, send our Kundalini spiraling up the Central Pole of Sensory convergence.

We come to Nature – but Nature also comes to us.  So many times, I’ve sat and waited in silence – only to have been approached by insects, cats, ducks, raccoons, moths, butterflies, zebras … they come calling.  They come looking for “connection”.  They come inquiring about the Soul of the Visitor: they say, “how are your Insides feeling today, long-lost & weary friend …?”  They say “who are you?”, without noticing your face,  your wallet, your underarm odor or any of your failures in the world of finance or relationship.  They come for connection, and connection only.

The silent unspoken agreement that we all enter into, upon re-acquainting ourselves with Nature, is this Agreement of Connection.  We notice it, we feel it.  Our skin-of-skins breathes it.  Our heart-of-hearts knows it.  The Deep Silence, the Dreamer, the Lost Soul within us, finds home once again … settles into Knowing the Beauty of the Known, rather than struggling with puzzles and eating the fibrous, uncooked recipes of doubt & desire.

We settle in to the reassuring meditation of What Is, rather than the unsettling mysticism of “what was”, “what might be” or the rancid smells of all the unattended pots we’ve left on back-burners through our myriad lifetimes.

Something about Nature, the act of plunging into cool water, the Sacred Art of  Being Alive.  The beautiful symphonies that broadcast to us on a frequency only we know.  The whispers of Wind in Tall trees that we inhabit, with the Eagles.  With the Silence, the Mystery, the Dancing Clouds.

And that one Agreement we made, before the World of Words became Flesh ….

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The Burning Leaves of Autumn

Yesterday was a gentle walk in the woods.  September days are quiet, soft in their own right, messengers of times to come, days of change.

Sunny days in September are a double blessing: light and warmth without the intensity of August, yet the amazing colors of a turning seasons included, free of charge.

I carry a camera with me on many walks, watching and aware of those moments that hold a portrait, those moments where light, texture and form tell a short story worth acknowledging.  On this particular day, the woods were quiet and deep, shadowy and thoughtful.   Little photogenic content; merely a day for feeling the sweet earth and breathing in that mysterious oxygen.

Autumn Leaf in Temporary Glory

But one leaf caught my attention.   It was a single Maple leaf, bathed in a solitary beam of sunlight, against the shadowy background of evergreens.

Something about this leaf, the change of seasons, made me think about my own life and the changing of my own seasons.   It has occurred to me before, that what we see ‘outside’ in Nature, is often a reflection of our own self, our own life: our beauties, our strife, the wideness of our compassion, the blossoming of our own soul.

When you get past 50 – and you see your own body changing – these things take on new meaning.  We’ve all heard this, and we all know this.  Aging.  No one wants to be reminded of this inconvenient little clause built into the contract of human life.

the Crying and Dying of Summer ...

And it’s struck me before: why do we see such beauty in the aging of Nature, yet we see ugliness in the aging of humans?  We see the Cycles Of Everything – coming and going: seasons, jobs, relationships, homes, children, cars, friends, lovers.  And somewhere inside of us, we cling to our fabricated immortality of these things, and we suffer, we cry, we hurt … when these things change and move on.

There’s something in Nature that Gives.  And, relentlessly, IS.  We, anchored in all our “holdings”, our small-town religions we’ve fabricated, look through our tiny portals – from our unnatural world, into the natural world – and we breath a sigh of relief.  There’s something real out there.  There’s something out there that speaks of Life and Giving and the true Divine Plan of things.

Somehow, we’re all a part of that plan.  No one is exempt.

Why is it, that only later in life you see the inevitability of things?  There’s some measure of sobriety that’s gained from sensing deeply your own mortality – the mortality of life itself – and also the mortality of persons and things that you love, that you surround yourself with.

In the folly of my youth, I was surrounded by the folly of other youth.  I was not mentored by wisdom, by those steeped in self-knowledge, by ones who had seen deeper than the facade of life.  Perhaps this is a thing of the world, and world itself is coming of age.  The world itself is mortal, and this fragility and mortality is being spelled out graphically in front of all our eyes.  It will all go, and it will all change, even if this is enacted over eons of time.

But … our tiny little time?  Our sweet and short encounter with breath on this planet?  Our transparent skin, our falling hair, our disappearing resources, our ticking clock.

One day, our children may be taught to appreciate this – at an early age – from those who “get it”.  From those who see.   Until then, it’s up to us: our own thirst, our own knowing, our own seeing.  Our own understanding.

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Ocean, Sand & Chain.

Who are you, you who are reading this post?

Are you a visitor, a stranger, a dog at the door, a crumb in the kitchen, a flame in the tinder-box forest of Love?

Are you a One-Night Stand, a Toothless Old Lady, a Bottle-Washer from Winnipeg, a Mohawk-Hair Earing Studded Leper of the U2 Colony of Extended Liberation?

Are you really Who You Are?

Chains, Water & Time

Are you AwArE?

of the Hardware that Certifies you as “Human” …?

of the Software that upgrades your Heart to the Silent Flame of Life, dancing in Fragility deep in the Cavern of your Inner Breath?

of the Extended Shelf-Life that you’re Living, defying the Pain of Breathing, the Obstacle of the Ancient Hill-Climb, the Marathon of the Eternally-Dying-Dog, running in the Heat of the Night?

Who are you,  you who are reading this post?

A lost Lizard in a Day-Care Center for Dinosaurs?
A Standing Tribute to all the Gay Singers of the Roaring 40’s?
A Plush Popsicle,  waiting to melt in the mid-day Sun?
A Jehova’s Witness, standing “Naked-For-Jesus” at the Door of Eternal Life?

Does God inhabit your Genitals… or is your “thinking” all above the 49th Parallel?
Are you Decaffeinated, or Simply Relaxed in your own Shoes?

Can you feel Peace in the Tentative Strings of your own Heartbeat?
Can you Hear the Vast River of Angels in the caverns of your “indoor plumbing” …?
Can you slide back the Sun-Roof and eject yourself into the Stratosphere, comfortably, quietly, without activating your Air Bags, your Nagging Housewives, or your Dumb, Eternally-Barking Inner Guard-Dog, who has ruined many Staff Picnics on your own behalf … ?

Chains Dampness Mold Fire

Who are you, who is reading this post?

Yourself a Poster?  A Toaster?  A Hostmaster?  Nutcracker? Sailor-Boy?  Country-Girl?  Breaker of Fish-cakes and purveyor of Manna from the Heavens?  Have you let your little girls and boys out to play?   Where, pray tell, is your playground?

Lost again, forgot the trail of Breadcrumbs.  Forgot the home buried deep in the woods.  Disowned and forsook your own Forest, your own Sacred Trees, your pure and unspoiled rivers.  For the sake of  “Candy”.  Expensive Candy.  No Dentist, no Teeth, no Wisdom, no Food of any worldly kind will ever stop this incessant craving of the heart for that Infinite Candy not known to any scripture.

Who are you, who is reading this post?

Can you truly read, and taste the lines of silver and gold between the stupid Times New Roman, or are you caught up in the dance of words, intellect and pride.  There is no recycling plant that will handle that stuff.  It is yours to sip until you fall drunk into your own mortality.

One tiny Diamond in the Garbage Dump, and the Human Life is made Noble.

And the rest falls gently, as Oceans once again make their Claim …

Water in Hand, Iron on Foot

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