Life Moves.
So do We.
Constantly.
Outer. Inner. Circles. Storms. Motion, commotion.
Location, place, thing, river, wind, dust. Nothing stays still.
Our mind engages. In all this movement. And man, in his blurry and distorted wisdom, seeks not only to “keep up” with this circus, but to amp it up further, to the point of madness.
Cell phones bleeping and blopping. Car horns. Animated TV commercials playing on taxi hub-caps. The blind leading the blind in a dance of Faster, Further, More, Louder, Longer, Stranger. Television content that says Nothing in ten thousand different ways. We’re a kid in a candy-store of a million choices, all of them bad for our health, all of them promising Immediate Sensory Enlightenment.
So, what does the human seek?
Is it all in the packaging, the wrapping, the ribbon and confetti? Is it all in the way we wink, the sexy dress, the white picket fence, the plastic cards in our back pocket?
We are more than this, and we all know it.
In this lifeless expanse of rationalized lies and deceit that have literally turned the face of the earth from a fragrant green heaven, to a toxic polluted hell, we wander: lost souls pretending. Pretending that our cozy homes, our flimsy careers, our makeshift friends will continue to accompany us on our agitated journey. Pretending that our sacred, “beautified” bodies are indeed immortal; and that 7 million cells are not aging and dying every day. Pretending that we are “full” and “satisfied” after yet another visit to the Store Of A Million Candies.
And we do seek.
The voice inside of us has been ignored.
For how long? How do you measure memory? A lifetime? Eons? How do you measure longing, longing not of the candy-tasting tongue, but longing of the heart: ages? decades? moments in slow motion? How has this voice inside of us been tricked, buried, deluded? The politicians, the ministers, the teachers, the relatives, the friends: all proclaimed “truth”; all proclaimed to know the way. Now they are all dead, dying, sick, stumbling, ranting, lost either in their own squalid comfort zone, or dancing insanely to yet another pundit’s drum.
Where is your drum?
What is your dance?
The dance that only you can truly do… the dance to the wild and beautiful song of your own heart. Who will remind you that this is indeed a possibility? Who will let you know that indeed, this is your own heart’s true and deepest longing? Who will take your hand – your silly, sticky, candy-store encrusted hand – and lead you to the threshold of your deepest buried treasure?
Your own heart.
Silence.
Stillness.
The only safe harbor; the only seat off the turbulent roller-coaster.
There is a sweetness in Stillness that can only be known by Being Still.
When you arrive there, you are truly Home.