Hidden Meaning

Large colorful ribbons crisscross the sky above me. They hold layers of understanding I cannot quite describe. But I live in a place where description is demanded of me because, here, perception is a thing blind to inner knowing. What is to be shared must be said aloud.

When I write, I do not worry about being blind to reality. I ask myself questions that burst with answers before the asking is completed. I live a Deep Mystery from an inner self that is not mysterious. It is in allowing for mystery that my soul is at peace and fulfilled because I trust what is invisible. I watch as my neighbor forages endlessly in the bowels of the earth for the wisdom I find instantly in the unseen. In looking to the hidden, I uncover a bountiful Basket of subtle provisions brought to my door of awareness. It has appeared unsought by me for it is unnecessary to seek what is already here. Life is ever present, and I know it.

I have another kind of cherished basket, too. One lovingly woven of reed and grass. I feel its love as it becomes filled with the fruit and bread of this world, the goodnesses that nourish me in a seemingly different way. It is interesting that this simple woven thing has been made by handshands belonging to quiet people who say little but leave deep meaning in their weaving. As you see, my outer world is as comforting to me as is my inner world of Soul. The one Love inhabits both.

I am reverent of the gifts that effortlessly enter my human world each day. I find useful creations brought forth by people whose names I will never know―people who represent the fulfilled expression of the infinite source of all. It’s true that in some parts of my day appear others clamoring for me to know their name by giving me not much more than their own brand of noise, but I never look there long because I know myself to be whole. What I hear in them is my own passing self-doubts. I live in a reality that always speaks to me truthfully of my own consciousness.

And so as I reduce to words this wonderful truth of my life, I go forward in my day knowing there is within me a deeper world, a sweeter truth, that makes the merely symbolic, rich with meaning.

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What Is Home?

Reality is the Illuminated River that flows invisibly from my own being. Only my heart can express it and I bask in joy when I flow with it. In this giving of self I find all that I require; I show all that is true.

Nevertheless, I’ve been known to stall at imagined crossroads unable to believe in this Goodness of which I am made. I become lost in my outer attentiveness. Am I really alone in a space made from separation? Have I really lost my internal grace?

There are many threads of feelings that move me from myself. They are absorbing in their certainty. I am no longer mistress of my own wanting as I part from myself willingly to engage with a world that is merely an enthrallment of my mind. I wonder why I go there for I am not happy doing so. It is odd to not be in good company with myself. It is as if I have come to be the owned thing of a life that possesses me and not a life I possess. This causes my unhappiness.

Surprisingly, my unhappiness is a great and wonderful gift. I have learned to look to it for guidance. It is its feeling-tone of discontentment that reminds me to look for the well-being I am. I merely dream a separated world. Insubstantial is the world I react to for I am made of the unending Light That Is. When I defy deception, my innerness shows forth the Stillness that is my home and my self.

My home is made of the Stars of True Knowledge sparkling in a sky of infinite magnitude. My home is shown forth by the Song I sing. My home is Life―silent, invisible, and indivisible. My home is what I never leave, even as I dream.

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Have You Glimpsed The Secret That Is Daylight?

I AM the expression of the Infinite.

Yet while I believe myself to be human, I perceive externally what is within me: I think I see a faraway sun in a faraway sky illuminate my world. I wish upon a star that glitters in a deep darkness as I stand in a walled room by a hearth whose dancing firelight is what I use for warmth and reassurance. And as the seasons unfold the harvest of the seeds I sow, I find my nourishment.

I live with symbols now. I, too, have become a symbol as I stand on two little feet. So when I want to tell myself the truth of my being, I need to use words to find my higher feeling Self. The invisible of me is now the sensual in this amazing enthrallment. Reality has become an outer world filled with forms and functions and I have had to acquire patience and an ability to wait, for I believe now in a thing called … time.

How odd. But still I am happy for I know that what is true has never left me, it merely appears in disguises. There are many good and kind disguises within this temporal masquerade which, nevertheless, is made from the essence of what is real and everlasting. Love, its higher name, is the One Face within all the faces I see about me.

Yet, I keep asking myself: Why do I dream this dream of pretending to be only human? Though I willingly engaged with it knowing its peculiar ways, I am puzzled by a world that dons disguises and makes me wear one too. What draws me to such a place? What in me has the ability to forget what is true?

And so, I write. I borrow from the world of words to find answers meaningful to me; I write to hear myself. I once knew that I contained answers. So I write to hear something other than the world’s “wisdom.”

I write to take myself to deeper knowing and have it bring me true perception. When I am being the human on two legs and full of conviction of what is not true, my world is not a meaningful one. When I write and listen carefully, I begin to see what a sun in a sky really signifies. When I write and listen carefully, I hear peace ringing through the world events that a moment ago chilled my heart.

This being the case, how much of the outer world is it my “duty” to give attention to? Who does it serve to be so focused there? Why should I make my life what has been brought forth by a perception unconscious and unwise? Am I not Imagination, an empowered co-creator of Worlds; isn’t that my function? I possess depth of being. I possess wholeness. Am I not the means of the Infinite Source to reveal, to express Love and Goodness?

And do I not have sure knowledge of all this that I am? I must think plainly while in this human drama. I must consciously choose to acknowledge the Light that dissolves the darkness. I must express what is true and make it my only reality.

Simply, I must know who I am and keep telling myself. It is for this I came, for the darkness waits for the dawn of truth to break the spell it is under. It is only illusion that fools me into thinking the infinite Light is a ball of fire I see far away.

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The Trees and I

I am meant to see Serenity. Too focused on the outer form of things, I plant myself in a body and think the trees, too, are mute from rootedness―I no longer hear and see a truthful life. In this manner I perceive a presence in my world of things foreign to me and unwanted. In this manner I forget I am a giving, an expression of the Life unseen. My early years were spent becoming human. What a bad habit of thought that brought. And yet, there are quiet moments when there appears a happy tune within me. On days of rest, a Timelessness peeks through the illusion of past and future and I am lifted from my disharmony:

I want to be heard, Timelessness says in that subtle way it has. Let Me be the truth you know. In knowing nothing of time, eternity will show itself all around you, transporting you and all who join with you to the viewing of a very uncomplicated life.

Soft as a whisper and playful with its touch of sun and moonbeams, solace is the haven kept safely within you while you tramp a world to seek what is missing. To rely on your inner life, where goodness originates, is to fill your outer world with treasures that show completeness. Where quietude is found, you find yourself. You are more than a fleeting idea doomed to disappear one day. You, who know better, have come to lose sight of what lasts and reveals the immense varieties of experience available to You and your beloved Timeless Trees.

Desire no more wisdom than this. This knowledge brings a sufficiency of aliveness to fill infinity. Intimate is the Source that animates all things. Humble is the majesty of being. Not as the world perceives, is Reality.

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Two Worlds, One Love

Secretly, I empower myself from an invisible-feeling world―the one that appears to have been replaced by objectified imaginings filling an empty space.

I’ve come to see a world of solid matter even though I have remained within the reality of the I Am. There are Seeds for living embedded in rivulets of knowledge that course through my Body that is not the body I see from the ordinary day’s perspective. Within me abides an Oasis that holds continents of possibilities―lands filled with the Beauty found only in the quietest contemplation.

These unearthly Wonders emit sounds that can be discerned only when one listens with luminous faith: Out of nothing is the something made, is heard there. Out of serene wakefulness is the true reality created. And yet while dreaming of matter, I hold pens and brushes and paints and inks for forming thoughts that can be given and shared. Illusion can be delightful and … innocent.

Nevertheless, I find a consistently better world when I have gone within the great silence and stayed awhile drinking deeply of the stillness I find there. In this peaceful place, my heart and I are told that all is well and never can be otherwise. The stillness is freedom, a place so joyful that it cannot be talked about but merely basked in and treasured as a sure place of refuge from that dream of illusion―no matter how lovely it can be at times.

Need there be refuge since there is none but Life’s own goodness? Refuge only, from my own thoughts and attitudes that take me away from the infinite Self at play.

I am choosing to remember who I am in this dream with its odd thoughts and attitudes embodying me. One day, I will again perceive the single reality as one world. Until then I will be patient with myself. After all, I’m the one dreaming the misperception, even in my innocence. I need to love myself to know what is real. Only self-doubts show me a world in pain.

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