I am, she said. She said it softly, as if it were a secret. Her secret. Meant to be kept a secret because it was such a sacred thing.
Well, it is a sacred thing and she knew this in the depth of herself where she said these words for in her world true things were hidden. Two little words. Only two little words and yet something came from them that was so unspeakably vast, so deep, so far-reaching. And so close, that she could no longer exclude herself from life. From herself.
I am, she said, and her world changed as she found the changeless within it.
By the side of the path to my house is a tree that took root overnight. I woke one morning to find it standing in the soft glow of early dawn. I instantly knew it had always been there and in this knowing, I felt distances collapse.
Is knowing more true than sight? Are my eyes slow to see what is already here? Perhaps my eyes sleep while great surges of energies quietly create molecules for time and space to show. What precious invisible impulses bring this world to visibility?
The tree is real for I have climbed it. I sit on its branch and I feel the roughness of bark touch my skin and leave a mark. I breathe its buds of fragrance in Spring and taste its fruit in Summer.
Why did the tree come? Who is this creature of such stillness that shares my world with me? Who is a Tree? I ask this cautiously because I am almost afraid to be answered. I live in a world where deep questions are not asked and true answers not believed in. I’ve come to feel silly myself in asking them. Still, the person I am wonders about a lot of things thought not important. I sense my happiness and my sanity depend on keeping my wonderment alive.
Gathered in my pockets are the questions of all my hopes and dreams. I know that life is not mysterious. The mystery is that I prefer to stand in darkness never reaching in my pockets for the treasure of questions waiting there. The answer comes as a question, after all. I exist to ask wonderful questions about trees and many other things.
To begin anew was what she wanted. She began with one gesture outward, but the real movement had taken place an instant before in her heart. She had been listening to her heart. It was always saying something. It was speaking in her. That was how she knew she was alive and cared for.
She knew all kinds of things as she let herself receive the murmurs that kept flowing from somewhere within her. They were small murmurs, gently felt, not very noticeable. What she noticed most was her desire to hear them. She knew there was something to hear, something to be listening to. She had gotten into the habit of listening outwardly and this had created confusion in her. So now, today, this minute, as she sat down to write she said, I will listen. I will let it come to me this awareness of the thing I am. I need to know who I am for I am not the world.
It was surprising to her to find that there were words at the ready. She felt a slight pain in her wrist and hand as she began, but she knew that many things existed to distract her from the words that come from the Wordlessness that was waiting to tell her all she longed to know. To hear herself was all that mattered at any time, today was as good a time as any other except that it was in fact the best time, being the only one imbued with power.
The now of reality was this tiny moment squeezed in between the noises from a dream that took itself very seriously. Oh yes, she had succumbed to the noise. Falling flat on her face out there was the greatest gift to be given. She knew she had simply stumbled out of her peace. But peace was here. She could feel it. It knew all about her as only It could. How well It knew her. How well It upheld her. How well It conceived of a life for her. Her desire to let out all that It knew of her was the pressure she was constantly feeling. Such great pressure that felt like illness, but it was not. It was health wanting freedom from being cooped up in ignorance and fear.
Don’t think, write. Write to receive what is waiting to be known from the inner room where all things have their beginning.
Don’t think, know. It is in unfurling the sail of the Self, that the wind of Knowing moves the human life to find its wisdom.
Don’t think, trust. Why impose on things that are meant to come spontaneously? There is that which can only become apparent in the moment that is freely open, unplanned, unconcerned about.
Don’t think, have. It is already here. It has been given before Time began. All is present in the present. No searching. No waiting. Given. Known. Done. A new expression enhanced from a truth living in silence waiting to be heard.
Don’t wish, be.
Before I came to Time I spoke a gentle self-accepting language. As a human I still know this language, it lifts me out of conformity thanks to life’s most significant gift to me: I’ve been created unique. My uniqueness is the presence of my eternal self in this world. Enrobed as a human it walks the Earth sowing its bountiful nature for my delight and the delight of the Infinite one I manifest. I card my human life from the lyrical strands of reality’s silence.
This is different than anything thought here. Unhappiness comes from believing I am only the struggling human disconnected from all lasting meaning. By contemplating the mystery in my nature I encounter the Self that lives from Grace. I came into this world with the assurance that nothing other than happiness creates my well-being … but then I learned human thought and found sadness.
This sadness is based on illusion. The trees outside my window may be really made of vibrating energy but they are not an illusion, believing I am incomplete and unworthy is the illusion. The solution is to make my mind quiet and listen to what is really going on beyond the world of acquired words. I exist to be life’s poet by simply expressing my true and humble self. The most wonderful things come from quiet plainness. Having been human a while I have to learn to be this plainness again. It is to the part of me I call a Soul that I turn to to live in the real of me. Bringing this depth to the human life I am living makes it a magical experience. I have confirmed this for myself.
Everyone’s reason for being is to be Life’s Poet. It is the sole expression possible in a benevolent and whole Universe. ◌