Carding the Strands of the Self

I am using words to find myself.

I think I need symbols. What I need, is to know what I am. I am one who feels in a Universe that responds in kind. I am made of the infinite everything to be a playful creator within the never-ending Life.

Now in a world of words and religions that do nothing but allude, immediacy eludes me. Eternity is already here, why would I want to believe it isn’t? Why do I need to put away my nature and assume a self I am not? I don’t understand any of this.

This world is filled with the sounds of a thing bereft of peace. I am walking with crutches when once I glided beneath the Moon’s silken gaze. Though it is only a dream I journey in, I am on Earth to collect the spiritual treasure of expanded awareness. It is with such irony that limitation turns out to be my Teacher, its contrasts and contradictions have fooled me much of the way. I thought I was to take it all at face value and succumb to the game that overlooks my supportive perpetual motion on a Sea of Answers to which I bring all my questions. Defiance has come late to my yielding heart.

I possess a rich curious mind. I like that about me. I’ve kept wondering, asking, feeling. My human journey has brought a reach of wisdom painfully wrested from resistant shadows where true meaning was eventually found. My book of days has been written with agreements not from, nor for, my own soul. Strung on a mental loop of misinformed perception, natural serenity became lost to my pellucid mind coarsened to believe in the illusion of untruths.

So I use incomplete words now to tell myself what is real. Considering who we really are and despite how much we do not perceive of our glorious aliveness, I know that life on Earth can be a magical experience. I have witnessed this in my authentic moments. Unhappiness is caused by believing what is not true.

The silent standing trees outside my window may be vibration come to form only when I look at them, but they are real: they know themselves, as I know my self. Pure, I exist without mental concepts and external precepts. My life is the instrument for the revelation of something more than myself that lives in exquisite ever-becoming. My personhood is sacred. I am conceived in each new moment by my transcendent Self, whose poetry of expression comes from Joy.

My single reason for being is to be Life’s Poet. It is the only purpose possible in a benevolent and whole Universe. Anything else, is a lie.

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