The Courage of a Human

I do not come from here, I visit. She is the girl I am in this world. I know her well. I see her courage to please me, to be the best girl in the world she can be so that I can give my attention to this dream I am having. I chose her well this girl who was once a little child learning to be a little child, making her way through rooms of space and thoughts. She found herself in boxes. Boxes everywhere, but the biggest box, which was such a tight little box, was herself. In a body that now contained her and did not allow her to move as she knew she could move, should move, and even now wanted to move. Why had it all stopped?

Many things were stalled, becoming stagnant. Her mind once untroubled with pins and needles of obedience, lost its freedom. Each thought, each instant was examined to understand if she was doing it right. Getting it right. The Now had become something to answer to, not something to fully expand into with open arms and confident joy. Was she meant to find a treasure in all this immobility?

I am grateful for her courage. So much growth is happening for me from her daring. I truly love my human self.

The Truth About Falling Leaves

Golden leaves are falling from the tree outside my window. Bright golden leaves that flutter to the ground to reveal Beauty. Most people walk over them or discard them as a nuisance. Still, now and then, a hopeful heart will reach down and pick one up and slip it into the pages of her book. Tender parts of life live in a few such pages.

My thoughts, too, are like golden leaves flowing from my mind to the movement of the world before me, bringing heartfelt traces of the meaningful lace of my truest self. All about this place is a golden pattern dressing our world in love and beauty able to be seen in all faces and certain books. It waits patiently to be acknowledged. Nothing else matters, really.

The Hidden Truth About Talent

I once was a commercial artist. I trained myself to use my talent to serve other people. I was smart, I made a living. I was hurt, I lost myself.

One day, in my hurt, my talent told me this:

The art you express is the inner world you tell yourself about. The art you make wants to come to you, it is meant to flow freely through you. You insult it by asking it to please anyone else. It is your own sweet life innocently moving from within you, presenting itself for your joy and delight. “See? I am come to you,” it says. “I am not come to be judged, approved of, critiqued, or denied by another in a world asleep. I am a simple act, a simple movement, a warm loving breath, yours to yourself. I am aliveness, expression, happiness in being. Let me out, trust yourself to let me come and show you who you are. I am not dependent on other people, not created for other people, I am your presence in utter simplicity. Do you see? I am an act of love. Love me. When you give to yourself you serve the world.”

More than a Ceiling and Walls

I work in a warm friendly room with windows that show only trees. My workspace has a comfortable clutter; it contains paints and brushes, desks and chairs, framed art along the walls, and my creativity. Over the years, it has embraced my many moods as it welcomes me with unconditional assurance each morning.

Remarkably steadfast, it does all this in silence, patiently receptive to whatever I will bring today. Sometimes I feel vastly unable to create, I am stuck, lost, in deepest despair. But the room doesn’t change, it remains warm and friendly, it is the world-silencing constancy within a ceiling and walls that allow me to hear what my Soul is trying to say.

As a human, I externalize myself. A room is a deeply spiritual thing. It is an answer from the within of things as I walk a seemingly outside world. I believe in my friendship with my room, I am surrounded by its living consciousness that is real and supportive of my subtle nature. I do not have a scientistic mentality, my room is not just a room, it is how I nest in time and space. It is my sacred creation. It keeps me sane by allowing me a space that is sane itself. In a way, my room is wiser than I am with all my tortured human doubts. My room has been produced by the part of me that doesn’t waver from the centeredness of being. I see my room for what it really is.

Don’t Leave Home

It is Autumn now though the leaves haven’t begun to turn. The seasons have changed, we are saying. But were they the real seasons before and now they are not the real ones? It is important to understand this for I make things be a certain way and then despair of their changing. Has something been lost? Was it the better way before?

Is change a loss of something or is it the receiving of something unknown and unexpected? Something that brings wisdom? Why not be fluid about such things? I watch my peace of mind disturb itself over something merely different. Why not embrace the stability of my being and have all that revolves around me be only curiously interesting as I nest in warmth and consistency within my invisible wholeness? Am I not enough? Am I not Home in a place of awareness, in a conscious knowing feeling awareness?

Because what I am, is awareness. Nothing other. But alas, I make my inner dialogue about the world I live in, which serves no creative purpose for it heightens a shallow presence and obliterates my view of the depth of myself. So much empty thinking has obliterated me from myself and myself is where peace and power live. Thought is loaded with feeling and the feelingness I’m capable of is sweet, reverent, graceful, pure, and … simple.

Simplicity is a word I use these days in order to complain about the lack of it in the too complex world I live in. How does that complaining serve me when all the while I could be looking to myself and find there the plain and simple directness I need. Honestly, what a silly one I am.