It is thundering outside, but there is a calm in here. There is a well inside that is full and brimming asking to be spent, but with ease. Silence circles around. I can hear the sound of beingness….like an eagle flying along a mountainside to nest in some far off tree.
Yet, still sometimes a storm rises like an unruly child and traces its way backwards to a spot uncared for in knowingness. It is the medusa’s head with snakes unfurling in a thousand worlds within a single life–each world’s core in a central beingness that took an excursion somewhere to the great unknown.
How to move from knowingness? How to do it everywhere? How not to make a journey from disconnectedness, but with congruency? Isn’t that always the question? God seems such a far away thing to me. It is like the unfathomable journey to another universe, but a life met with a thousand petaled syncronicities is something one can attune to and unearth its splendidness.
I sit here and the sweat is dripping down my forehead and pools around my neck. I know that it is supposed to be a sign of discomfort, my apartment is too hot or the air conditioner needs to be turned on, but it is just sweat and nothing more. The train goes by, louder then usual. I listen to its sound. I let it stop me with no resistance and it goes by on track and so am I.
There is something indelible in my life. Quarantined and off limits from disturbance that penetrates all trauma. It is not speakable in words. There is no language for it and yet the keys tap tap tap out words intertwining with the unspeakable like a wave particle on a field of nothingness where there is everything. A nothingness that quenches one’s thirst and leaves one full and without longing.
This thunderstorm out there is like the world that surrounds me, but it does not have to be a reflection of myself. It can be there. I do not need to be a part of it. How far reaching is this life of mine, if a butterfly flapping its wings in China affects the weather here? To think in such a way already alters the course like the physicist in his chamber watching the waves disturbed by the movement of his beard.