So. Here we are. Sitting upon our lotus-leaf
pondering the paradox
that there is no inner and outer to this experience
of exist-ing.
Not only is the fabric of our being
felted from the Primordial Awareness we can’t
escape,
but every appearance we consider
‘other’
is similarly ex-pressed from that source.
And if there’s no inside/outside,
no this/that
no me/other
it means this:
there’s nowhere to hide
We love to think that our quiet denial
of the pain too unspeakable to countenance,
is safely hidden from view.
Or, and this is more common,
we are no longer aware of it
as it vibrates below the limn
of our consciousness.
Perhaps we stitch together satisfying stories about
our awakened understanding.
(Or the absence thereof.)
Yet in moments of self-honesty we can see:
our scars go before us
laying out the trajectory of our lives.
Every stitch in the tapestry
of our magnificent ‘me’
is displayed across the cosmos.
All is known.
Because there’s nowhere for anything
to hide.
This is exquisite.
It’s a realisation that throws open the possibility
that the wound we have spent a lifetime
avoiding, can become the catalyst
for an unimaginable new View.
How come?
No inside/outside, remember?
No separation, remember?
Only One immeasurable inconceivable Whole is happening.
It’s like an eyeless eye.
It
knows Itself
intimately, lovingly
in all the discarded, denied details
of our every wound,
every misdeed and regret,
every choked-back emotion,
every failure to love…
and still It loves us
nourishes
holds
and
lives us
so
how could we not be safe?
we can come out
we can stand up
we can own up
we can shine
wholly whole and holy
Sorry to shout. But this matters. Evidence of unintegrated primal pain is displayed for all to see across our world at this time. Imagine what the scene would be like if emotionally mature grown-ups were carrying the best interests of humanity forward, rather than beings frozen at the age of three? This is probably as close as I will ever come to making a political statement.
Image copyright Ma Deva Padma, Existence, from the Osho Zen Tarot
echoes from emptiness 