fall up into that bowl of the sky
Eventually we all fall up into that bowl of the sky;
when love overcomes gravity and we
give ourselves up, become like the mist
in the morning.
No human language can express what the Heart longs to speak; mind’s topography of reason, that structuring of is/is not, cannot map the anatomy of wisdom – the functional space of Love. An openness that allows.
Once spring rain fell on a mountain top; trickling rivulets formed, gullies, a creek became brook became a stream flowing…. down….. always tumbling tumbling toward the sea. Its longing love had some unknown destination. Sometimes our lives are like this. Eventually the stream came to the edge of a desert where it could go no further disappearing in the hot sand before yearning love could be consummated.
The sun rose into the sky and whispered to the stream “Give yourself up into me and I will carry you across this dry wasteland toward the Beloved.” The sun’s whisper caused the stream to trembled with fear of the unknown. The sun whispered again “Dissolve into me and I will carry you to your longing.” Apprehension filled the stream but the sight of desert did as well.
Sometimes a mystery speaks to us and reason cowers, scared, protecting its narrow ravine of experience. But longing overcomes, mystery provokes surrender. The heart’s daring blossoms and the spirit bird, caged from birth, crashes through the bars..
The stream falling up as evaporation is carried across as cloud, showers down as rain flows into embrace ….. a mighty river pouring out into the ocean. Meeting the Beloved is like this; falling up into the sky.
It is Love’s submission that became this poetry. Mind undressed by sunlight like the stream. We all fall up into and as annihilation and deification
lighter than air
things become meanings.
The divine was a flash flood – body mind a little creek. I’m sure you can guess the rest.
The rushing of water
can efface even stone.
Relinquish the practice of resistance when you come face to face with the Beloved; Become the clear center of the bead………..nothing; like a rainfall on the ocean’s surface. - t.k.
t.k., tsogyelgar, traktung khepa