Sometimes I am a woman, sometimes a man.
Sometimes I am a woman, sometimes a man. Sometimes I am twilight and sometimes I am dawn. I wear these clothes for you, my friends, so that we might share a moment. Most of the time I, like you, am nobody at all. Just brightness and mystery.
How can I speak to you of the of what the sage is? The spiritual realizer is untouched by time and dwells as the timeless. The sage is unscathed by birth or death, unstained by desire unconcerned with desirelessness, has nothing to do with those supersitions called beings or Buddhas.
The mystery of what the sage is, and ultimately what you are, has three parts. The mind of everyday life dissolves in the mind of vast openness-wisdom and the sage becomes untrammeled freedom. What was once the vagueries of emotion resolves in the luminous horizon of bliss wonder and the sage becomes happiness. The body with all its changes, birthing, deathing, experiences and self concern forgets itself and becomes the expressive turbulence of compassion and love.
These three – a deathless openness, a luminous expanse and the horizon of compassion’s love –are the three bodies of a Buddha. A human being is the congealing of these three in the thickening glue of confusion and delusion – a collapse of openness into closed loop scenarios bracketed by birth and death.
The sage dwells within their own freedom as the essence of mind – the expanse of deathless unutterable opennesses. They want nothing, have nothing, are nothing and this nothingness is the stronghold of their freedom. Their mind is a stainless sky without boundary.
The sage abides in their own great exaltation as the nature of divinity – a luminoius expanse of roiling possibility and the urge of expressiveness. As bliss they are everything. They know themselves as inseparable from the single body of appearance and joy. Their mind is a golden ground beyond measure.
The sage exists within their own happiness as an energetic fluency. An eloquence called appearance. They have neither body nor bodilessness, neither passion or passionlessness and roam about with the fearlessness of a lion. Free from sorrow and from the absence of sorrow, free from being and non-being they slip through the bars of the prison called living and dying
How can I speak to you of the mystery of that which is beyond language, beyond the verb to be, beyond all knowing or ignorance. And yet……. how can I not? For the sage is made up of a song whose notes and syllables are life.