The desire to be extraordinary is a most ordinary thing - born from the ache at the heart of confusion it can never be satisfied. It thrives on grandiose hyperbole and great aims and claims .... glorious human and interstellar destinies built on endless acts of specialness, of special people, doing special things to attain special heights of specialness's spectacular SuperSpecialness.
I am just a farmer who loves dirt and the gentle simplicity of a silent mind and heart that perceives the meaning and value saturated quality of Buddha Nature expressed in day to day living.
Where the ache at the heart of existence resolves then aimless great affection embraces appearance and unborn wisdom mind enjoys the fragile beauty and impossible wonder of living.
A penis that has never become erect is perfectly functional for urination but is missing something of the total meaning of its existence. A happy penis needs to sometimes stand tall and live its bliss!
Spiritual realization that merely talks of no self, the heap of aggregates, emptiness - but is not moved by divine mysterium tremendum is also functional but misses something of the total meaning of wisdom.
Just as a penis hasn’t really known happiness before it waves like a vajra flag in the winds of love so too spiritual realization hasn’t matured truly and fully until the very cells and marrow become alive as the expression of divine love.
A cup made of ice floating on a lake of clear water – that’s what the body is. A bright spark falling back into fire – that is the mind. And this heart? It is the scent of roses in the garden of the Beloved.
Nothing more...... Nothing more.