Saturday, August 10, 2013

26

Who writes - of necessity - teaches.

Often in the morning when I look up into the sky it is as if I am seeing my own face.

Between fast-moving clouds, many stars.

Between the bright stars - each comprised of its own yearning - the night.

Mind dissolves darkness.

There are slow bends in the river.

There is a point in the walk at which sees change: at the cellular level, the energetic level.

Habits bind us to the body.

Repetition binds us.

We can go without no one though folly will forever suggest otherwise.

I forget the four directions.

I forget the spiritual lessons.

Mind is a prism through which the world dissolves into streams of light, each one brighter than the last.

Walking I know it, writing I say it.

As soon as one talks, what is is lost.

And yet.

Her letters slow like a brook without rain.

The serious student is not dissuaded.

Yet awakening will bear no unexamined sorrow.

Wordy but happy - at the deeper levels so often unattended - I write and share what I write and you read it and together - this time perhaps - we go home together.

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