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Monday, September 9, 2013


Strange... My life is flashing before my eyes.

I am the river and I am the boat. I am the illusion of time (now, not now), and space (here, not here).

I keep floating past, floating through the many unrelated moments that arise from my memory, perfect yet impossibly small, made of shakti so still, almost stagnant, concentrated. I am suffocating in the feelings and thoughts that were "then."

The moments on the farm... the constant wind in the tall poplar trees, somehow a much larger dance, one that ever passes me as the songs of unseen birds and the lowing of distant cattle. The cut hay stubble of this fragrant field crunches with each step. Then the swirling flutter, the twinkle of light in the generous leaves of epic cottonwood trees. The sweet water falling as it swirls along the little creek. The "coo coo" of the morning doves float on the dense air, moist with twilight.

I float for a moment, the memory insistent fills me, and in that very distant, smallest spot of illusion, I remember the vision of solid land, and a moment that was. The pain is brief. My freedom is sweet. Each time I flow through, it is all swept away. I am released.

The memories are so far from truth that their perfect measure is the reach of karma. The karma is how far afield... how far to find my way back... I burn the karmas of these wagers, these investments in illusion, so small, (that I must emerge from them light and fresh), that the once is scraped off, leaving only NOW.

The final adventure... I keep my destination within sight. I do not control how or when I will arrive back where I started, only that it is certain.

There will be no side journeys. I am headed straight for home. I await myself there.

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