The Everything Shimmer

Sometimes it is hard to know where to start, which path to follow, what to unravel. It is all alive of course. All of it. All of this. How could it be otherwise? Everything rising from the great silence, the living dark, the perfectly breathing and luminous love. Part of the wave of life just as I am. This jumble of ideas and loves and feelings. This unique and peculiar glass (Mr. Benny Bushill esq.) that colours the light of the one sun in ways that only this heart and the stars know (and they hold their secrets close to their ancient, sparkly chests..).

Stones sigh and eons break upon their patient skin. The trees glow with silence. The whole forest dreams and breathes and whispers stories. Even the candlestick lives. Even the walls and the blanket on my shoulders. Same thread, one piece of art. One dream. One creation. How did I, how do I ever believe the ever-so scary hairy fairy-tale of separation? It makes no sense at all. None whatsoever. Please don’t get me wrong, this is not meant to smooth over all the wild waves and creepy crevices of life with some amazing cure all ‘it’s all one’ magical bullshit balm (cures all known traumas! Removes unsightly warts and unpleasant feelings!). The aliveness of everything will not make things less real. Grief less subtle and bone achy, resentment less insidious and polluting. It will not make butterflies speak or sparkly stars fly out of our arses. It may cause a deep quiet smile. It may ask your feet to tread with a little more presence as you walk the strange road from yourself, through yourself and to yourself. It is all holy ground after all. The presence in the altar or the presence in the leaves giving their lives on the earth. As so many have said before, there is no where to go, no when to go to. The map with the red arrow says you are here and the fucking X marks the spot is right under your feet, in your feet and it’s what your feet are made of. Presence cannot be escaped it is the prison and the tunnel, the wall and the open free field of grass beyond. You are life and life is you. That’s the ‘not so damn elusive as I imagined experience’ that I swooned over in books and that lured me from the lips of masters. The being. The being here. The being now. The wave of life that contains and is contained by my wonderful, naïve, foolish beautiful thoughts and feelings. The great wow that arises in the effervescent silence when the ears finally listen. The great ‘oh my god’ that is hidden in plain sight in the cacophony of voices from the inside and the outside and the upside and the downside. Incarnation, existence, being. Not an abstraction of it but the raw, delicious, painful, strange throb of it. The beat and the silence between. The flower and the fragrance. The everything shimmer. As a good friend has told me again and again – don’t mistake the cup for the wine. There’s an infinite number of cups. Same wine. And that shit is vintage baby, vintage. All those drunken Sufis where hitting the good stuff. Raise a glass with me and lets get well and truly hammered.