mystery

Problems

All my problems seem so solid, only solutions flow. I seem solid, although quantum physics tells me that all matter is made up of mainly empty space. The forces of attraction and repulsion seem solid, as matter is pressed against me or as I press upon some matter’s place.

Existential matters seem heavy as though they weigh unkind upon my mind.

Financial matters seem like actual things that knot together and insist upon a form, upon formal meetings with a choreographed manner of processing what’s due where, to whom, when and what for, in a matter of due diligence, contracted service, work, payment and statements as receipts.

All breath flows, in and out. My blood flows across expansion and contraction, my food digests within a peristalsis of squeeze and release. Everything that is living flows, conversation flows, air, water and electricity flows, love flows.

It doesn’t seem to me, at times that my life is flowing, that it is within necessary boundaries, pressured and purposeful, pumping it’s energy toward a goal; that it’s much fun.

God calls me to return to Love’s flow, in the here and now. Who is the miser of my misery? Not He who makes all, but the he or she who would try make small the beauty of Her face.

I’ve written and written blog entries, social media posts and tweets. It seems a …. long drawn out debt …. man of words, a merely sent invoice for my time’s blood, seeping from a gash of an amateur’s concern for a professional game never really played. It seems that my past life has been nothing but a secret, leaked.

So for now farewell, my android’s metaphoric pen must cap: my leaky way become more light, more robust if I’m to survive, escape and pay down my debt to those who would prefer to see me dead, like them.

Only solutions flow.

“Say Allah then leave them to plunge in vain discourse and trifling” ….

(No just estimate of Allah do they make when they say: “Nothing doth Allah send down to man (by way of revelation)” Say: “Who then sent down the Book which Moses brought? – a light and guidance to man: But ye make it into (separate) sheets for show, while ye conceal much (of its contents): therein were ye taught that which ye knew not – neither ye nor your fathers.” Say: “(Allah) (sent it down)”: Then leave them to plunge in vain discourse and trifling. – Al Qur’an 6:91 (Y. Ali) )

In Love, I am in inconscious love.

These eyes know the vastness of love, for the eyes move together, harnessed to apparent whim that is actually not coincidence, looking for a glimmer of recognition in the two oceans of our mutual reciprocity.

Paradox and Paradise appear, on the grounds that sometimes paragraphs carry more than verses, to be words that are from a common Source, sent here for you to hear.

Prose and poetry combine when words are wires that carry intentional energy from One to the empty battered cells, the batteries of long dishevelled ranks of lovers, on the edge of losing hope.

Conscious, subconscious, supraconscious, unconscious are words become meaningless to describe consciousness Itself, to describe the quantum connectivity that is your only hope of transactionally analysing non random karma.

What word can encompass our initiatives of unity, to unty the knots of deliberate non liberation of our common possibilities, enacted upon the governed masses over centuries of – our leaders’ freedom fighting?

Inconsciousness is the word, a new word to describe the limitless ocean of consciousness in which you swim like a fish in water. Your brain is not a generator of consciousness it is a receptor and a transmitter, like a cloud is a receiver and transmitter of water. The brain is a cloud of being.

Let your brain be blown higher over the mountain ranges of your hardened logic, let the convection current of your heartfelt passion lift you high on the thermal energy of Pure Faith into your own thundercloud, knowing that the yin-yang wings of your necessary duality can arch your hemispheres, together.

Become the lightning filled deluge of your birthrighted possibilities as Love releases you from the padded cell of your orthodox insecurity, to rain down relief finally into the yearning, arid reservoirs of your inner potentialities.

Be in love, be in inconscious love, for Love is the only reason that this Earth exists, consciously, turning in space, waiting in space, inviting an ethereal insurrection by emptying the space in you to say in your resurrecting conscience, “I love you”.

It’s what I did, once done, never to be undone. 🕉️