What's a Human Made Of?

 

What's a human made of?

A few bones, superficial skin and

This unknown and formidable force

The eyes that can shine

The face that morphs

Into new form when touched

By love

Wide as the sky

Deep as the space

The human is vast

With no beginning or end

How far is the fall

To lay in the lap of truth,

Would you like to jump

Into the heart of it all

And be no more...

Hmmm

I long for him to come, to reach out.

I long to see his penetrating eyes and walk into their depth and keep on walking until there is no separation between me and him. And I can taste his true, innocent, and gentle nature that renders me nonexistent. Like disappearing into a song, like spreading into the immediate space which absorbs me into itself. Like stripping myself of all that has gathered like pounds of invisible dust over lifetimes.

Where is that place of unity and oneness that leaves me borderless and in absolute openness. Where I am more emptiness than matter. More exhalation than waiting in expectation.

And when I finally walk all the way through, I come out transformed into that which I know not of but that feels like finally coming home.

Where are you, my eternal lover?

Red

 

After a decade, I decided to hang those red curtains in the room which I have been using as a temporarily permanent home. It was always used as a place to rest and sleep in until it was time to move onto something better, though that time never seemed to know how to come. Putting up those curtains made the room feel more complete. Like a wall that always wanted to be painted but never was, leaving an unfinished and unkempt feeling. Suddenly, the room settled and spoke of calmness and tranquility on the heels of the realization that, at last, these four walls will, in fact, be a holding place until the much anticipated move to a better land will be made in the not-so-far-away future. Perhaps, within a year.

This knowing that the evacuation will actually happen, brought a sense that I might as well put a little more effort into making this room feel more comfortable and attended to for a brief period of time. The paradox of this feeling hardly escaped my awoken on occasion inner eye. Like the energy of wanting to run no longer had legs sprinting into the future rather directed itself downwards, into the present, determined to stay deeply rooted before being sprung out, as if catapulting from a trampoline, into the carefully created dream, a dream that started to take on physical form.

The red-colored fabric seemed to have matched the red-colored blanket of the same hue, as well as the painted wooden house for the most important resident of the room (on that, later) and complemented the green plants that never asked for water except when the leaves shined and perked up when showered with an occasional drop of the precious liquid and a loving look.

Perhaps, the symphony of colors, now working together as such, played the sounds of freedom and a letting go required to walk away in contentment rather than running away in a displeased hurry. Because being here - a place that once felt like a rest stop or being there - a place of clean beginnings- began to feel the same.

Day

 

The land is wide and varied, as are the people. The agent, of the real estate, with tired eyes and a warm heart was kind. The agent, of the law enforcement, was good-humored and, obviously, bored. These smaller towns don't see sufficient action, I suppose, so the regular folk get pulled over with excuses considered lame at best. His good nature took over and the punishment issued was a warning.

Side bar. The younger lady is clearly improving her position in life, as she is vaping as opposed to smoking like the rest of the family. Progress.

As we turtled via byways and country roads, taking in all the eye-enticing road signs, names, potholes, trucks, and live oaks, the brain on complete overload, we were educated on how life is.

Burn

 

What is a human?

What is being?

We walk like programmed robots

How do I live free from being run by the program?

That is what rebels in high school have been doing unconsciously - trying to escape the program. Resisting being programmed. Without a path to actually do so.

Once Again

 

Love does not live in the same house as control. Fear does. Whenever the need to control arises within, it is time to seek the source of that need.

Love cannot live in the same residence as calculated risk, only fear does. Whenever hesitation is felt, it is time to examine its root.

Many relationships are held together by fear. This creates the feeling of suffocation, restraint, and staleness. When the judgement of the other sets in, it is time to find honesty.

Love knows freedom, careless abandon, forgiveness, compassion, understanding, and limitless expansion. It is hard to maintain amidst the tightness and hurriedness that exists all around. It takes a strong power source, mostly unseen, to fuel the experience dubbed love.

A Path

Wisdom doesn't come with age -

It comes with experience

And experience comes with taking a risk

And that is driven by a need to break out

Out of the current state of being

Out of the comfortable and the familiar

It may require paying one's last cent

Or walking out without a plan

Or crying out in deepest despair

Or falling into utter surrender

Whichever way, risking one's identity is at the center of receiving glimpses of wisdom.

And then... you rest in quiet jubilation

Everyday Angels

He walks without haste, in his own lane, to his own rhythm, not easily pushed off the inner compass which he holds steady, unwavering, undisturbed by the influences from outside.

There is a sense of groundedness about him. His movements are precise and eyes perceive all. A small frame, stretched outward from age and lifestyle, speaks of wisdom, grace, strength, and kindness. The latter asks for time to be witnessed. He is at ease, commanding respect. And yet, when I hug him, I feel a vulnerable boy, an innocence, that might be asking, or longing, for shelter.