The Mystery We Must Live Into

The Mystery We Must Live Into

We are tapped on the shoulder, again and again, until one day, we turn around.

We turn around,  but it’s less directional than that, because in the space of the infinite there is no up, down, right, or wrong.

We are asked just one question every moment, of every day – “How can you be awake to the mystery we must all live into?”

How can you be with each moment, each person, as they are –  completely new? completely now?

How can you thread yourself through the myriad of stories that arise, to the other side of nothing – to truth.

It’s always been there. Beneath the dishes in the sink, beneath tomorrow. It lies hidden, beneath every “to-do” and holds close to every reason why.

This warm and knowing place is the home that unites us beyond race, borders, and beliefs. We are found here, in the place that we’ve never left, but ceaselessly attempt to return.

What if your plan doesn’t work out? What if you don’t become every dream you had when the world was an impossible place of endless possibilities. Life will un-spoil you. If you were lucky enough to come into this world believing the sky to be life, you will die knowing you are dirt. 

We won’t always get our way, no matter how hard we try.  The seat on the airplane won’t recline. The refrigerator, against all reason, will heat the food that needs to be discarded. The last egg, thoughtfully stowed away and saved for a breakfast will slip unceremoniously into the sink drain upon cracking.

But this is not what we are here for. Life will happen. The seasons do not hurry one another into the next, but summer always comes, no matter how brief. And even if the frost comes early and the fruit dies, life will go on, in it’s own way, in it’s own time.  No matter how skilled you become in manifesting a desirable future, there will be traffic and heartbreak and dreams crushed by the reality of what is. 

The beauty, is this job was not meant for you. You have assumed a role you cannot fill, a reality you cannot really articulate. It goes beyond the finite, the mind. And “figuring it all out” is the futile attempt to use a drawing of an ax to cut down a forest – the goal goes beyond the function of the tool itself. The finite cannot comprehend the infinite wholly. The finger is not the moon. 

It’s much more simple. Dear one, you are here to live, each moment as it is. Each breath, you are here with every sense and every emotion – to feel everything. 

Frustration, perhaps, is not over things that don’t go our way, or unmet expectations, but instead, is the distance felt between what we think we want and who we truly know ourselves to be. 

In any moment, each of us, is exactly just as far  as we’ve ever been and ever will be, to what we really long for. The access is now. It’s what is here, in this moment, right in front of us, right under our fingertips. The broken egg, the wasted food, the dirt.

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