We are all journeying through the night with plans, breathing in and out this mysterious life. And, the more we can learn to pay attention to others, and truly see them as “real,” just like us, the more we can allow the “tender gravity of kindness” to naturally awaken and bloom……Tara
how do we call ourselves out as more than what we see? more than our small senses stifle us into believing? more than the smallness we see in others? and then how do we realize the sacredness in each of us? maybe absolutely all of it is sacred…..
We must awaken to our natural state: who we really are. First we have to see that our normal state of egoic consciousness is a state where we tend to struggle. But you can’t just tell somebody to stop struggling. We must next understand why it is that we struggle, why it is that we fight against what is. The reason that we struggle to maintain the egoic state is because it allows us to live our lives as if we are in control and separate from the world around us. It’s the struggle of trying to be who we wish we were. Even if your ego is struggling, even if you’re trying to figure this out and “do it right,” if you really look, you might just see that struggle is happening within a greater context of peace, within an inner stillness. But if you try to make stillness happen, you’ll miss it. The process is therefore one of recognition…..Adyashanti
Blessed be the long, slow slide into desire. The swift plunging wound to the heart. The bleeding out onto the kitchen floor.
Blessed be the fierce of want and the howl of despair and the swan dive of surrender.
Blessed be the indignation of right and the never more naked of wrong.
Blessed be your strong smooth body and your roadmap of scars and brittle bones that give way under the weight of lives unlived.
Blessed be the unmet passion, the relentless boredom, the absolute certainty of regret.
Blessed be the restless seeker. The relentless urgency. The unanswered call.
Blessed be the giving up. The hope unraveled. The void at the end. The clenched fists and the desperate grasping and the way it all slides away when the time comes.
Blessed be your slaughtered dreams and your cynical projection. Blessed be your fire of initiation and your ritual of comfort. Blessed be your secret shame. Blessed be your whispered confession. Blessed be your primal roar.
Blessed be the rejection. The hollowed out, disregarded heart. Blessed be the end of the rope, the absence of expectation, the way it all gives way eventually.
Blessed be our free fall into destiny. Our slow burn. Our consuming fire. Blessed be the breaking and becoming. Blessed be the ugly. Blessed be the sweet sin. Blessed be the rage. Blessed be the grace.
Blessed be. Blessed be. Blessed be.
In the end, all words are just another way to say Amen.