It’s all around me. I pray it’s the light of a coming peace. I welcome its emerald gleam over the looming haze.
I’m so exhausted from my willful creation, from my beast shaping its hands into the lethal symbols of a pale dismissal.
I’m weary of honing my mind with the same stone, with the same indifference as the tyrant.
I don’t consider myself any better than the worst oppressor, I cannot rise further than their love is or was capable of rising and I can’t sink lower than they've the ability to send their love tumbling away from creation. We are one in the same, equal partners.
How my love flows, fast, slow, mighty, meek, idle or dead, is up to me and me alone.
The air feels as if it’s speaking to me, if I’ll but heed its steady rhythm infused in the sky, the water, the rock, the air, the heart, the spirit.
Listen to The Mother’s heartbeat, she breathes, she writhes beneath my animal’s rhythm, above my belief, within my flawed self, everywhere and always.
Spirit, soul, atman, essence of self, consciousness, anima, psyche, aliveness, God, The Kind, creation, Love, whatever I choose to call it, the fact remains that I believe it is a part of all living things.
I don’t know... It may have been me that planted the notion of soul into my being... or, it may be a function of creation, a rhythm that’s innate to life. I don’t know, but I believe it exists in everything, not just an exclusive club intended for humankind.
It would be a great absurdity if the spirit belonged only to humankind, however, it would go a long way toward explaining our self-indulgent need to imagine ourselves proprietor of the world.
What would be the problem with me worshipping the water, a requirement, not only for humankind to subsist, but a necessity for all life on earth to remain eternal?
How about regarding seaweed and the tree, the wind and the sun, rain and the sea, as Love?
What of the river, the soil, the stars, the mountains, all of life? Let me worship these without acquaintance if I am to imagine Love. Let me give praise to these, for I’m a byproduct of the original seed, whatever it, he, or she may be. I’ll be in belief and still be able to begin my duty of stewardship toward the one thing I can possibly know in the flesh.
Let me not worship humankind’s invented knowledge, for that is a dangerous proposal that hasn’t the legs to carry Love, it’s too weak.
Belief, or what I've imagined, cannot be something knowable, therefore my belief isn’t knowledge, it is the essence of my spirit and can, if allowed, become its destruction.
I believe I’ll choose to worship creation as best I can. I’ll choose to evolve in my belief. I’ll not be so prideful as to bring my belief’s growth to an end simply because my feet are blistered from the journey, or I'm exhausted from my seeking, or if I imagine I’ve traveled far enough that I’ve been left the keys to the kingdom.
© 2011 by mark prime
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