Arms of the Island of Spirits

There is a lady outside our bedroom who shoos bugs, birds and bad spirits away from the rice field. She does so every day from dawn til dusk, with chirps, yells, screams of many calibre. She is about 100yrs old.

So I trust no one put her up to do this. She believes it for the best. It is her destined labour in the invisible and manifest.

What is yours?

As my last post set on the journey of collapsing light and dark, this theme may continue to show up for a while…

It is connected to my destined duty to this plane of existence.

My soul has a melancholic streak. Theres a part of me revels in the contrast of suffering, pollution, hunger, dirt, loud noise…and the soft gentle arms of beauty, grace and abundance. They exist simultaneously, so very close together.

Almost as if the purpose of love is to meet all the fear.

And…is there a realm where love becomes just another colour we dont need anymore… will it seep into the translucid Pure Awareness… which doesnt even need consciousness to hold it…

…for even consciousness can rest… when it embraces the womb that holds it, births it and feeds it.

So caught up in the games of samsara we are, loving in action, chasing the present moment, that we forget to surrender to the cosmic womb..

‘Rest, beloved, REST….’ was once the greatest seed mantra I received in meditation.

Every night we surrender to this greater darkness (dark, because our consciousness cannot overcome it – we need this REST) and every morning we are birthed into the world of duality again.

And we go out there, making strange noises to stir the invisible bugs and spirits in our ricefield.

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