wordless fridays

I've started five posts since my last one. Each one is me trying to write about something that, after one or two sentences, is totally done. I have something to say about this and that, until I realize I'm not interested. My energy is running elsewhere. By the time I put words to one experience, a universe of others have already been had, and even I am surprised at how fast this is happening. I am no longer a linear human. My life does not run from moment to moment creating a continuity. It runs from infinite space to infinite space, creating something I can only stay completely present to, with no center. Trying to create a center creates pain. I realize now that I am in the in-between. There are many words for the Dreamtime. The Aboriginals have a whole bunch, not one which is translatable to English, except the ridiculous Dreamtime. So it is. But I am not in the Dreamtime, I'm in the Dreaming. I am embodying vibrations, conduits of light. These bright points have been on the move, with journeys of infinite miles taking space in a few seconds, with insights that bring with them a complete rearrangement of the bones, none of it metaphorical, all of it metaphysical. I want to write to you with words that don't exist, any grasping for them brings a blank wall with no secret door. This is because I want to talk to you in words less and less. Instead I want to touch your hand, to connect our hearts, and watch what happens when we soar in true communion. This exchange is entirely of this plane and this planet but lives away from identity, and seems to require people of extraordinary magic to accomplish it. So often, when I am with you, I have to make words and I'm tired of that. I am looking for those for whom silence is more full than a coffee shop on Sunday morning. And to make things even more special, I'm looking for those who have gone so far into the silence that they are now full steam ahead as creators in embodied experience. Those that throw logs on the fires of their own burning. Many people say it, even passionately, but very few actually do it, for it will destroy your life, and rebuild it without your permission, into something so grand your tiny human mind will never comprehend, but by then you won't be using your mind to comprehend when you've discovered much better senses for that. Those for whom God is not only an interior space, but something to strive to melt into, something which seems like the only appropriate place to put one's identity. So far for me, this creature who lives at my core is Divine Mother. A Love so extraordinary I will burst. I have been leaking steadily, but soon will come the explosion, and all that reveals in that pure hot ash. I have tried to write about my shadow this week, like I am supposed to for my Circling homework, but every time I turn an eye to what seems like shadow, I face light. Every time I turn my sight to my ex-husband, or my father, or any other event or person in my life where there should be some residue, some sticky bits, I get nothing. As though there is no cause for any of my behavior, any of my internal workings. As though what matters is not that they are answered to in the light of inquiry, but that they are not in fact the accurate sources of anything that goes on in my life now. So I have asked what this is, and what I should do, and am not surprised to hear mirthful words to the tune of, "Just do everything differently than you have always done. Feel, then be, then know, in that order, and remember that this is the proper order. There is no shadow and there is no light. There IS and the speed at which you harmonize with IS is all there is." Here's the funny thing about waking up, it's not a thing or a project or an endeavor or a process, it's just a reveal back to what's natural. Oh, you thought there was a man behind the curtain? Ha, ha, there is no man and no curtain! You are the one you seek. So I realize for me that looking back to see where and how something happened is a weaker form of healing, whereas looking deeply at what is happening right now is everything. Only my mind believes there is relationship between any moment other than the present, only my mind believes I have a past and it transfers that belief onto my body. I like to get things done quickly, I like to burrow through the pile of things that don't quite fit to get right to the perfect garment and I know what it is before I've seen it. Once you thoroughly trust God, however you see your source, God will turn your attention to thoroughly trusting yourself. Once you awaken you have to keep going, you will forever be awakening, and great pleasure will be created in just being alert. Capacity to be present is awake and healing happens, as always and forever, without ever needing to be understood in order to be real. The friction of relationship wears down the one who relates to her very basic self. And birth is constant, a thought before a thing. How deeply can you trace the quietest lines of thought into flesh and bone and back out again, how carefully can you sew and knit the entirety of this garment that decorates your soul?