The Stars are Strangers

I don’t have a map. The stars are strangers. Differently configured. Sometimes I’m standing barefoot on a platform drifting across my personal sea, its pulse and heave lulling me.  Other moments on a soft earth, I walk and am nearly stupefied by the intensity of the flower beds, their delicate petals trembling at the slightest breeze; the colours of the leaves on grand trees have shown me greens of such variety that any attempt to describe them would be a spectacular failure and quite likely mortify the personality of the infinite for its shallowness. I take heart in the presence of a forgiving host.

In the last week, my world of the mundane ceased to exist. One caring professional after another informed me that my brain was bleeding and a mass on my liver was cancerous and inoperable. Separate hoe-downs. And the lung specialists explained that they couldn’t use blood thinners on the embolisms embedded in my lungs as such treatment would exacerbate the brain bleed.  A weird dilemma. Who was to know Limbo had a wicked sense of humour? Hence, the inexorable and now dramatically abbreviated trek across my personal sea of mortality.  My death may not be imminent but it will be a surprise for its suddenness and the mystery of its timing is the existential tease.  

So I witness a riotous upheaval of nature and hear words with a micro-observational power.  I see more clearly what my mentor meant when he stated “Words are organic.” And now I contemplate that if words are indeed biological, so is meaning. 

Now I receive affirmations from nature that my body has been invaded, intervened upon, at a time when the planet is suffering a similar crisis.  Poetic  happenstance? Is it egotistical to imagine that the state of my physical health is a true reflection of the state of the macrocosm? Well that amusement works for me at the moment and actually I wouldn’t be surprised to discover that this timing is all entirely relevant to me.  Each of us are tied into the machinations of the universe abroad and our bodies reflect intimately all this divine commingling. The individual  may participate with this godly creation, sometimes ascending into a multidimensional unfolding. Runners and dancers know this. They have stepped into that rarefied atmos of being suspended in continuity of joy.

I have used the terms: “moment” and “time” a couple of times in this minor missive so I need to make myself clear: I believe quite simply that “There is no time. There never was. Just your relationship to the truth… and perhaps for you the extreme and intense peace of knowing.”

Jesua ben Yusef spake : “The very hairs on your head are all numbered.” Well that works the other way too. Through micro-observation and a heightened state of awareness, and an attention span longer then that of a hummingbird’s singular wing-bat, each of us may witness the intensity of Nature’s expansive outbursts, its quiet outbreathings.  And one may spy moreso  then not only the shimmering beauty of it all, but also the mathematics; geometry; the symmetry and balance inherent in life; and the intent of the drive of Nature. 

I keep interlopers at bay now. Cycles of anxiety are dissembling, and fears dissolving. Self persecutions and judgements are all dissipating like the fog on my sea. So there is peace while the personal anger and general turbulence relent.

Now more carefully I move my lips. Now those sounds emit to make sense, even express empathy; so no more obsequious prattle to currie the approval of the listener; no expressions of contempt; not even mean glances escape. I may bestill the cacophony, the noise of humankind, and discover then what has been overwhelming has not been the towering challenge of nature’s current predicament - the species extinctions; the ocean acidification; the temperature rising - no, no, not to fret because it is those words of substance rolled out with continuity of meaning which will deliver resolutions.  

Turn on the silence. Turn off your gadgets. Extend your humanity. Rediscover conversation. Compliment strangers.  I seek out that silence now. I need time for prayer – now there’s a reason for time!  You have been invited into the House of the Creator. At least, wash up.  Fit in. And if you think you’ve gotten lost en route to that holy abode, persevere. That’s what I’m doing now under this new sky, atop this platform which itself sits upon another glassy universe all a’ humbubbling with water-sucking organisms throwing kisses. (And Jeez! The lipsticks!)

Oh, and Yes, I do believe that the state of my outside universe is indeed related to me personally. That's because I believe it is related to each of us personally. Privately. Such is the work of omnipotence. The rabbit in that hat is squirming to get out, be acknowledged.

So you are not a trivial being. We may, each of us, be champions.  Find the meaning. Find the words.  Then: En garde!

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