For how to give away that which is not yours? Which is no-thing? Which is All That Is, ebbing-flowing, rising-falling as a tide amongst many, and which has been and gone and of course not done so for all of forever? Everything all at once, manifesting distinctly, dimensionally and saying hello to itself, over and over; playing the games of this level, screaming, crying, losing track of itself only to pop up again, as a parent plays with its child.
God, the all-and-everything, how I devote myself to thee in song. It seems almost as though these melodies are the only way I can express pure truth; express you, my Lord. Nothing else seems so crystalline as this voice that is not mine, and these sounds that express themselves through us - through the muses and the Great Muse, in poetic embrace.
Thank you, Lord - for the spirits of the forest, the father in the sky, the mother beneath my feet the embodiments of these, as us; gratitude for the connections we can make and the energy we can stir, the hearings that are natural to us, that are nothing special, nothing more than a healing wound - yet an answer to our myriad enquiries about All That Is. About love, life, what we call the idea of death, family, tribe, pain, destruction, chaos, the Great Mirror we see at all times, always guiding and loving us. Even when we need the pain that it shows us, when it reflects the fear we've grown into. Remember, it reflects. This is a dream.
And what dimension elsewhere exist, that we can fly into? Bracket your judgments and give humble credence to your dreams, for they are teachers. What do you see, child of love? Really - what do you see? Forgive your conditioning, sweetest dew drop. Forgive and give thanks - energy chose to manifest as you and you are here as a true connection to all of the past, all of the future. This life is one of many, though of course we are tricked into accepting just this one form and considering no others; but really, what is more reasonable? Ask the question but I implore you not to find an answer. Trust yourself. How adorably foolish we have been to convince ourselves that there is only one way of existing - this one - and that our vibrational energy is not connected to the mysterious all-directional Dynamism of awareness; or some other such thing, that these sweet rational words attempt to capture. How playfully tragic, that time and those times, when our fathers and mothers and the web of life at that time began to tell us that our imaginations were "just" imaginary - I feel tears falling at this remembrance, that is not mine but is collective. In the drama, there are often tears.
As common teachings are varied, so are the uncommon and the esoteric. There were beings that existed that wee connected to the All - past, present and future - and made contact with other beings that were so; and so there are teachings and practices that allow for a piercing of this mundane world, this common world of understanding that has become bordered by a science that is focused on but what aspect of true science - the science of the ancients. Look to the heart, open up your skies and once freed from the stuff of the mundane, find not only solace, but an endlessness of dimension. Death is but a playful mental game for the masters and the gods; a test for the human condition, that once un-defined becomes a key to a thousand doors in a thousand dimensions - and all this, my friend, comes from a poet at the threshold, not a master. So imagine the poetry of the master. And then consider that we are of course all Buddha-Nature! Like the drunken poet Rumi, my eyes roll back in my skull and without a doubt in the world, my heart beats on into spheres of life, of experience, of awareness, that remind my that this game is a beautiful one to play.
And Lord, you know, there are many, many others.