Spiritual revelations are reborn when they’re conjured up, the likeness of self. Those AHA moments recall a mission spawned in time’s fabric woven so tight. Yet, these experiences are derivatives of ancillary particles of lifetimes of memories that flicker like sparklers in the blackest of nights. Merely a fleeting gathering outlined in rekindled awakened perception that reminds us we are here. Questions arise surrounding what is, how it was, and what might have been. They swarm like bees around the godhead’s floundering sensibilities attempting to make head or tails of where “Here” is. Awareness then observes the collective swirling motion through the Gankyil’s energetic primordial indivisibility sees directly into the eye of divinity's absolution. Here trust stands unbroken; three divisions of the whole, emerging from emptiness. Lucidity reclaims its singularity that rings loud in the emerging void that eventually engulfs us all. Embodiment encroaches substance encoded in the Gankyil’s realized circle transmuted in culminating fragments aligned in reality's cyclone it observes.
Body, voice, and mind rise unified like a cobra’s head in a continuum of illuminated particles that consciousness graciously invokes. Energy is manifested impregnating and interpreting itself, resonating like a jewel of perfect harmony in thoughts and forms aroused in a single mind’s eye. Currents now flow in discrete correlations in this swimming sea of consciousness where the many and the one conspire to find their tendrils of identity.
Suddenly one pulls away from oblivion, skipping on tides, scurrying mindlessly, transforming darkness at the fringe of existence to tug at compassion’s hem. Flagrant passages of time stir swirling gathering sands down to the nape of life’s hourglass to manifest as human again. It is here where each grain finds its resting place stratified in Karma’s web of desire and attachment. Identity pushes through the heaviness of void and starless nights to surface into time’s blanket. It enters into a subjective alliance where immortality seeks deliverance by love’s guiding hand. Awareness in a sullen pregnant pause realizes what ceases to be and what has climbed out of emptiness are one and the same. Yet, consciousness beckons, forsakes, and abandons, awareness. The realization now moves with stellar winds drifting towards a cause of casual existence flooding the sails of our souls with a courage bound for home. Hope is an aroma soaked in the blood of faceless crimes and consummate dares to send these bits of light out into mortality. Its perfection haunts and taunts this cause along the unfathomable edges of time. It resembles all these impressions left behind by will and mindfulness. That’s where my soul emerges collecting a form from formlessness in a tidal expanse spanning time and space, starting with that gyrating dot of Awareness from Oblivion.
A breathless forbearance hovers in this still moment counting falling droplets of exultation sweetening the tears that flow like rivers of converging bliss. These disparaging gaps beg to be filled with clamors of happiness reverberating against silence pinging our names. Each degree shaded by heaven’s faint recollection is overwhelmed by light when its shadowy past simply disappears. Ensuing heartbeats replace the absence of sound and our miracle returns from dust swimming on immorality’s deepest ocean floor restlessly struggling to surface. The graceful Ocean currents part their murkiness allowing these effervescence particles to breach its crest to scurry for a gasp of oxygen. “Thy will be done,” as the ocean’s wave rushes towards these winsome shores delivering the reward of life in material existence.
Still, inside of each tender heartbeat that deciphers tragedy, lonesomeness, and love’s cause balance and connection must have gravity. The randomness of infinity where miracles prey magnetically, resonating toward a resurrecting whole. This repeating conundrum of near misses in the relentless regurgitating tides flawed by the perception of Karma whose ends may never be sought but can only be surrendering. It is how complete randomness gets defined, and only then does a divine alignment see its source and the course reset in our collective formidable stone as one.
Divinity rests underneath the hands of two innocents determined to send a message rippling across the many seas of this world. Their bolstering glee set in motion by dreams and visions beyond a sweet youth that seeks no explanation. Playfully they exert their winsome praises race boldly in their ignited imaginations of visceral cerebral assertions. This orb is insignificant to the vastness of wills whose intentions are set before birth into our magnificent material universe. Small little bodies dare to wade out into the waters of absolution to declare truth’s inner voice. Without hesitation, tiny hands tap on the surface tension of this earth's gift of life. “Meant to be” is the only way to describe this moment, when their cause is sent like a lightning bolt through the water's thread, “Where are you, my love!”
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