I'm feeling with it.
I'm in the rhythm of things.
Not sure why! It might be one of these things that just happens. Like depressions, but now I'm at a peak--or just before the peak--just wave riding. I'm sensing the joy underlying the flow.
Maybe it's just that I'm recently home from Seattle, and I liked Seattle. I liked the rainyness of it, the light, jacket weather chilliness. Maybe it's the Kyoto Moon Creativity incense from the local hippie herb shop* I'm burning, which is making my room smell exotic, like a floral rainforest. Maybe it's the Vitamin Water Zero. Maybe it's the corn pasta with peas I just cooked. Maybe it's the lingering snow, or the Listening Earth CD I just downloaded and am playing. (<3 nature sounds). Maybe it's just that I'm sensing the brilliance of things.
I want to *stay* like this, is the thing. I have these clear water moments, where everything is just right, everything is *good.* But I don't always stay here. I leap up too high--like Icarus--and crash to Earth, with melted, waxen, molten wings. I fall and cry--or worse I hover or slosh about in murky fog, floundering. Maybe the lows are there to make the highs better. But I want Soltura. Ease of motion. Flow. Love of life.
I do love life. But I don't always know it. My love of life, my joy in things, is not always on the top of my heart, showing itself, like a dolphin surfacing. Because there is agony in there, too -- agony at the unfairness, not just in my little life, but in the big mess of Universe I'm trapped in, against my will, and yet set free in, and with, to free my desires and yearining amidst things. Incarnation is strange--life bizarre--born from entropy and energy, dark, absorbant matter and fierce, burning light. I love the pattern, don't get me wrong, I love the Dance, but the Dance is hard, and you have to keep dancing, even when your bandage is broken and the reason you signed up for this contest has slipped your mind. But it's not a contest. No one wins. The experience is the win.
The three laws of Thermodynamics according to Richard Murphy:
1. You can't win. 2. You can't break even. 3. You can't get out of the game.
But maybe we don't want to. The missing piece is what sets things moving, what makes the yin yang swirl, sets fish dancing, galaxies whirling, merging, stars bursting forth from darkness. The holes are why we link up, match, need each other. Entropy isn't just disorder--it's chaos, which is order on a level we cannot understand, the frothing magma in the cauldron of creation, where higher orders bloom and merge. I love Ilya Prigogine's book Order Out of Chaos, and anything by Stuart Kauffman, because they capture the order in chaos and set it straight, for a moment, give me a glimpse of where it's all coming from, where it's all going. Energy wants to be everywhere, the marbles want to go everywhere they can possibly go--and that's life, that's us. The randomness isn't random. The accident *is* the meaning.
"Time, nature, necessity, accident,
Elements, energy, intelligence--
None of these can be the First Cause.
They are effects, whose only purpose is
To help the self rise above pleasure and pain."
- from the Shetashvata Upanishad
"Random chance was not a sufficient explanation of the Universe — in fact, random chance was not sufficient to explain random chance..." Jubal Harshaw (thinking) in Heinlein's Stranger in a Strange Land
"Have you ever experienced the Ultimate?" a friend asked me the other day.
Hmm. No. Or maybe. Or...?
I know I've experienced the Penultimate--leaning against the Reason for everything, that primary yearning almost realized. The joy of being There, up against the Big World of Everywhere, Everythought, Everything, Every Passion. Whatever that is. I don't know what it is. But there it is. Joy at the manifold, the unfolding, the beauty of everything that shall be and was and is, and where I'm going with it. Like light. It's burning inside of me, and yet no matter how hard I try--I never can catch up with it. It always exceeds me. Yet it's in me, I know it is. Like an atom bomb. I can't release it because it would tear the universe apart, but I know it's in there.
And sometimes, no matter the risk, I have to try to break open the geode.
"In this body, in this town of spirit, there is a little house shaped like a lotus. And in this house there is a little space. There is as much within this space inside the heart as exists in the whole universe outside. Both heaven and earth are contaned in this inner space, both fire and air, sun and moon,lightning and stars. Whether we know it in this world or know it not--everything is contained in this inner space." --The Chandogya Upanishad.
Yet--"a swan can tell you more." (Also the Chandogya Upanishad. I picked up a copy at a B&N in Seattle, can you tell? :p )
Perhaps that's why I'm a Seeker, never claiming to be a Finder. The butterfly lands on your shoulder for a moment, but reach, catch it, grasp and it's dead. Life is free, and you have to dance with it.
We catch glimpses of the Real Deal. Of course, the Real Deal is unhackable. God knows if we could see it fully, we'd try to eclipse it, try to own it. Undoubtedly ruin it. Somehow. Though we can't quite touch it, cannot ravish it. It's always in here.
The gods hid it in there because they knew we'd never quite get that, never quite understand. There is a reason Mystery is Mystery, and each time you pull a leaf from the lotus another grows, mysteriously, fractal-like and colorful and brilliant, calling to you like another mountain from your view on the peak. There's a reason you get lonely, there's a reason you must reach out to another. There's a reason for hugging and loving and seeking and finding, and losing, and finding again. The separation is what makes for the togertheness; all-one, long enough, and you're alone. So we dance and part and care and come together and find again.
Damned if I understand it.
I don't. But I feel it.
And I wish I felt like this, really, more often. I wish I always heard the Rhythm. I wish I always felt the dance.
I wish I knew how to keep in the flow, to find it with ease, to stretch and feel it tingling in my muscles, soaring in my veins, the blood that is made of stardust coarsing through me, the air in my lungs that blew in from a jet stream above the earth, that has flowed before in wombats and dinosaurs and lungs of rainforest trees--gifts of self and earth from sky and sea.
But I'm in the flow right now. So I know it now. And it's all okay. Everything is okay. It's all right. I won't pretend I'm not going to slip and fall again this time. I know I will. I'm creation, after all. I'm imperfect. I'm entropic. I'm human.
Being human, sometimes more than anything, is about scabbing your knee--and sometimes your entire earth-beaten body--and standing, starting over again, even when the salty ocean stinging your abrasian is nature's only goading , prodding kiss.
But at least I know if I stand up again on this quaking earth, if I wait long enough and listen, if I drag these molten wings from the mire, and wait, I'll catch the rhythm and again, given time, be re-enabled to go running with the fireflies and leaping after stars.
It just works like that for me.
Music Vid of the Day:
(I just discovered the Aussie singer Missy Higgins and now I have something of a girl crush on her :P )
*<3 Phoenix Herbs