Magic

I believe in magic.

I believe in the kind that you can't see. Like wind, or light waves, sound, all the invisible stuff we take for grated. 

I believe that water has memory. I believe trees are my friends.

I have one tree, I like to hug every time I see it, and I think it likes me too.

I believe there are invisible forces so subtle that connect us to each other, and God. A magic that defies our human mind, and puts science to shame.

A magic that you can only be in alignment with in order for you to perceive it. 

I sat on the grass, today, at play practice, watching everyone interact. And I realized something. That most of us don't know that this magic is inside of us, we spend an awful amount of time seeking a validation that can only be found on the inside. And once you find it, you're never, ever alone. Even when you want to be. People find you in your solitude. It's weird. 

This magic is so beautiful, but nobody seems to know about it. We think our wi-fi is powerful. 

Try the wifi of the human heart.

Try God's Gps system.

Try tuning into his power grid. It puts our little ego games, and power grids to shame. 

It's funny because our little egos try pretty dang hard to compete whenever we feel threatened by something more powerful than us. Take for instance  the installation of the 5G internet that they've been trying so hard to get working. 

    In esoteric circles they say that the earth itself is evolving into a higher frequency, and whatever the planets are doing---is mirrored in ourselves---where we drop our 3d egoistic paradigms and flow into the 5D golden age, where true unity, and love, and real power is taking its rightful place in the cosmos.

I feel like right now, there's two huge choices. 3d or 5d. And there's so much crap trying to pull us into our old way of being.

Tonight, it struck me on a deeper level than before. Seeing so many people I care about following so very obediently, doing the "right thing," getting va##inated. And once they do, I look into their eyes, to see the magic in their soul, but something feels off. Their them, their real them, feels distant.  Maybe it's all in my head, but I feel it, maybe even more than seeing it.

So many people are getting sick---and not just sick sick. People are literally dying hours after having their Va##ine, they are getting heart attacks, strokes, and palsy and so much more. And most people are just bullied into getting it. Following the heard. 

I have never been one to follow the status quo. Ever. And this whole thing screams cult. A cult of fear, and division, and darkness. Something pulling us away from ourselves.

I know that by saying this my blog most certainly can, and perhaps will be blacklisted, and shut down.  I thought it was high time I said it. And if my blog's time is up, then I'll accept that. It's been a good run. And if people are banned from going anywhere unless they conform, then I guess I'll be okay with that too. Just as long as I can have peace of mind, I'll be content.

I could go on, and give examples---personal stories from people, friends who know friends who've been seriously harmed from the Va##ine. 

All I will say is that when I was a kid I nearly died when I got my first set of Va##ines. And am not going to tempt fate again. No.

I've spent a small fortune on cleaning my temple, and many years, sweeping it out. I know what a stark contrast it is to have a clean temple verses a dirty dark one. And to see the contrast is a beautiful, beautiful gift, I can only thank a higher power for, and all the sand in my oysters. Without which, I may have never found the pearl.

I know with every fiber of my soul, that this is something designed to keep us from flowing with the earth into a higher state. To keep us stuck in ourselves, away from our hearts, and true unity, to keep us isolated from with the deepest magic of love, the light of God.

   

Corona actually means crown.

Our crown chakra is said to be the portal which God--frequency, light, and unity flows. 

Let no man take your crown---a scripture that I believe was a guidepost for times like these.     

There is real magic out there. A power that is divine, and good, beautiful and full of love. It's not something we can earn, or wear like religious cloak, or creed. A purifying, powerful, sword, that cuts away all the dividing lines, of race, religion, gender, and whatever thing that we've held up as a barrier to the light. 

A burning sword that slices through disharmony, with truth and love, from within, extending in all directions. 

It functions outside of any label.

And I believe the "egoic power" doesn't want to be dethroned, as it knows it's time is done.

Period.

So it's trying to keep everyone small, from knowing their sovereignty.

One last stand to take the crown. 

A dark power, that doesn't want this good, and pure power to overthrow it. A soft, beautiful power, with a magnitude, grace, and strength that is so subtle I don't think any of us can comprehend, define, no religion could explain, no force could contain it, and no mind could grasp it. That's why it's so amazing.

A frequency of light. That works here, now.

Something no mind could grasp, because the mind is just a program, something meant to separate us, to keep us on our isolated planets. Something that will eventually fail---as most old folks homes, with professors and religious people can attest to.

It is a power that functions outside of time.

And all we need do is tune in.

Be in harmony with it, surrender to its holy power.

And maybe, the world will change one heart at a time. 

One peaceful person at a time.

End greed in ourselves, end it in the world. 

Building a bridges so others can cross. 

Stop listening to the darkness, giving it power. Start tuning in to the frequency of goodness.

Step into light, and be the light-workers that the world so needs. 

Heal the planet by healing ourselves.

Solve the political imbalance of power in our own families, in or own hearts. Promote peace. Seek peace. Be peace. Let our mind's agenda of control fall, and allow whatever spirit shows you to dissolve the shadows.  The subtlety of God's handwork will clean you from the inside out, if you let it. Because that is where he lives.

Live from the hegemonic power of love, instead of ego. As one of my favorite guru's Shunyamurti has repeated over and over again.

Because that is the only thing that will be left standing, that is the only real and lasting currency. 

Any investments in that kind of currency will never be lost. 

A crown that must not be taken, bartered, or given away in the name of "the higher good." 

There is no other higher good, than knowing who you are, who God is, and tapping into that power.

Maybe the fire we perceive as hell is just the pure love and essence of and image of God burning and purifying our being and incinerating anything that is not real, is not love.

A love that burns away everything else, because there is nothing else.

And if you haven't cultivated that, allowed it to grow in your own soul, and instead have plundered and planted darkness---taken the crowns away from others. The karmic smoke may just be all that is left.

We may feel isolated.

We may feel disconnected. 

But that is all an illusion. The only real thing is unity.

Fires may be burning. 

People may be trying to take your crown.

Don't let them!

We may be in a drought. Thirsty. Wanting rain.

But to end it, I think we all have to look inward. Always. The outside will always reflect back, just as the planets and stars, and the earth, will reflect our own pulse, and ultimate state our hearts are in.

 Just think how fast the earth could transform if we all collectively tuned in to a deep inner harmony? What if our souls were well tended, and watered, and looked after? What kind of seeds of light could be planted there.

What kind of garden would grow in the outside world if we ended dryness in our own beings? Perhaps, it could end starvation of spirit and body, and feed an entire world from our well watered soul-soil because the harvest could be ten fold. 

Hold onto your crown. It is yours.

 Even if it means living like a monk for the rest of my life, I will gladly keep mine.

 

 

Hungry Irish cats getting their breakfast on the farm

 

 

 

So yesterday my cats were being particularly cute. They like to reach out and try to grab the milk as it comes their way. They love their morning breakfast ritual. I thought it was fun, because as I dubbed the music over it, the goat's hoof sounded like it was in time with the music. I never knew we had a river dancing goat, but I think we do. And some Irish cats. 

And just because I'm feeling a bit Irish, or Celtic, and love listening to some good bagpipes, I have to share these pictures of my red shamrocks dressing up in irish plaid. The wind was blowing just right through the window, creating a vacuum effect, so the pattern of the screen made them look something like an irish kilt.

A skunk's tale

Last month a skunk ate all my chicks except for two---that I had locked away from the rest so they wouldn't get picked on. 

Prior to this, I knew there were skunks about, as one evening my sister and I both went out to the chicken coup to gather eggs in the pitch dark because I hadn't gathered them during the day. 

I had a flashlight, and was just about to open the chicken coup door, when Bess pointed in front of us, and screamed---the worse scream you can imagine. The first thought that came into my mind was of a huge black dog that had been roaming the field. I pictured it foaming at the mouth, eating one of our goats. As we had a pack of dogs do this before, and it made a vivid groove in my mind.  I shone my flashlight looking for, "the dog."

Bess screamed more intensely, pointed with shaking fingers, unable to spit out what it was she saw. It obviously was so terrible that words would not come, only a scream of all screams. She bolted, but I stayed put, ready to bop whatever it was on the head if it came after us. Bessie screamed again, running in a terrified dance circle, trying to get me to follow her.  It was such a deadly scream I thought for sure we were both going to be eaten. 

Instead of running, I took a step in the direction of where she had pointed. Bess ensued with more screams trying to get me to understand, as she was at a loss for words, and terror could only escape her lips.

Then I saw it. Down on the ground, only a few feet away from me. The size of a large-fat cat. It actually looked very similar to one of our black cats--except it wasn't a cat.

It was a skunk, with its fluffy butt raised in my direction. 

This time I screamed in lovely unison along with Bessie, both of us running wildly. 

The poor skunk was startled as well, disoriented as both of us. I don't think they can see very well in the dark, so it bumbled around in a confused circle, just as terrified.

After sufficiently getting a safe distance away, we both stopped, coming to our senses. I flashed my light at the skunk, and watched as waddled off, confused. 

 Bess and I both began laughing hysterically, nearly as loud as our screams. 

I'm sure our neighbors must have thought us crazy. It felt like it. We laughed long and hard, and once we caught our breaths, I turned to Bess and made fun of her screams. And began laughing again, mimicking her dance of terror, and jerking screams.

More laughs. 

Then justifiably she laughed, and made fun of me not being able to understand what she was trying to communicate, horrified that I started walking in the direction of skunk. 

All in all, we got some serious screaming, and belly laughing out of the whole thing.

Though the skunk did come back. And what a greedy guts it was. It got into one of our sheds, and ate several dozen eggs that my sister had taken out of the fridge---to toss, as they were old. It also got into several other food items near the house, in addition to eating my chicks. 

At the time, I didn't have a skunk trap. I put motion light censors up, hoping it would keep it away. And also smelly salts.

But nope.

It was not deterred.

After the greedy stinker ate my chicks, I was determined it wasn't going to eat my hens.  I bought a live sunk trap, shaped like a little tube, that is supposed to keep adult skunks from spraying you when you come up to the trap. This is the trap for those interested. https://www.amazon.com/Tuff-Trap-Spray-Proof-Skunk/dp/B01EZ4GBS6/ref=pd_sbs_3/142-2362646-7760146?pd_rd_w=VCcMU&pf_rd_p=f8e24c42-8be0-4374-84aa-bb08fd897453&pf_rd_r=6HFMERZWXH5KR05QPAHD&pd_rd_r=cc65ef41-f8a0-4be9-baec-11841917ad23&pd_rd_wg=0thoy&pd_rd_i=B01EZ4GBS6&psc=1&fbclid=IwAR267PtnO5h2jJqbsdPofV7ilZN0p-Hy-nu5msjBAwAFLIJ-qyK_vu4uCAM#customerReviews

I put marshmallows, and peanut butter, and an egg at the back, set the trap where it had been trying to dig into my chicken coup.

Three days latter.

Boom.

I caught the fart!

I peered into the little holes where the door was, and its little nose scrunched up next to the hole, as if it was like, "Hey, I's in here just eating some sweets, and I would like out."

"Are you sure you're a skunk?" I asked. 

I got a flashlight and shone it into the holes.

Yep. It's eyes, and black, gray hair were very much a skunks. 

Then what to do with it?

Everyone I talked to said that it had a death sentence on its head. And I agreed, as its trespasses were very dire. It should be court-martialed for its crimes. But Bess and I concluded that there is already so much pain in the world, there has got to be grace, even for  stinky ole' skunks.

It couldn't help that it was a greedy little stinker, though I did not feel any endearing feelings for it. 

We decided to try our luck, and release it into the wild.

The problem was, the trap wasn't designed for easy opening of the trap door in order for you to get a running start, if you wanted to release it safely somewhere where it wouldn't harm anyone. 

No.

It was designed for you to place it in the river, and pretty much drown whatever was in it. 

Not so good if you didn't have the heart to do that. So I hauled the trap into the back of my sister's truck, and my sister and I both brainstormed how to safely draw the door open with a string, and tape the latch so we could pull it open, and run.

In theory everything works better. No snags. 

But reality is a different story. 

We took the skunk trap to a place uninhabited by humans, and tried raising the door with a string. But our string was too flimsy, and broke on the first try.

So then, I was like, I'll just unlatch the back and run---like a skunks at my back. 

This I did. 

Once I unlatched the back. And this I could only do, because somehow I hadn't set the trap properly. So this was a one time deal.

I ran and hopped back into the truck. 

Bess and I waited. 

And waited. Apparently, the little sinker was too scared to come out. And we couldn't leave the trap out there and come back. How would we know it had left? I wasn't going to pick that trap up unless I knew there was zero skunk in there. 

So we got out of the truck, and began tossing rocks at the other side of the trap, to get it to come out---which was a very dangerous idea, because we were so close.

And at this point, it wasn't really a very inspired idea. And neither of us were very good aims.

So much for that. 

The skunk was not coming out.

It obviously felt under attack. 

So we got in our truck, and sat, with our eyes glued on the trap.

Waiting.

It wasn't very long until it poked its little nose out of the door, and waddled out of the trap.

It unfurled is huge fluffy skunk's tail, and made its way off.

The stinker. 

Bess and I both looked at each other. Well, why didn't we just be still and waited for the fart to come out in the first place?

Lesson learned. 

I felt like a mighty warrior. We had caught the skunk, and released him without too much violence. 

I gloated about this for several days.

Yet.

About a week later, I noticed something else had began digging at my chicken pen.

Another skunk?

Dang it. 

I began setting the skunk trap nightly, adding marshmallows, and treats each evening. One morning the trap was set off, and a bunch of skunk fur was inside it, though it had managed to get out the back.

Then my cat, apparently likes marshmallows and peanut butter, because one morning I found her in the trap.  At first I really thought she was a skunk. I peered carefully into the trap, and she pressed her cat eye right next to the hole, looking very odd, her cat whiskers sticking out.

After I gave her a good talking to, I let her out. And was sure to feed the cats well in advance so they would not be tempted.

A few days later, I caught---another skunk. This skunk was not so docile. It smelled very bad. Stinker, skunk juice bad. And it was heavy, and moved around a lot in the trap. The skunk was not very thrilled.

Neither was I, because I wasn't too keen on getting sprayed if we kept our non violent approach. Plus I wouldn't be able to unlatch the back, like I had done before, because I had really secured it tight. This trap, brilliant as it was, needed some upgrades----releasing part being the most difficult. 

I picked up the trap, and it was heavy, and left a trail of stinker behind it.

I set it in the shade, wondering what to do with it as I was watering my garden. The way we had released the last skunk wasn't ideal. We had to improve on this, especially if I was going to keep catching stinker bombs---or buy a hazmat suit.

I gathered a bunch of strong bailing twine, and tied it to the trap door. Then Bess and I rummaged around the yard trying to find objects to use as a pulley so the door would slide open easily. 

We settled on a little green chair to lace the twine through.

We loaded the trap into the back of the truck, and took off into the wild places far away from humans to release the stink-maker in better place where he could not harm anyone.

And it was gassing off the whole time, so badly that it made the air feel sticky around it, and my hands and face felt polluted by its juices. 

I was not so sure this time. I knew the dangers, and this trap was not so easy to open. Plus this skunk was more aggressive than the last. Probably a male. 

Anyhow. Once we arrived at the fart-makers place of release, I realized that as I had remembered to bring scissors but forgot to get tape, to tape the lock away from the trap door. Luckily, after digging around in the truck, we found some black tape, and were able to tape the lock out of the way. Then I placed the little green chair over the trap, and laced the twine through the bars, and pulled. 

But the door would not come up. I pulled hard. 

Then I realized I had taped the latch wrong. So I redid that.

Okay. Now, I was really ready to pull the latch. Bess scooched out of the way, and I pulled the door hard, it started sliding upon, but caught on another latch. 

Crap.

I tip toed to the half open trap, and realized that the skunk was so heavy, and big, it was sitting right on top of the leaver inside, that made the latch catch on the sliding door.

I pushed on the leaver that the door was catching on---there was a lot of resistance as the skunk was obese. Then while doing that, I pulled the string hard.

The door began sliding open. 

Yes!!!! 

I pulled so hard, that the trap tipped sideways. Yikes! But I pulled again, and the door stood open on its own. I wedged the twine on some sage brush, and then ran to the truck.

Bess and I sat in the truck, waiting.

A moment later, the door of the trap slammed shut, before it could get out. Apparently it walked over the leaver inside, and made the door shut. 

I guess I  hadn't secured the string tight enough to keep the door open.

Okay.

Round three. 

Once again, I pushed the leaver keeping the door jammed shut, opened it halfway, scooched back, pulled harder, tipped the trap even more on its side, and yanked so hard the trap door just popped out of its socket.

Bam.

I ran to the truck.

Yes!

I was just happy to get the dang door open. Bess and I waited. 

It took a while, but it finally popped its head out, and just kinda stood by the trap, then it waddled, away, then circled back to about two sagebrush's length away from where it had started from.

Bess and I were not thrilled that it didn't want to go very far. 

But we ran to the trap, grabbed our gear up, and tossed it back into the truck, and watched as the little fluffy farter pretty much ran along side the road, as if to say goodbye.

 My conclusion.

I hope there are no more skunks. I have a feeling that there are baby skunks floating round. And I know that this trap won't keep them from lifting their little baby skunks tails and sending me into the land of tomato juice, and total isolation from anyone that has a nose.

There are only so many times you can tempt fate, and fart makers. I feel that...one can only outrun farts so many times before one gets farted on.

 And though they can't help that God made them into walking stink tanks, I would prefer that they find somewhere else to fart, and catch a meal. 

We don't like catching and releasing farts. 

It's a stinky business. 

Who in their right mind willingly unleashes farts out into the wild, especially when the chances of getting farted on are extremely high.

Yes. Please dear skunks. I know you like marshmallows, and eggs, and chickens, and peanut butter. But the thrill of catching you---has worn off. I no longer wish to be the mighty fart---catcher---or fart releaser.

No fart sequels.

No new fart chapters.

I need no more skunk tails, or tales.  

Let us live in an ascended world where fart makers, and those who don't wish to get farted on can live in peace. Where there is enough clean air for the both of us.

 

 

 

Empty boxes

 

"We join spokes together in a wheel,
but it is the center hole
that makes the wagon move.

We shape clay into a pot,
but it is the emptiness inside
that holds whatever we want.

We hammer wood for a house,
but it is the inner space
that makes it livable.

We work with being,
but non-being is what we use."---Tao Te Ching

 --------------------------------------------------------------

Empty boxes.

My sister and I go on box-finding expeditions, because we ship objects out that require unique sizes of cardboard. My sister, especially, is the one who uses the big boxes to ship her woodwork out into the world. It's a funny phenomenon because when we need boxes, most businesses are happy to let us scavenge their trash bins. Some even offer to save their boxes for us. It's quite nice, and an interesting way to get acquainted with people. 

Word has got out that we like boxes, so when people see us, they usually give us boxes, to the point our car usually is filled with them.

We gladly accept their boxes. Though sometimes, people give us some pretty weird shaped ones that just need to go back in the dump. But the thought is appreciated, and the love along with it. It's a fun giving and receiving, so everybody is happy. We usually give whoever gives us boxes, hugs, and appreciation---love. 

The more fun the exchange, the more boxes seem to appear out of nowhere. Sometimes just the right boxes come at the exact right time.

Sometimes some very odd boxes come, and sometimes they are just a little wonky.

But they are all just boxes.

It's all just cardboard. 

But the currency of kindness is felt as the boxes change hands.

There's nothing in the boxes. But the boxes are valuable because they are empty

Whatever we put in the boxes will eventually vanish, as will the cardboard itself.

I think we, too, are like little cardboard vessels, little boxes, all moving around in car boxes, and box houses, filling our lives with boxes within boxes, hoping that one day we will be a "real box," full of our accumulated things, so other boxes, hopefully not as full as our box, fill our box with something, as well. 

All boxes are biodegradable. Plant food, mostly. Only here for a little while. But we pretend like our flimsy cardboard is made of gold, and going to last forever. Yet the more solid we try to make our boxes the less light shines through. The more labels applied to the outside, the more heavy and dense it becomes. 

We can collect stuff inside the boxes, lots of stuff, so the space gets very cramped, and the box bulges at the seams. We can tape our boxes together to make the cardboard stay together a little longer. 

It's funny because my sister and I have let a lot of things fall out of our boxes, mostly because the bottom fell out by default, and we just surrendered to it. Taping it together was hopeless, and we realized how much the stuff inside was weighing us down, and the labels just started peeling off bit by bit, storm by storm.

The more empty we have let our boxes be, the less box shape and definition we have. The more space there is, the more transparent our box feels, and the more people think we have something especially valuable in our box. No. Not really.

Just space, mostly.

And when people be spacious together, and allowing, anything can be fun.  It is something that comes out out the space, a light in the box that just shines through when the labels get scraped off, and nothing sticks to the outside anymore.

The other day we were just sitting on our porch, talking in the sun, and the postman came up and said, "it wasn't fair that it looked like we were having so much fun."

We laughed. 

Yeah, we were talking about cleansing, and poop. But I wasn't going to tell him that. 

Super, duper fun.

Just two empty boxes, enjoying a moment of space, and realness.

Then early in the morning, while Bess and I were milking goats, I noticed a different mailman who was having a difficult time with our packages, so I ran to help him, and he told me he saw us out milking our goats, and said it looked like we were just having too much fun.

Yeah. Okay. We were actually quite hot and tired. Probably grumpy too.

A couple of empty boxes just working together. 

I think he must have saw something that wasn't there. 

I don't know.

 Shopping, someone told me it looked like I was having a party. 

I was just buying some food.

This seems to happen a lot.

Washing dishes?

Party.

Taking out the trash.

Party.

Got a tiny part in a play. No fair. You have the best part. 

Diving for boxes in the dump. Gee you're having way too much fun. 

How do I get what you have? 

Get what?

Ummm...nothing. 

I have to scratch my head lots of times, wondering.

Okay...

Maybe...it's...

“Not what you do, but how you do what you do determines whether you are fulfilling your destiny. And how you do what you do is determined by your state of consciousness.”― Eckhart Tolle

I've always said to do what you love. I still believe that. But maybe it's a higher state to put love into what you do, as Eckhart says. And stop doing---if we we can't be in that space of love even while washing toilets, or hammering nails. 

Kinda sowing either goodness or pain, and reaping more of the state in which you started from---good or bad. 

Though it's much easier said than done. And my box changes states of consciousness by the hour.

Empty your box. Fill it with love.

Somehow that will equate to an instant party!

Maybe it's the space that makes parties worth having. Without the spaces, there's no reason to come together in the first place. No party worth having because we are so sickly, grumpy, and tired, and needy, and instead of endless peopling, and parties, and churching, and meetings---we would all be better off taking a nap, communing with nature, taking a cleansing salt bath, listening to soothing music, watching the stars, sitting utterly still, and alone. And when, and if we did come together, it would be out of the fullness we that we found by being empty.

Then we would teach each other whatever we learned in our solitude just by being together. It seems that if this is not the case, and you're not coming from a place of spaciousness, and you go into the world in a hungry manner, you're just robbing yourself and everyone else of life---trying to get from a place of object, to spirit---When it's spirit that breathes life into creation. 

Not the other way around. When you realize this, when you get with this, if you decide to be with people, it comes more out of a place of realizing that there is nothing a person can give you, no thing to be obtained, only very small moments of spaciousness to be shared.

  Everything seems a lot less serious, and a little bit silly, and not as important. There's nothing to get.  Only everything to be given, if that's what you decide. Then your being in the world is more of an act of service, than a getting. And what you give, is only a small portion of what someone must really get in their own communion with stillness.

If we really got with the empty spaces, the canvas in which life exists, the blank spaces between the words, the pauses between the notes of music, the breath, the little gaps, and empty spacious pouches where there's no-thing, life would be richer. Our relationships with ourselves, and others would be meaningful, and real, and on point. Where we are all connected on a level of spirit. So we don't always have to be nose to nose with one another all day.

 
When you really get with stillness, and meditation, it feels like you're spending time with God. Something not definable by the human mind, or with human words. But when you do find that space, it creates space inside you, and you find a fullness that nothing else can fill.

If we really knew this secret, I don't think we would be in such a hurry to fill our boxes, nor race to the finish line to get our boxes decorated, and garnished and manicured, stamped and labeled, sent off ready for another porch to arrive at.

 Yet we are schooled to fill our boxes from childhood as fast as we can, to get ahead of the other box fillers, and every moment something new is added so that no space is left untouched. Every box properly labeled, and packed into its designated box pouch.

Every awkward, empty space, or lull in a conversation is usually quickly covered up by flicking out a cell phone, or turning on a screen. No moment is left to chance. There are no cracks or holes where the light can shine through.

Our souls are stacked to the brim with information, every itty-bitty, teeny weenie crack is stuffed with labels, judgments, objects, pursuing a solid identity our ego can decorate daily, like a gaudy Christmas tree so much so that no original green is visible because it is so heavily laden with decorations, adding solidity to ourselves, to our spaces, to our lives. Unless it gets so heavy that grace, disguised as wind, tips it over, and the tree is uncovered by sheer weight of its collected burden.

No space left spacious. 

No silence left silent. 

No bit of ground not covered with something.

No person undefined. No child unlabeled.

No mystery in even God. Or Heaven. Or each other. 

 Every hour planned.

Even the food we eat has no element of spaciousness in it, and then we eat so often and fill ourselves up, we have no idea what it is like to feel empty, so we can hear what the space has to tell us.

Our sky's are now filled with satellites, as if we are trying to compete with the stars, and outdo and fill the vast, real connection the heavens supply.

So much content. So little satiety. 

You would think that at this time when we celebrate freedom, how very few of us truly feel free, and are liberated from the bondage of or own minds, and its incessant need for control, and offer that freedom, in all its glory to those we meet.

So many meetings, activities, people, books, media, things to consume. So little real fulfillment.

You think we would all be full to the brim, and flooding over, not lonely, full of love and light, and a sense of satisfaction---if consuming and filling boxes with the buzzing of the world actually made us full on the inside.

But none of us ever usually stop, unless we are forced to, and when we do, we end up resisting the space, hating the stillness, and rejecting it because it is freighting. It is the ultimate guru, shining light into the attics of our soul, and our accumulated stacks of accomplishments our ego holds on to give us value. 

The space quietly reveals the truth no one wants to see. So the space usually never gets realized, unless we are ready to embrace it, or life demands we come to a screeching halt and we have to surrender to its message.

And if you really listen to its message. It transforms you.

It gives perspective. It makes you realize how beautiful the space is, and you start tossing stuff out of your box on purpose, events, parties, meetings, even family stuff that just adding a lot of noise.

The other night, after coming home from a long play practice, where we were are all learning an exuberant amount of dances in a small window of time, to the point I was not retaining anything, and feeling discouraged, wondering what I had gotten myself into, and reconsidering what I traded my space for? I lay in bed listening to the crickets.  The air was cool, and smelled like rain. 

The contrast was telling.

The busy evening, the dancing, the talking was  all fun enough, but no thing can ever compare to stillness. Nature reflects that. The rain's purity made me feel the rain in my own soul, my own crickets chirruping, my own cool wind, and the trees growing in my own space.

There is a pulse, and heartbeat of spirit in quietude, peace, and holiness in nature, that can only be heard if you are listening. It is the soul's housemaid, and can be bring you into a state of mediation that sweeps away accumulated box clutter.

I couldn't help but think that I enjoyed this bit of quiet alone, more than even all the days events.

I never thought that I would come to a point in my life where stillness, and my time meditating---emptying my box, would be more desirable that filling it. That even with all the interesting things you can do, places you can go, stuff you can accumulate, there is no comparison to the peace found in the empty spaces of life. It fills you up, where most of our doing will impoverish you from yourself. 

It makes me feel a bit like a tree, or a rock, or a stream, or a sunset. Not that interesting to the people that I used to vibrate with.  The more space you let in, the more a part of earth you become---quiet, serene, and not something people want to spend too much time in, because it doesn't have edges, labels, nor can it be defined, and put on a shelf.  Everyday there's a different sunset, every day different weather, and different clouds form. Every day there's  an unknowable spaciousness dangerousness that is real, sometimes intense, isn't always fun, or safe, or knowable. Nor does it talk in words. It speaks in a unique language of emptiness.

We are afraid of the space, and earth, and sky. And shield ourselves from it. And mostly crawl inside our cramped boxes to stay away from the stillness.

And in doing so we shut out the voice of God.

“Silence is the language of God,
all else is poor translation.”― Rumi

 Rarely do we listen to that silence and hear that voice. It is a sermon that is more powerful than any human words. 

Silence.

It's very interesting to try silence out, especially in conversations. You know if you are in an okay place with someone when you can be silent with them and not feel that awkwardness---just enjoy sharing a space with someone, no need to fill it with anything.

Then if and when you decide to create, or talk or sing, or dance on the canvas of life, though you may not be as busy, nor invested in your creations as before, it feels more alive, and fulfilling, because you're not doing it to get anything at all. You are just creating because it's more spontaneous, and comes out of your stillness, like rain, or wind, or birds chirruping, or kittens purring. It is an act of love, born from love itself. Therefore all need is gone, and your action is pure.

Stuff falls away.

People's conditional games are now clearly glaring, and you no longer want to play them.

Conversations die.  

Parts of yourself you used to hold up and value, shed like a snakeskin.

You outgrow the old.

You don't have anything to prove. No competition = no competitors. 

It feels a little bit like a death. 

But a good one.  Where you mourn a false deity you once served---your ego, and the egos that held you under bondage in the name of goodness.

You don't have anymore shiny gold bricks. Nor do you have stories telling of your pursuit of them.

No gold bricks means people who used to like to be around you to get a piece of the "gold brick" also falls away.

The only gift you get is the one you give, and it is a gift of being in the present moment its self.  Seeing the space, being the space, and bringing that beauty in this eternal now.

We are all just little vessels of light moving around in cardboard boxes, pretending that the stuff we put inside, and the labels we acquire is who we are.

All the while it is the space that is the treasure.

Space.

It is beautiful.  The sooner we find out, the better. The more people think you have something in your box that they don't, that you possess something valuable, they want your box, and think it's had a golden childhood, and perfect pain free safe boxed-life.

They sometimes see small fragments of light shining out through the battered cracks of your box and think, something really interesting is going on in that box.

Something...

 So, yeah, you want to look like you're having too much fun. Have an empty box. Be empty and real with another person, and people will wonder what's inside. They'll think you're got a party going on. Who knows, maybe you do.

And they'll want to know the secret.

Then they will scratch their head when you open your box, and let them look inside, and they find....

                                  Just an empty box.