Children of the Now

 

(Riding my bike down a field of alfalfa, following the irrigation canals)

For the past two days, my sister, and I have been deep conversation about life, and philosophy---the kind of discussion you get lost in, a stream of thought, you can enjoy, and dip your toes in.

        A pool you eventually step into, and start walking through. You step over the cool pebbles, following the water. It primed my own well, and I found myself pausing here, watering my garden with these words.

If it feeds thirsty ground, then I'm glad.

 

When my sister and I do get into these streams, it feels as if we are at university, though I've never been to one. A school uninterrupted thought, it feels like we are teaching each other. When we get into deep philosophy, its like every other person disappears, and only truth is visible, and for those moments, fissures in the fabric of life open up.

Time stops.

Nothing really exists except the truth that is flowing. The light we are shining---the space we are creating for ourselves to step into.

There's nothing quite so scrumptious and nothing more rare, and valuable. 

Here we become mirrors, and glean, and harvest and cast perspective on the painting our eyes had been so close to.

 

It feels like at those rare times, when truth is spoken, we are resonating chambers, Temples where truth sounds, where a third thing is born, and we become midwives to wisdom of the moments, a now that needed air.

The now holding the letters.

The now, bringing itself into form.

Here, close enough for you to read, and eat, and know its flavor.

A sunny now.

A spring now.

A now filled with the perfume of opening flowers, and wet earth warmed by the sun.

A now so pleasant, you can almost hear it sing.

A now when green hums its harp strings.

A now when nature echoes the now from the meadows to the mountains.

A now when the blue sky glistens deeper.

A now when people feel a little more kinder, softer.

A now when it is easer to play, easier to build tree houses, and watch ants, a now when nothing feels like its trying to fight you, and even if it did, you don't mind, because you don't need to fight back.

And when you are present with the now.

You feel heaven.

Here, drinking warm tea with my sister.

Now.

Here, caring for my animals.

Now.

Here, gathering eggs.

Now, here.

Here, milking the goats.

Now.

Here being a chiropractor, and giving massage to those who ask for it.

Now.

Here meditating, listening to the birds.

Now.

Listening.

Now.

Here peering through my window. The Now.

Here bringing my koto out into the sunlight, and making music with my sister, and her violin student.

Now.

Here watering my bed of flowers, watching the peas grow.

Now.

Here riding my bike from one end of the field to the other.

Now.

Here speaking truth.

Now.

Here writing the truth down that asks to be written down.

Giving back to the now through my words, a place for more nows to remember themselves.

Now.

Here pausing when the now asks me to stop.

Now.

Here eating ice cream, listening to music, and sprinkling lemon zest onto my food, present with the now, and those there with me, not wanting any other nows.

Now.

Taking pictures of the moments that ask to be looked at closer, for me to be a frame---to find, to bring into the beauty of now, my knowing of it.

Now being still, waiting for a blueprint that speaks from that stillness to move me.

Watching the nows that have past, and seeing the truth hidden in all the ugly nows that were just asking for the light of the now to shine on itself.

Now moving. Now pausing. Now painting. Now looking at the color of pain, or disharmony, and honoring their existence, but knowing a now that sees beyond the closeness of those fractured nows.

 Now, honoring the law of form, and the law of the invisible together. The entire now. Not just pieces.

Here moving from one now to the next, doing my best to be at one with it, as it shows me all its colors.

Through listening to the now, it is like you make a map, though invisible, for someone to find.

A map, where Now is the destination.

Where the now is the path.

The truth of the greater now is---your compass that brings you to yourself.

Where you find the presence.

Your essence.

The ultimate now.

Here the now's music can be heard, no matter how dissonant it may sound, and no matter what dress the now wears. You see it, like the beggar in woods, hiding its true form. Maybe even forgetting itself in its own costumes.

The now.

Though sometimes hidden.

Is here.

Always waiting.

Watching.

Giving to those who give to it. Reflecting back those who reflect its truth back to it.

If you know where to look, and see the messages the now gives you, it will always point to the greater now, a truth beyond whatever form the small now takes.

The now contains it all.

The now holds it all.

If you know the now, you know you are held by it, embraced by it every moment.

Through every action you take, you show and pay homage to whom you love, and serve---The now, or the later. 

Children know the truth of the now better.

Children serve the now.

Children love the now.

And the now loves them.

Supports them.

The more we see how present God is.

The more present we become.

The more we know we are all children of the now, birthed through the narrow hall the Nows we are asked to accept.

Letting in the now, no matter what the now is wearing.

The now knocks, every moment.

Now.

Here, and another now.

The now is all we can really know.

Now is all the world needs.

Here the now comes disguised as pain.

Here the now comes dressed in laugher, and light.

Here the now comes dressed in darkness.

I see it now.

The now.

It comes dressed in bones.

Death, too.

Now.

The now comes in every disguise.

In very costume, in every age, using destruction to wake us up to a now that never dies, to bring us face-to-face with no other moment than now, to see the light in the darkness.

Not to get lost in it, but to reveal the stars of the now, bringing life into the most decayed moment.

Here is our calling, to welcome the now.

Here is anger, now.

Here, is sadness, now.

Here is laughter, now.

Here is spring, now.

Here is decay, now.

Here is life, now.

Here is death, now.

But the now never dies.

It is eternal.

Now is what is real, and is dressed in every moment, and every season, eternally swaying to her own sound.

What is heaven?

Where is now at?

Who can find this place?

Now?

Pain and Fear. They can show you the now in ways that contour the picture, they are like a close up lens that can show you patterns, and textures, a close up view, one that's raw, and scary, and terrifying, if that's all you see.

Loss can bring you a view of the empty canvas, a place that feels frightening, a fear that space is all there is.

Anger can point you directly at the now, for in it is fury, that has been overcome by the now of terror, and fear, and loss, so much so that it has reached the point where, now has and no space for anything else, other than that raw moment of now. When you see it come at you, when you see anger's face reflected in another, see it as your own now's gurgling death cry to be heard before it's consumed by its lens that forgotten it can zoom out. The moment you let the bigger now in you move to a now that is clear lake, that is still, with no waves or ripples, you can look inside these pools, and find real now, reflected there.

Yourself.

For every fractured now, loved, is a soul saved, a piece of yourself, a shade of color, kept because it was also apart of the now.

Though, many get lost in the ripples, they can't see the now through the waves, many are overcome.

But a few are learning to swim through them to pools that are still. They are refined by waves, and ripples, and are able to allow them, because it brings them closer to a place that knows no pain.

Now.

A place that is unafraid.

The now.

A place where there is no lack.

Now.

A place where there is perfection.

Now.

Here the now holds these moments together, and provides space for the little nows waking up to a now that contains them.

     

   Here we little nows, are just like the bulbs of springs, caskets hidden under ground, coming up and showing our treasures, bursts of color for lost nows to find, here growing around a rock. Here, a soft yellow bud sparkling where it wasn't planted by any hand, but by the wind, floating to where it was needed.

Here the nows, unexpected blossoms, bringing you to this now.

Wildflowers.

Now.

Bursts of music, now.

Every morning, every night, God sings out his symphony through us, now, through, pain, grace or love, or loss, or gain.

The music, pleasant, or mournful, has still only one purpose.

One goal.

To bring everyone into the now.

Where heaven is.

No other moment.

No other time.

Now.

And by allowing the now.

The now remembers its name.

Here, true followers of the now, wed no other God.

Only the now.

We serve only that which brings us to ourselves.

We honor form.

But follow spirit.

Here we stop serving fractured things, and things that divide and split, and pry, and step boldly into the wholeness of whatever is happening. Now.

To be the emissary of the now, we serve the whole.

Here, presence.

Here love.

Here music.

Here truth.

The world is too much full of pain.

Without anyone in love with the now, no one can see it's best dress.

Not enough beautiful nows.

Not enough messengers of moments left unnoticed.

Not enough nows that have kissed their own stillness.

Here, nows are needed more than anything else.

Warriors of presence.

Nows that can see all the ugly nows, and love the truth of the now asking to be seen behind them.

Here we embrace the cast out nows that need veneration.

Nows that no one saw.

Here, nows that were lost nows buried.

The nows that were unaccepted.

 The now of peace that went unsupported.

Now, the now supports its own existence.

Follows its own voice.

Now, every now that hasn't had air is showing up.

And some nows will be nearly unbearable, hard to keep company with.

But now is now's time.

Some will be nows that you want to keep.

And some nows you will want to throw away, or judge.

Nows that got hidden, by not now, but then, later, yesterday, last year, tomorrow, someday, when I, I should have, they should, he should, she should, I should, why don't, how? When, what, how much? Not enough, too little, too light, too dark, too short, too tall, too colorful, too gray, too much something, or not enough of something.

The world is crying out for the now.

Angry, it pounds on everyone's door.

No one dares look.

It is ugly.

No one wants to spend time with it.

And if they do, they get angry at anger, and it doubles, and spreads its darkness inside the nows warring with it.

No one has a moment to spare to hear its sermon of woe. Can you hear the wisdom it preaches, though loud, and unrelenting?

"I know the truth!" It shouts, as it bangs things around. "I remember! Everything was once perfect! Now it is not. There is hate, death, disease, greed, and desire, and this is the only now I see. This is my anger.

That. Once.

Long ago.

We use to dwell in a place where there was no pain.

This now is not what I once knew.

There was a time when I no longer had to leave the now that was beautiful.

Once.

I was whole.

Now I am fractured, because I have left the real now too many times for me to know anything else.

Now I do not see the truth.

There was a place where everything worked, and nothing broke down.

I remember the perfection of myself, of the world, and my soul is crying out that perfection of that now that is not.

Where has that now gone?

Once, I could fly among the stars.

Now I am reduced to struggling to hear my own voice.

Once I knew the unity that created worlds, and galaxies.

Now I struggle to know my own name. To see my face.

To feel my own presence. Where there was a now that feared nothing. The now feels small. Where once, now was all that was. The now is sliced in pieces, and bought, and sold, and warred with, and never allowed.

The now is evicted from childhood.

The now banned in schools.

The now lost to the churches of later, and when, and someday.

The now put in a bank, and saved for tomorrow.

The now lost in screens that mirror hate, and desire.

The now took too many trips away from itself, trying to bring lost nows back, and lost its way.

So if you hear the now cry out.

It forgot who it was because it gave itself away, and is asking for us to remember.

Now.

A now seeking its own truth.

It's own stillness.

A now. Not seeking anything other that its own land.

Until the world stops warring with it.

It cannot remember its original peace.

That the now that never left.

The now that is perfection, still.

The space that looks vacant, but is full.

Here in the school of the now, we are all taking the same course, the same curriculum.

Peer into the mirror of the now, and see what is reflected, here, now, you teach yourself. Every moment you find the whole now in a moment, you chart the map to the palace you have built with the stars of the nows you have collected.

The now is a beautiful place, mostly uninhabited. And its crystal floors sing to souls who step onto it. Let each now teach you. Let yourself be the child that gets lost in it, and overtaken by the now, and held by it, until you know who you are, and who you are not.

Who the now is.

Until you go past pain, until you know you are not the pain. Until you graduate from pain and let it take you to the place it wanted to take you---the now, you won't know that very trip, every emotion, every person, every lesson was meant to take you to the same place.

The now.

It's written on every road.

On every sign.

In every space.

The now is your university.

The only higher education.

Every now seen, is a degree, where you realize these trips are just temperatures.

Leading you to a place where the now is the only perfect, temperature, the only safe place to be.

Here.

Now.

Perfection.

It was never lost.

Only forgotten.

Unseen.

Unloved.

Unknown to itself.

Lost in the belief that life needed to be different.

Not now.

But when now is allowed.

When Now is seen.

Now is heard.

Now is taken close.

It unfolds into its true form.

 No color is bad.

No emotion wrong.

Only the disconnect from remembering the light illuminating the canvas.

Now we are remembering.

Sometimes forgetting.

Sometimes getting lost in the colors, and finding ourselves again as rainbows come, and go.

Sometimes finding a mirror that reflects the truth of the now, and remembering again.

Here in the now, we step through the mirror and bring God back.

Now.

Here, in the now where no other nows are wished for.

Only what is happening now.

Now, a dish being washed, now.

Now, a meal being cooked, now.

Now, God is here, now, as I am feeding him at my table.

Now, welcoming his spirit.

Now.

Now is here.

Now.

How to invite now into places once purged of its essence?

How to invite the now into hospitals, and churches, and temples?

How to honor the now, as I live, as I work, in spirit, and form, without compromise?

To honor the now of the land, that feeds the body?

And the now, of spirit, that feeds the soul?

Both are the same.

Both have forgot to honor the other's now.

And have lost the real now.

Lost life.

Now the now is showing itself.

Now.

See her, now, once invisible, now brought to life through those who honor it.

Now.

Letting the dance. Now.

Here.

It's voice is always there, woven to fabric of your own soul, sewn into every partial of existence.

And when you find that now that contains all nows, the story stops.

And you watch.

You play.

You pray.

You listen.

And then repeat.

You settle in to your own clothes.

This now.

Here is bliss.

A covering that seeks no other clothes.

Now.

This is the only higher education I know. The only costume I want to wear.

This is the only degree I want to hang on my wall.

Now.

Student of the now.

Graduated into the now.

This is the only thing I desire.

Now.

No other lovers compare.

No other goal is more worthy.

No other purpose in life greater than pointing out the now.

Pointing out the fabric.

Revealing the weaver.

As we let ourselves be woven.

Weaved.

We become the now, surrendered to it.

Letting ourselves be painted.

We reveal the painter.

And the painting.

The now.

The presence becomes seen not in our work, not in our form---but in the spaces we create.

In the moments we can accept.

The places we can heal.

With one now, we can feed the five thousand, and the five thousand can feed the world with one now.

No real nows are ever lost.

No true pattern we weave comes unstitched.

Nothing connected to the now ever dies.

So in death.

We remember that now is all we have.

That nows are the only thing that matter.

That the now is what is animating us.

And we must now start animating the now, bringing to light the now.

So that we now, never die.

Follow the now.

If stillness brings you closer to the now.

Be still.

Serve the highest king.

Honor the highest queen.

If your work brings you into the now.

Work.

If it obscures the now, move where the now directs.

If the people you serve dishonor it, and you find yourself split, find the space where now is.

Serve it.

Honor it.

This is the only way the world will be transformed, one now at a time.

We see the nows like little stars, and we gather them, and keep them, and sometimes bring them out when directed.

Now.

For eyes looking.

Now.

The more we support the now.

The more the now will support us.

The more we see the now.

The more the now will see you.

The more you honor the now.

Follow the now.

It will follow you.

You need not leave the now anymore, in order to bring people to a place where you are now not.

You can only leave the now so many times before you get lost.

Now is a place with room enough for everyone to live.

The now speaks.

And we are all learning to better hear its call.

A call of light echoing from the sun, to the moon, birthing children of now, sparkling nows---earth's own stars, echoing as best it can to the sky, like a mirror, trying to describe, light it sees from above in it's own children on the ground. Here a earth star, here a galaxy, here a moment of goodness, here, a black hole, here a sun, a moon, planets, fixed, some moving, some hidden, some clouds, and some air, some ocean, and some gravity, and places where there is not, showing off her Children of the now, reflecting now's light.

Now.