There is the Way

There is a blending, a mending, a merging, a converging, a breath in

There is a loss of story, a melting of once rigid books into amorphous potential, a loss of questions

There is an isness that doesn’t ask questions, and doesn’t answer them

It does not strike, it does not flee, it does not judge

There is something which knows itself but cannot quite catch a glimpse of itself in the mirror of mind, at least not yet 

There is a microquake, a vibration, an aliveness, a chaotic bubbling so omnipresent it masquerades, hiding permeable experience

There is a death of this individual dream,

…I feel meant to become a monk, not to become a monk, but to wrap this form in the cocoon of robes, as a protective wrapping while the insides slip into an internal abyss, to be swallowed into the middle of the immediate normally unreachable…

There is a beautiful dream of friendship of love, of adventure, possibility, potential but it does not seem as real to me as it used to, not as real as it seems to most 

There is a part of me which turns away from the drama of life, in a dimensional direction that is unseen to the eye, unexperienced by most, at least unspoken of, a secret path

The contrast of the world frames a pathway into a reality which waits, open, vast, here now

There is an electricity, a hum, an energy

The opposite of numbness

There does not seem to be anything which is out of place, hands drawing themselves, all things emerging elegantly, effortlessly, freely from nothingness. 

Emotions flood this river brain, pushing and pulling and neutrality, and something transcending. 

Strange how much time of my life, spent wanting to die, there is a fragility to sanity, mind melting risk on rapids, ledges, slippery slopes.

In the scale of time we are all already dead, at least what we call ourselves, our language, our stories, our homes, swallowed in time, always possible, nothing lost, not one moment saved – not one moment forgotten, all witnessed and forgiven by that which is not swept away, safe, warm, loved, grateful

Senses, form, perceptions

…Feeling the loneliness of experience and sensing it in others undiscussed. Maybe I can ask everyone to talk about it. I guess that is an attempt to not be so alone. How much do I do to not feel alone, maybe everything on some level, there is an underlying current of loneliness…

I don’t know what the future holds, don’t know what the future holds, how long this form will live?

How far along the spiritual path it is possible in this interwoven world?

I would like to reach an island, to awaken 

How strange, how subtle is the way?

.

Justin Dowd (Astrophysicist & Buddhist Monk), August 2021

.Creative Commons.

Image by Christopher “Selomon” Closson from Pixabay