Layers


Layers

“So much luggage!” the voice says.

I laugh, taking off the needs, those heavy needs

unbuckling the how’s and the why’s

and the rapturous, dissonant speeds

like a tear escaping in the wind

like a ferry departing the shore

fleeting, this moment,and yet

necessary

I wonder, to wander into it a little more 

Asking “Can we touch this life to experience it deeply?

Can we stand back and embrace the allness

with a resounding YES! instead of the relative safety

of so many ‘maybes’?

Can we remember and become the memory

Dying from the mind to make now, fresh?

Would we want this?

Would we choose?

Would we say yes?”

Together I and the All That Is

are in deep conversation

like two lungs pulsing with the very Universe

embracing such clingworthy illusions

and releasing desirous absorption

inhaling fears of smallness

Causing our human beingness

to ever so deftly fling into nothing

inhaling the bigness swallowing us whole

exhaling trust, trust, trust in a rebirth

Playing there on the pause

with the fullness of a resounding yes!

the breath expands so

to include delicately dancing leaves,

and samba-swaying grass

rising into berry scented winds

and resting -still- on the bare road

For as long as I care to notice

To my eye, there is no question

No fork to divide the fold

no choice to be made here

I come here to weep my gratitude

I come here to this place alone

yet in the fullest of company of those who make Love their home

To pay my loving respect to the wisdom in the Soul

Remembering I have been here

many many times before

When my feet were so much less wrinkled and worn

Sometimes, instead of the full opening

for the sake of drama,

I  turned my head left

Finding right where I stood

was a fork: a cliff, a breaking point

so too, it became in my heart and head…

Next, like clockwork, a compulsion for certainty

draws the noise in nearer

Until it is all, again, too much

 

At last, the senses fall prey

Once again, the outside is folded in

The muck dried up on the skin

Cracking a thousand times

as The Wandering One moved my limbs

Till I would find my gait pulled me straight

through the bending blades

Till I am found at the heart of my destination.

Laughing, tears like a prayer, blur my earthly eyes

I remember, I can get to fresh Ground

and yet, Presence must always answer

“Do I bring freshness to It?”

Or does the ripe scent of my ‘selfness’ follow fast?

How shall it feel, this Space I inhabit?

How would I treat this moment if it were my most beloved guest?

Shall I entertain, this Company?

Shall I prepare the inhale for the family

of my collected values and preferences?

The voice returns,

“So sticky, so intrusive, there is simply no space left!”

Oh how will I best invite Thee

Again, into the emptiness?

“Gratitude and hands turned to others,” it said

“Ears that hear past the din of discomfort

Piercingly awake to the season’s birdsong

Live, not as I want- but as life asks.

Take courage in the gentle returning to One”

“How will I weave the old threads of my stories

I am so used to telling to keep me warm?”

The voice whispers

“Building is in the willingness to come a little more undone.

Take off a layer, child, more, if you wish

you wont need it when its gone.

You are here to warm others.

You are here to reflect the sun”

Aeryana Castley
May 2013
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