Until I go home again

This is the fourth part of Zen and the monk and continues from where they left off: Pain, trauma, the dark night of the soul, love, or love’s loss? The bread and butter of our lives feeding us such murmuring satisfaction in the dream/mist where the next thing to appear is what our dulled thoughts conjure, limited to the narrow world that has sucked us into itself of our consumer beliefs of status and religious programming, all slaves to the elite without mercy that came here first and own and rule all. Where is the freedom?”

Zen: “Yes indeed, where is the freedom? It is a clue in your life to stand by the ocean and look deep, to realise the hugeness, and the smallness are in you, and that there is no distance between the two, where even the monkeys of thought can hardly come; a sailboat of love in the peaceful swell of bliss, sailing there beyond the thoughts where from the secret hidden depths where one wanders in flights of abandon with whispers of the mystery, searching for where it is hidden;

to look for it in the passion places of the heart, even the blood deeds of the mind, where the wingless angels of old thoughts grey the mist in the hope of time through nights of a dark dream. To not have any dust thoughts for this, that near perfect to wander in it all. What can I say? I want to go home, past those tides that pull too much their desire to sway. Through all the long corridors of stuff to have walked down through the long years, with that beauty following so near. I am thrown a bone of love, and like a hungry dog I pounce, yet find an empty shadow, that wind to sway the trees asleep in rustic dreams of passion’s purpose in the sleeping blackness beneath that glory.

And to find a note on the path, by a table of abundance, in some another country to pass through, to read there is something more. Let not the life escape in lack then where the charming stars in their splendour beseech to rise once more. But what can I take with me when I go? To have left so much behind, so much lost. To have swum in so many oceans just to drown in that beauty until I am covered by the dust, so much dust to love. There was love in that place I cannot remember, and it were there too. And the hole I was lost in for so long.

The flights through all those dark places of abandon. So many flights to some another place, so many places to find that love. And now I have found the answer was closer all the time, that if there is a food for kings it is this where the longing mystery is a perfect grace inside, not to be hidden but to hear the song of joy and know that comforting grace. With this yearning to explore something lovely, something that feels good. To hear the music of the friends, gathered good memories of beautiful places and so many images to remind of things to cherish: A suitcase of angel feathers and dreams caught from the winds, shooting stars in the gallery forever. Driftwood sand-sifting beaches ‘n’ sunsets, never to be forgotten. Boat rides into mystical sunsets, things seen that can never be told.

Wondrous sounds that have mesmerised to be enthralled and lost in timeless wonder where the morning’s dew of surrender kisses awake the love poem of the heart. To have met people in their lives exchanging time and graces of magical moments that have welcomed with warmth and shared what they are. And so many temples like this one. To have sat and listened to the chanting monks for timeless hours. And mosques of prayer to put the head to the floor and feel the heart speak. And little churches on hilltops close to the stars where silence is eternal. To Cathedrals so huge and solid in stone and time to wonder in the grandness of it all. And little driftwood temples where a lone one prays, to be still and listen to the waves on the sands.

Moments in time, so many moments, protected by angels, guided by masters, nurtured by loving care that came, always when most needed. How can so much be put into words? So many caring faces, smiling timelessly the moments of compassion that sway in the breeze; the beauty flower that silently reaches where love is the coat of surrender to the wind that blows through life. The traveling on with such bittersweet love and sorrow of too many partings, but so many beautiful moments of gratitude for all the love that has been sent; and those feathers of whispers that consoled, and silences of profound, and dancing on rooftops for the ghost ship to carry on along that splendid route of love with prayers of such promise. And not a moment too soon those visions that came of where I was not and where I could be. And in the fleeting shadows where the dust has no name to tell of secrets until I go home again.”

Monk: “It seems to me you have come a very long way; that a time came when all the treading turned to mud and had to be thrown away. Somehow over this long time you learned when to finish treading and gauging it just right you have made the most wonderful wine. You have made it this far, but it seems you still have some treading to do to become that fine wine you so wish. It has been a long and arduous journey for you, but a great passage of self-discovery that not many have the heart to travel along. You have denied this I think.”

Zen: “Yes, it has been a long time of it but if you’re not in a good place it doesn't matter how much you pray, how much you ask, how much effort you put in, or don't put in. Doesn't matter how much you meditate, how many signs you get from the angels; and no amount of synchronistic numbers, good wishes that come your way or anything else you believe in will make it happen for you. Life may still go against you. All the happy thoughts and positive affirmations may not turn it around. You can follow your bliss until all you have is gone. And all the books you read and all the advice that comes does nothing for you, will not change a thing. Giving may not help you to receive. The law could still be wrong and not work. All help may last only as long as it lasts, then you will be back where you began. Your life could be lived in lack and at the end you may just wonder why you came here. When you look back over your life you may just see if as mostly darkness, things that have gone wrong.

You wonder why law of attraction does not work, what kind of god would do this to you? You may do everything to change your life but it may still go worse. You may see all the beauty around you, look for it, down all the long years of your life, yet not attract it. You may ask, and pray and yet be left alone, unanswered. You may do all the things others do that have bettered their lives, and still be poor. You may look inside and not find it. People will look at you, judge you, say it is your fault you are like you are. They will tell you it is all inside of you, and only you can turn your life around. And when it won’t happen for you they will say it is your fault and you must seek help. And after you have asked for help, and even if it comes, and even if it is the right help, still it does not turn it around.

And years later the same is going on. Then they will tell you something else, and still blame you, until you know there is no point in asking, no use in trying, because there's nothing you can do. Life always just gets worse until you ask is it all just a bad joke? Then the towel gets thrown in redolent of surrender. And that’s when the magic happens. But for me there was a whole lot of doing before that happened.

In the dream dance, the boat takes you on the journey, the bird of spirit soars, and reflected in the full moon all things are known that are asked. But the city is not a place to thrive. Alone in my room that had been painted pink by someone while I had been out wandering, with the rain tapping the window as I lay on the bed with gentle music and shadow lines on the wall trying to push things away that didn’t mean anything. My things scattered all over the floor, waste basket turned over and trash spilled out as a light flickered outside through the window casting flickering shadows around the walls. I had come a long way for this, to be asking so many obscure questions in an obscure place in some lost city so far from anything familiar or safe. The door was open in the Summer heat-wave as I found myself listening to my thoughts, my life echoing back to me like the song of the cricket I could hear faintly from outside. I picked up a pen and began to write more into my journal of how I felt. How much loneliness can I take?

Before I could write anymore a huge sand-storm blew in with fluttering poems. I was crazy in that wind and so began plucking them out of the air. But it was no use, there were too many of them and I gave up trying to capture them all. And so now I feel I have to get back to the city somehow. There is something I have left there, some window of beauty that calls.”

Monk: “The formless has formed; what are you doing with it? Are there stars in your eyes? Are you on the mend? Is the magic nudging you, whenever you let go a little; yes, that's it...you are learning to let go, to allow, to not mind it... We are all learning a little more each day. As the thoughts chatter on, we carry on; sometimes giving in to them, sometimes just taking that one step more. But I feel there is no turning back for you and you can never find your city again by the ocean. But in the dance, you can lose yourself; and in the losing, find yourself. Dance to live. Just dance. Dance until there are no more words left. Dance until the sky breaks open with your delight.”

End of part four

Images from Pixabay

link to part two https://steemit.com/zen/@wales/running-through-sand
link to part one https://steemit.com/wisdom/@wales/zen-and-the-monk
link to part three https://steemit.com/satire/@wales/the-making-of-a-good-party