Sound of silence and the wisdom of the seers are one and the same for among the forests and caves dwell continual pauses of sound, the staccato rhythm that is woodpecker and heartbeat of the ancient tree who spreads her roots and cries her tears of renewal silently replenishing the foundation of existence while her fingers spread wide in a canopy of green velvet healing.
I rose this morning knowing the optimistic joy of childhood before it became unfamiliar and chaotic, before it was filled with so much movement and noise, back when it was simple to feel the sound of silence within.
Sitting meditation outside earlier, the breeze cool, the shadow sweet, the songs were clear and could drown the cultural chaos of voices, car doors, engines, and garbage trucks. Here among the cloud-free sky of infinite blue though I know it is black beyond, here where sun is bright yet ebony curtain will fall upon the stage in a few hours, here is the language that is wanting to emerge but not quite ready…
The flowering of life-wisdom has little to do with toil and struggle yet more to do with the allowing we give to the earth as a container in which seeds can grow their sacred song into the world, where water droplets of morning dew shall quench the thirst of blossom-to-bee, and the metamorphosis of birth happens almost overnight where its essence rises and broadens into pink and green, and rainbows offer a slide for fairies to use as they gather us all up in bunches of colors, we the flowering spirits inhabiting form where forgotten memories pulse in our cells like limpid pools of blissful bubbles.
Can we feel the gap between sound and silence where flowering happens by magic? Where a petal is an arm and the pistil the body and all is reversed according to a non-size where shape doesn’t control because illusion holds the key and the flower swallows it whole? Where does the energy carry us? Where do we allow our flowering to happen? Is it on the outside with action or inside with reality of sound that is not the noise but the resonance of creation?
I walk mindfully upon the gravel where sometimes a footstep merges with the rock and the sharp edges fall away as if there is no it and me, no rock and skin and flesh but only the space between our forms and that is the cushion where illusion disappears if only for an instant. The moment when we exist entirely present as One without separation. And yet the absolute thrill of experiencing form and its diversity. Is it diverse, really, or do I create the impression of difference in my mind so that all I can do is follow along the breadcrumbs of matter spread before me as a buffet? I love the buffet! And to realize that I can wonder in the graceful expression of what energy manifests as well as pause and flower in the gap is truly amazing.
The flowering of life-wisdom is not only the plant but the Goddess within me, within all of us. She is the flower and presents realization with a flourish to say that duality is fun, and filled with choice. We can choose to be led or to lead or to follow our own path no matter what that may be. Form is marvelous but it is not “all.” And while every element is sacred evolving out from Infinite imagination, we are dying, too, and that is an amazing process as well.
I have a fascination with death because it is the very presence of death that allows us to see life before and after, not that we often remember the after while we are in the before. We are one stage, one painting of the Divine — hanging on a wall or set up on a table, just as we see the possibility of microscopic worlds as only the tip of the iceberg. We know so little that we grasp and cling to what we think we know. Even the seers, those who were and are the vision beyond form, they are only barely seeing and hearing for the Infinite is impossible to comprehend.
I can’t create a flower but I can encourage it to grow.