I believe that the feelings that I get come from what I give, and that what I give is what I have. And what I have, where did that come from? It came from deep inside, from seeds planted over many, many lifetimes, growing out when they need to see the light. It came from the mirror effect of self-exploration and inquiry reflected by other kindred seekers. Well, it comes from you, too.
But can I believe you? Because the fact is, I don't have you. Does that mean I manufactured it all? Well, two things. What isn't manufactured but a very few precious things in this material world? And second, I never wanted to have you. Not in the way most people want to have one anothers, have relationships nowadays, anyway. What I guess I felt, what I idealized and projected, maybe even manifested, was a having that consisted in the sharing of the feelings we give to one another, have for one another, all just to take this life-situation higher. Isn't that the best way to love? As far as I can tell, it's been hard, and it's been lonely as hell. But in the process is the highest truth.
Yet, maybe I was mistaken. Mistaken in my placement.
I did one time, believe you. And for a time after that, a time where you seemed to act against your heart and word, I withdrew my faith and placed it on another rung, on a foundation I hadn't actively intended to start from. Luckily for me, something, someone out there is looking out for my highest good. Maybe it's my momma who prays for me, some angel called to soothe. Maybe it's my inner heart which never wanted anything but the truth; for nothing but the truth would ever do, you see? Either way, some knowledge I wasn't really looking for -- but needed -- was given me.
And what I received was a wave of perfect harmony, floating me to easy decisions, safe and healthy commitments. I found myself back in learning mode, in a room where students of another caliber gathered to understand better those things hardly any schools teach these days (did they ever?). This institute for higher learning isn't like what you pay a fortune for. It's not the same four year party-with-an-exam kind of score. Not to say that all institutes of higher learning are. But now that I think about it, it was kind of a party. A spiritual party dedicated to the most high. And boy were people high. Yet so, so, down to earth. So, so cognizant and careful. Caring and helpful. Smart and free of pretense; like another dimension where everything made perfect if not wonderfully complex sense. Somedays I wake up and wonder: did that actually happen? When I go back, will it still seem so real? Did I take enough with me, to carry on the special feel? It's not all in my hands I guess, a mess of a test to hand someone who likes control; but a beautiful lesson in letting go and letting the trust flow.
One day, wondering, I asked my teacher about that kind of lovin I'd only known for another, which I found myself being taught to give to the creator.
So to my teacher, I asked her:
"What if that love, the one that can't be let down when placed up high, what if you direct that towards another human being in the same way, with no expectations, with the same unconditional bounty and grace and devotion we're meant to give to the divine?" (paraphrased)
"Well," she started, "They will disappoint you."
Ah. Yes. It was so simple, wasn't it? And while my head wanted to pretend like it wasn't disappointed, my heart knew the ache because it'd felt it.
I nodded, still trying to negotiate the truth, reasoning internally, that it'd have to be the place you came from wouldn't it? Can't be disappointed if you have no expectations but then again, you can't continue if you're not expecting love. But to trump it all, wouldn't that real kind of love go on anyway, over and beyond expecting a fruit to taste?
So I believed you. And I believe her. And I believe in the realness of the invisible.
I also believe that while man makes mistakes and can't be trusted, and will be fooled and disappointed, cheated and led astray by his own kind, his own kin, his own brand of what some call sin; that there's a smidgen of power I contain to continue on regardless.
It takes a kind of artist to understand the superior value of process. And I guess it would take a kind of genius to learn the right process and then build smarter, better, truer with it; compressing his impulses for the sake of diamonds, reaching for the presence as the final accomplishment in timelessness.
Time will tell if I'll ever believe in a man again, the way I did, the way the best part of me can. In the meantime, I believe in that love; in the strength it gives as it forces you to process it, slowly takes away the things you don't really, truly need.
But can I believe you? Because the fact is, I don't have you. Does that mean I manufactured it all? Well, two things. What isn't manufactured but a very few precious things in this material world? And second, I never wanted to have you. Not in the way most people want to have one anothers, have relationships nowadays, anyway. What I guess I felt, what I idealized and projected, maybe even manifested, was a having that consisted in the sharing of the feelings we give to one another, have for one another, all just to take this life-situation higher. Isn't that the best way to love? As far as I can tell, it's been hard, and it's been lonely as hell. But in the process is the highest truth.
Yet, maybe I was mistaken. Mistaken in my placement.
I did one time, believe you. And for a time after that, a time where you seemed to act against your heart and word, I withdrew my faith and placed it on another rung, on a foundation I hadn't actively intended to start from. Luckily for me, something, someone out there is looking out for my highest good. Maybe it's my momma who prays for me, some angel called to soothe. Maybe it's my inner heart which never wanted anything but the truth; for nothing but the truth would ever do, you see? Either way, some knowledge I wasn't really looking for -- but needed -- was given me.
And what I received was a wave of perfect harmony, floating me to easy decisions, safe and healthy commitments. I found myself back in learning mode, in a room where students of another caliber gathered to understand better those things hardly any schools teach these days (did they ever?). This institute for higher learning isn't like what you pay a fortune for. It's not the same four year party-with-an-exam kind of score. Not to say that all institutes of higher learning are. But now that I think about it, it was kind of a party. A spiritual party dedicated to the most high. And boy were people high. Yet so, so, down to earth. So, so cognizant and careful. Caring and helpful. Smart and free of pretense; like another dimension where everything made perfect if not wonderfully complex sense. Somedays I wake up and wonder: did that actually happen? When I go back, will it still seem so real? Did I take enough with me, to carry on the special feel? It's not all in my hands I guess, a mess of a test to hand someone who likes control; but a beautiful lesson in letting go and letting the trust flow.
One day, wondering, I asked my teacher about that kind of lovin I'd only known for another, which I found myself being taught to give to the creator.
So to my teacher, I asked her:
"What if that love, the one that can't be let down when placed up high, what if you direct that towards another human being in the same way, with no expectations, with the same unconditional bounty and grace and devotion we're meant to give to the divine?" (paraphrased)
"Well," she started, "They will disappoint you."
Ah. Yes. It was so simple, wasn't it? And while my head wanted to pretend like it wasn't disappointed, my heart knew the ache because it'd felt it.
I nodded, still trying to negotiate the truth, reasoning internally, that it'd have to be the place you came from wouldn't it? Can't be disappointed if you have no expectations but then again, you can't continue if you're not expecting love. But to trump it all, wouldn't that real kind of love go on anyway, over and beyond expecting a fruit to taste?
So I believed you. And I believe her. And I believe in the realness of the invisible.
I also believe that while man makes mistakes and can't be trusted, and will be fooled and disappointed, cheated and led astray by his own kind, his own kin, his own brand of what some call sin; that there's a smidgen of power I contain to continue on regardless.
It takes a kind of artist to understand the superior value of process. And I guess it would take a kind of genius to learn the right process and then build smarter, better, truer with it; compressing his impulses for the sake of diamonds, reaching for the presence as the final accomplishment in timelessness.
Time will tell if I'll ever believe in a man again, the way I did, the way the best part of me can. In the meantime, I believe in that love; in the strength it gives as it forces you to process it, slowly takes away the things you don't really, truly need.
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