“No one lives his life…
Disguised since childhood,
Disguised since childhood,
haphazardly assembled
from voices and fears
and little pleasures,
we come of age
as masks…
from voices and fears
and little pleasures,
we come of age
as masks…
~
And though we strain against the deadening grip
of daily necessity…
I sense there is this mystery.
All life is being lived.
Who is living it then?
Is it the things themselves,
or something waiting inside them,
like an unplayed melody in a flute?
or something waiting inside them,
like an unplayed melody in a flute?
Is it the winds blowing over the
waters?
Is it the branches that signal to
each other?
Is it the flowers
interweaving their fragrances,
or streets, as they wind through time?
interweaving their fragrances,
or streets, as they wind through time?
Is it animals, warmly moving,
or the birds that suddenly rise up?
or the birds that suddenly rise up?
Who lives it, then?
God, are you the one
who is living life?”
who is living life?”
Rainer Maria Rilke
~*~
Life is the movement of “The Mystery.”
Life is the manifestation of “The Mystery.”
Life itself is “The Mystery” in movement with
Itself,
as Itself in form.
as Itself in form.
We are held in the embrace of “The Mystery.”
It wants to be known and seen.
It wants to play in the seeing of Itself.
In looking into “The Mystery” there is a sense of
intimacy.
There is only deep, deep Love looking back.
We are held in the intimate gaze of “The Mystery”,
like the intimate gaze of lovers seeing into each
other,
seeing beyond each other, seeing beyond the
persona,
the mask, into the depths of Pure Being...
the mask, into the depths of Pure Being...
Mystic Meandering
Meditative Writings
Meditative Writings
January 2009
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