From the day-to-day of universal ebbs and flows, earthly agendas shadowed by worldly cries of needed spent personal time and energies, continuous adjusting of the sails as a skilled sailor catching perfect gusts of changing winds. No lists, mapping course, a free bird flying nature’s migratory pattern of seasonal transformation, honey-do’s drafting and forth navigational errands and to-do’s.
The first responder on the scene, catastrophic or diminutive proportions, shifting consciousness to altered states of reality not yet accessible by others, is disregarding spoken truths of foretime — days, nights, and years before. Holding steadfast to intuitive knowledge of all there is, acting according to the sacred law, spoken words unnecessary as your truth is kerosene.
Mind-chatter tasking monkey-mind to sit quietly beneath the Bodhi Tree, holding space for solitariness — connecting thoughts to feelings, bridging any unattended gaps between the hemispheres. Quieting the psyche of yesterday’s understanding, accepting a feeling of knowing, the Heart hijacks the brain.
What was — no longer, abiding in hidden veracity handed down through portal’s opening –Akashic record spilling theories weighted power and absolutes. Disparaging words thrown out with recycled trash in green bins of the ego’s not knowing amidst society’s lurid lies.
In between the dashes carved upon the headstones of limitless possibilities remaining free for all to receive, left to choose a path most fitting — a personal hero’s journey into uncharted territories. Vast is the Great Mystery, hence the perpetual gasping resounding exchange of eupnea shadowed by a culmination of finite breaths.
Revisiting childhood memories, past-life timelines thence before, healing wound’s scarring takes on traumatic triggers of the present day. Time giving salve healing all wounds written before, full disclosure of self-unto cosmic awareness hidden in plain sight, applying bandages on invisible wounds.
Closing the day, seasonal changes forthwith embracing shattered dreams turned fortuitous, exhalation of yesterday’s troubling mind. Winding down of summer’s gaze, tripping over spring had sprung, and winter soon to blanket our warmest of remembrance — smiling with full acknowledgment — my bones belong to autumn.
~ Ani Po