There is only one space, which contains this and all other worlds - the stillness after exhalation, before the inhalation arises.
There is only one dimension, which includes all other dimensions - awakened emptiness.
And there is only one possibility, the infinitesimal seed of creation, enfolding all possible universes in the bindhu at the center of your chest.
It is an ever-dissolving diamond on the tip of a lightning bolt containing the echo of the cataclysm that has already destroyed the cosmos, yet holds the memory of all that ever was in soundless bewilderment.
The cosmic womb is the wild abundance of Uncertainty, but we fear it.
To assuage our terror, we fixate on a belief-system: astrology, the science of yoga, the seven chakras, a strict vegan diet, the eight-fold path, fundamentalist theology, or the perfectly regulated socialist state, which are all precisely the same phenomenon: the mind attempting to staunch its flow in an illusion of certainty.
Afraid of our own infinite possibility, we refuse to see the chaos and beauty of the world through the simple eye of the astonished heart.
The supreme adventure is a journey into silence, a pilgrimage of one breath.
Drown in the stream of the Wayless. Repose in the groundless space of anahata, just beneath your breast bone. Listen to the vibrant hollow of the unstruck bell, the sound before creation.
Beyond conceptual thought, dissolve the past and future. For one who dwells in the incomprehensible radiance of the heart, it is always Sat Yuga.
Painting, 'Hiranyagharba' by Seema Kohli.