You Are What Cannot Collapse

 

  

Anything that can collapse is not who you are. You are what cannot collapse, because it was never built. It was never babbled by the mind into a many-storied tower. Governments collapse. Political parties implode. Dollar bills suddenly blow away, empty and worthless. Overnight, world teachers, ayatollahs, popes and gurus lose their hypnotic charisma. You open your eye, even your own personality collapses, the persona you called "me," dissolving like an angry nest of fleeing hornets from your chest. You fall down crying like a baby on the kitchen floor, strangely relieved, wondering what ever happened to "you." Good work! Keep falling! Right through the linoleum, into the worm-dark loam where stones breathe wisdom in chthonic stillness, ancestral waters spring from blue crystal silence at the core of the planet, and you plummet all the way into the womb of your heart. Which is my heart. Which is our great great grandmother's heart. Which is the unshakable groundless simplicity of Being. Don't go anywhere. Give up every strategy, including this breath. "For the night shineth as the day: the darkness and the light are both alike to thee" (Psalm 139). Here, in a Stygian abyss, the Friend takes you hand, calls your name. You are held, enfolded, engulfed by Love.

Art: 'Evening Star' by Susan Seddon-Boulet