TORN BETWEEN TWO WORLDS
We rush at the chance to meet the majestic and come face to face
with its reverent presence,
forgetting that lagging somewhere in the footsteps of ourselves
. . . is our little conscious self.
For a moment, it falls behind . . .
and it’s left weeping and straining to apply every effort to catch up and be a part of the dance ahead.
It cannot run any faster nor can it apply itself anymore and it struggles to come to terms with its limitations and lack of ‘lightitude©.’ It is more than equal to the task here on the ground in this sub-aware landscape . . . but high in the altitudes of spiritual awakening, it breathes heavy and groans. As the altitude reaches a new matrix of understanding, the little self barely crosses the line and holds on with every rope that it can find. It is willing to hang the Self that climbs so easily and effortlessly, but its cries of rage and manipulation, helplessness and powerlessness are met with a stark vacuum and it succumbs.
It surrenders and sits down among the tombstones that were left behind by the Self at the summit and weeps at its ignorance and ineptitude. It did all that it could and more . . . it studied and learnt, applied and suffered, went without and released and now here, just below the freezing line, it has nothing more to give . . or to do.
The little self gives up . . . finally
Nothing . . .
A vast whiteness and a blank canvas . . .
And a soft voicein the distance from somewhere way up high.
‘I will be down periodically, and we can journey down the mountain together,’ is heard on the wind. The little self stands up feeling hope and peace.
‘I will do everything from now on and you can simply enjoy our experiences and make tiny decisions that require no effort. Your burden is light, and your yoke is easy, and you have a willing companion. In return – I will see the world through your eyes and experience what life has to offer through you . . .’ was heard by the little self.
There was a chuckle and the little self stood and looked out at the vast vista for the first time . . . with appreciation and gratitude.