A song from a dream. I sit here in the café…internet unconnected, reason for coming lost….still, I have been thinking of the moment all day as I waited for a song. Here it is waiting in the bohemian coffee shop. A twist of guitar strings and a beat…it is here. The day rolls on….success? Catch up with an old friend, impress a job interviewer with focus and attitude. Playing the game of life…we are all players in the grand drama of our lives…play to win. Who knows if the calm certitude of the bhikku will secure the job but either way I am uncompromised and happy. Tomorrow I work all day and play music all night. All while keeping my love happy and secure. A great task for a Saturday….life waiting to be grasped and explored. The world is waiting…I must find my place in the dance of the Earth and flow free, borderless and wild in the breaking day and the starlit night.
Ghost figures drift form memories…life bursts through in the babbling splintering brook. Old memories join the new, the unexpected, and recombine effortlessly as it all flows downhill to the sea. The open sea of the limitless soul…our source and our home to which we shall someday return. Cycles bring the crashing shores to the highest peaks, only to return again to the beginning.
I sit in the moonlit shadow of the dream. Crouched beneath the ferns of the evergreen, I wait for the rains to pass. I listen, listen to the whisper of the crashing wind. Listen to it carry the rain on its journey and try to hear my own song within. Is it content? Is it smiling as it returns again and again? Does it see the humor in the relentless return of joys and sorrows, does it laugh as the river bends and crashes over the stones below.
On the last train out of Delhi heading west, he lies eyes closed in the hard noisy bunk as the countryside rolls steadily by. Even the plaintive cries of men hawking tea and hastily packaged meals does not awaken him from his meditation of motion. He has returned again to this foreign land. Alone, he contemplates the situation and finds himself at peace…or at least approaching a remnant of the peace he imagined could be his. The journey….the journey…..he continued ever onward toward the receding horizon.
He sees her face….a shadowy sadness passes over her features as she gazes off into the distance…unidentified and beautiful. She does not see, yet her eyes focus on something beyond, a vision. A vision of her own, a private reel. What secret worlds does she see from those darkened eyes?
On a bus….the window seat opens into a world behind closed glass. The rain flows over everything, sending sparkling reflections down the streets and over the backs of pedestrians in shiny jackets. A child’s laughter interrupts his gaze. She looks back and is greeted by eyes of innocence, eyes of knowing. A natural understanding and love seem to flow from the wide-eyed gaze of the child. He looks back into the street. Sadness and hobbling, limping loneliness cry in the streets for spare change and soda pop.
We are moving towards a moment. We are learning to become that which seems outside. We are seeing our selves in our true state, slowly allowing ourselves to believe. Believe in the truth that faced us all along in our journey towards the moment of now. Now is the springboard to an eternity of possibilities that greet each of us in every instant. Can we allow ourselves to see?
Assembled in fragments….connected by the moment of inspiration. This is the narrative of a splintered dream. This is the process of a reconstructing mind that rests behind the surface.