There’s never enough room in it for me, you see. Because I’m too much. I’m just too much. So there’s no rooms for me. Here at the Inn.
It just marches on and on from the one thing to the next. Where am I in all of this? I am snuffed out. No room here for me. How do I occupy this space if I am too much. How to make oneself smaller. Why? So that there may be room for me. Room for me at the inn.
There is no room at the inn. The manger will suit you. The manger. Humility. And here, the animals, the angels, the gnosis. Your friends. Your ever-present, ever-loving home. Here in the manger you are birthing. You are born. You are the new morning. You are the light.
Here you hold the space. You hold it because you are it. You don’t need space when you are that.
Here we see the dervish in the hourglass. They are one and the same.
One cancels the other out and we are left with the fool. Zero. Which is all.
Love taught me that.
Feel the rise. Don’t push it back down into dark coils. Let it up. Let it out. Viper vicious in the chest. This venom is good for something. So acidic, it breaks apart the clogs in the throat. Feel them dissolving now.
Too much and not enough at the same time? Such a conundrum. How can this be. Sounds like some sort of paradox. Like this day. And the pirates taught us about that word. But it was still not understood. How could it be understood. Things that cannot be understood can therefore either be accepted or not. How does it feel to accept too much, not enough? If it’s equal measure, then we end up back at zero. Isn’t that nice. Isn’t that refreshing. A breath of fresh air. When we accept what is. Then we see that our measurements are perfect. There will be no slippage of this gown. No one snapping at you anymore for expressing yourself.
You are free.
And the snake has become my tiger. Sitting, crouching, waiting.
I pet him. He knows better than to bite the hand that feeds him. So, I hold him close. Until there is no other. This is the barren mystery of the landscape of desire. This is the fuel that stokes even the smallest of fires. It becomes an all-consuming blaze. It’s in the eyes. And the truth shall set you free. You are the truth and the freedom.
I didn’t know I was still dying when I wrote that. Although I could feel the buzzards already pecking at my flesh. What good did it do me. The carnal is not what I am here for. But for skin to skin. Dust to dust.
And dust I must, for stagnation only serves as long as the pool is waiting for the right moment to ripple. When the expansion is in the light and not in the dark and this is the tiger, you see. Or do you not? That is okay too. I do not judge you for not seeing what I see. How could you, have you worn my eyes, walked in my shoes. I didn’t think so. Yet, you know something. See something in me, or you wouldn’t be here.
This can that I have been kicking has been veering towards the curb and I ask for the can to become a May. May is a nice month, don’t you think. When things are emerging, being born, when the light is growing longer. The longer we lean in. That’s right, lean in. I’ll whisper you something. Sweet, like magic wings. A flutter. You hear it in your chessttt now. And it beckons you on. And all the beckoning asks is that you lend a tongue for the ear that was given.
The candid and the clean know what dreams are made of and the in between knows what the sides have been banishing when the banshee wails. You thought that a mistake. You see, when you are on the path, there are no mistakes. So learn. ME. A dialect so keen on knowing you from the inside out. Every bit of stuffing pulled out by the teeth and tossed upon the floor and guess what, that dog was there for every minute of it. It is only you who wanders in to find the mess that you must now clean up. You’ve been on both sides. It’s up to you where you wish to be.
Teetering from one to the other. Where is the balance found. We spoke of this earlier. The balance is in the equation.
Who is this we of which you speak. We are in a sense, the phrase that you use most. Do you sense that. Understand my meaning. Our meaning.
Where are you going with all of this, someone wants to know. This is always the question, isn’t it. Why must you know such things. You are not going anywhere if you must continue to answer that question.
That’s right, I said answer the question. The one you’re always asking and answering for yourself, as if that were the only answer. Throw it as far as you can. It is a ball, but this is not baseball. And don’t watch for it. Don’t look for where it has gone. Don’t wait for its return. I told you I loved you long ago. Lying in the grass. You are the one who gets to decide what that word that begins with L means to you.