Solid Lines of Broken Glass

The oval has its advantages and disadvantages

As long as it is runnable outside (and my broad definition of runnable is a ground without blatant snow or ice), it provides a labyrinth of sorting that removes much of the chafe and challenge of the road or sidewalk.

The first few laps are the blood vessels reacquainting themselves with what it feels like to truly open to the demands in front of them. A steady white ache in the legs that burns quickly, then transfers up into the airways; heart picking up speed, lungs quickening.

This is the gross of the gross, the top of the colander as the shakedown and sorting unfolds. It stays up top, fading a little, as the next levels drop

down

And we're into the world of breath and heart and muscles and time and mind. Not as in your face difficult as the first level for sure, but there are subtle demons that more or less pull out their deck chairs and settle in for the run. There is a stridency here, in spite of the laizzez fare attitude. Time is clearly the ring leader. Even when all else is settling into rhythmic trance, Time has but to raise the baton and everybody else is backseated to the push, pull or discomfort he decides to manifest.

This too, can be shaken down staying up top as the even finer level of the run settles down.

Will and Itent.

Two brothers, these: Will the stable and predictable; Intent, the well meaning but sometimes fragile of the two.

And below these

Is.

Follow the non-linear linear tangent, the laser line from the finest level of oval the the intuitive level outside of Oval.

This would be fine weather sidewalk barefooting; salted face and saline sheet pulled from the stars to skin surface level; portable shade slipping down the olfactory awning, sear and pull, sear and pull as steady as a commuter train as I roll on slightly downhill to the turaround point until

diamond in front of me; image sharpened by the dull of the shades, a shift out of harms way, followed by a decision tree.

To the left, intuition, IS, run without fear but without direction.

To the right, hierarchy and structure, linear thought, the steps that might deliver me safely from shredded feet.

Inevitably, the left wins. It HAS to win, if I have any hope of navigating these lines of broken glass. And the lines collect and disperse like water through a creekbed; swaths scattered by an invisible reclusive gem gardener. Each sparkle a part of the mandala that will be pushed and pulled by traffic and weather and feet and wheels and paws and dust and time. Each sparkle a little cutting machine.

So it's a chosen path to NOT think. To be, a little thanks with each step that no damage has been done, a little hope with each following step that no damage WILL be done. Each lift and pull of the nekkid foot a whirlpool of belief, faith, hope, and a little fear...

Mantra beyond mantra, just trying to be in the arms of the divine, knowing that karma and fate and will and luck and disregard are all playing a part, drifting like billowing silk over the melting tar and embedded ego-checkers, until I'm through.

IS as intuitive grappling

IS a place of No-Thought and being.

Still in the world of the dual, but inexorably bound to the non-dual.

Because 'Is' is the non-dual, another form appearing and dissolving in and off the oval.

namaste

GrIndia

That would be a lexicographical representation of my journey from there to here. Greece to India. Or I guess more accurately from Here to seemingly there to Here.

My memory is shite compared to most people I know - long term memory anyway - short term I can zone in and make it happen. Still I do remember the first book of philosophy I picked up - don't remember the title exactly, maybe it's around here somewhere.

Tish.

Anyways, the large image I have of it - still rings in my head to this day, is the discussion of nothingness and somethingness. Outside inside. All and Not All.

And here, at 42, I'm waking up (it's so hard with language to describe waking up. All descriptions seem to involve division. Waking up - means FROM sleep - that's distance baby, separation, and what we're talking about here is undivided being) and it's tying the knot in a significant way from then to now. Thing is now, there's more of a sparkle to it; a clarity; a coming home; a truth.

There's different ways I can look at it, but it seems to cut through a lot of the chuff. I can still muse about life's purpose, the right meditation technique, the right life I should be living, the right things I should be doing. But, using the razor sword of inquiry, I can slice through all questions and representational musings and look for that which is. And by recognizing that Is-ness, realize that even my pre-awake stage was part of the Is-ness.

I stand before me today, arms raised in sacrifice, to the group in front of me. Many voiced choir - different timbres, postures, abilities; different approaches, beliefs, and attitudes. Many different personalities, awaiting the aha-up-motion of my baton to inhale and ...

start

Hi falsetto from the back left, purity so disengaged from the blemished; so focused and pure; silver needle piercing me front to back, lifting me in a mother's swoon then soaring off into the background. Basso profundo rumbling from the front; a wall of vibration that catches me in the abdomen and heart; dissolving waste and distance; branding Eros then rolling away in salted thunder. Middle voice, but from both sides trying to find center. Straining journey, finding moments of solace and ringing behind the eyes.

And then

The fugue begins. Chords spinning Celtic wonder; flirting with infinity; tightening and expanding; creating and dissolving tension; creating and dissolving distance; sine waves like lovers spooning in closer and releasing into each other; one voice now, one stream of terrible beauty; coring me through center; lifted backward spread eagle; agonizing beauty and tension , then utter release; beyond mind; sex; judgement and distance.

Is

experiencing the

conductor

and the choir

the many

and

the

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