All roads started from here

It's not looking for where all the roads converge, it's looking where they all come from.

Yesterday, in the subterranean mall, looking for goods, the smell came out. THAT smell, the smell of Banyen Books, sandalwood and peace, gentle subtle body blanket in through one sense, then connecting with the others and secreting peace and equanimity like a body organ.

I wonder if it's the Ken Wilber Book I'm reading; it's less than 7 days out from it's home in the tomed and fertile womb of Banyen, and as such would carry it's mother's scent for some time; but no - that book is away in the knapsack.

I wonder if it's my hands carrying the scent from the child embossed from the mother, but that too is put to rest - all I can get is garlic from a cooking adventure two nites ago.

Yup, it's clearly in the air, and yes, it's forgotten about until

Later

When I'm outside the coffee store, taking in the smells of That Which I Cannot Have - the bean has been put out to pasture for the last 7 days as I go through this Mediclear cleanse - and will be further excommunicated for another 14 days - it hits me again.

Synapses being what they are, a new connection is added. Now we have Book Womb Scent Child Cleanse. Or, in humanese, maybe the cleanse is finding the blocks and either making them translucent onion soul paper the Sun can shine through or removing them or allowing the Sun to flow around them. Maybe the translucence is needed to clear the other Huxleyed variables maybe

Again!

The gentle sandalwood, in through one sense, now resting, subtle down on the translucent spots, a balm that warms and enters, enters and warms. In and back Aslan, in and back

And as the day goes on the sandalwood finds me:

from the microwave, piggy backing on the inlet air; tasted in the run salt over my lip; from my tea

It's beautiful and appropriate that One Taste started as One Smell, choosing the most primeval of the senses, the most base, sending chemical signals to the reptilian brain stem because bodysense, the physical, the gross, is a part of the whole that has been largely ignored in the search for emancipation.

But now it's gently opening doors to the other senses; not knocking just quietly opening, peeking in and helping itself in

and now

It's not just Sandalwood everywhere, it's Friends everywhere

They're splitting open like corn husks, gross physical levels opened into the souls womb where their light is all; ebullient, ephemeral, ghostlike terrible beauty.

There! On the street corner. Out with the inner, in with the outer. Form is formless, I see with the eye of spirit, they are looking back.

Cramped in the elevator! Family of lotus, peeling back; clothes, psyche, ego left crumpled and forgotten at their feet; just soft lights bleeding into each other; breathing each other; becoming what was always was

And it makes sense, Wilbers talk of the prison of time, beginnings, endings

Beyond language kids, because how can I explain something that simply Is.

I try to wrap myself in the light and sandalwood; the first step of contraction out of I-I; forget mySelf for minutes hours days? And wonder before I enter the amnesia again when next grace will again bring the Sense back to my senses.

namaste