Lightness of Being…

Oh silly woman you can’t rationalize your being. Don’t you know that already? Haven’t you learned that it matters not what comes out of your mouth? Your tongue twists under the burden of justification, your words come out straggling and weak, crawling with self conscious ignorance. Your logic is flawed, broken from centuries of systemic mis-education; you sense it, though you can’t fix it. You keep talking, opening your mouth and closing it, as if a stream of words would be gathered from the universe’s bosom to echo that deep conviction buried within you.

Some things are nurtured in secret, the way a bud sighs in contentment as she dreams of the rose’s laughter; or the manner in which an egg protectively encases his own flight.

Patience my dear is laced only in wisdom gleaned from the proper order of things. Keep your face close to the earth to inhale that musky scent of your beginnings; your eyes peeled on heaven’s heights for remembrances of eternity.

Becoming is a slow agonizing process that requires all of time to gather herself around you and mold you lovingly into being. The oak tree does not emerge into her stately height overnight; she churns out decades grinding simple minerals into magnificent splendor.

Don’t waste your breath articulating the ineffable; imagine how much empty noise the universe would be clanging with; had all of creation wasted inordinate time “debating”, “talking” and “arguing” over their “purpose” and trying to convince each other of the merit and uniqueness of their own existence? 

The sun continues to shine and swim along its orbit regardless of your preference for the solace of the night’s shadows. Seasons alternate in joyous rhythm heedless to your groans and curses. The universe unfolds in mesmerizing beauty inattentive to your latch on blindness.

Learn something from this gorgeous indifference around you; waste not your energy in bolstering more arguments in favor of your existence. Relax your fists of resistance into the open palms of surrender. Let the beauty of your imprints do the talking long after your tongue has been dissipated and your eyes laid gently to rest.