“Become the sky.
Take an axe to the prison wall.
Walk out like someone suddenly born into color.
Do it now.
You’re covered with thick clouds.
Slide out the side. Die,
and be quiet. Quietness is the surest sign
that you’ve died.
Your old life was a frantic running
The speechless full moon
comes out now.”
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
This just sort of came to me a few years ago but I am drawn to it again as we get closer to the “magical” year 2012 we have all been so excited about for so long. It does appear that real change (for the better) may be imminent but that is still the big question.
There was a time when men met to rampage through the halls of life raping and pillaging and having a marvelous time of it. That time is over. The last echoes of that time are fading yet many try to carry on as if nothing has changed. There will be dismay for those who can not see that a new time has come and that they are the ones who have become the endangered species. Ha Ha’s about the spotted owl come settling round their ears as their deeds die not with a bang but the infamous whimper.
Celebrate this passing! It is time to create a new earth. We start with nothing but the ruins of this previous civilization, not washed and scoured as was Atlantis. Still the detris all around in heaps and hollow monuments remain to remind us of our ruin. But this too will pass. Hollow shells left by past masters of brutality can be consecrated to new purpose and thus transformed to fit a gentler age. The new play is cast, the audience awaits. The playwrights and directors have fallen away to leave the cast to play as they would like. How shall we go brave troubadours? Shall we play light or dark, cunning or creative, venture to heights unimaginable or to old standby scripts of torture and longing? How shall we go?
Neuroanatomist Jill Bolte Taylor had an opportunity few brain scientists would wish for… This is a powerful story about how our brains define us and connect us to the world and to one another.
It is really worth a listen.
I think it totally explains this little passage from my rants (in less neuroanatomist style).
Mind with a big M is that “other mind” and is accessed through the heart or body. Little mind is brain stuff. Stuff you have learned from a book — good bad right wrong war peace black white sinner saint — that stuff, divisive stuff. Small m mind is good for the laundry list. Without it you wouldn’t be able to drive a car or cook a meal. It’s useful in physical reality and we need to do a bit of that m stuff just to get around. The problem is we have just spent too much time using it for way bigger stuff than it was intended for, like attempting to find truth and beauty and oneness.