The Magic beyond Seeking
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The truth is simple.
Ordinary yet extraordinary.
Down below as above.
It is not the lack of opportunities, for which most people cannot fall and then continue surfing it's love.
No, it is because of the very seeking after the initial ‘fall’, that most people feel they can’t sustain without some magic potion.
But that is like being a ship, seeking inside a well, for that which can only be found in the debth and surface, of an open ocean.
True magic, is beyond mention. It is letting go and trusting, instead of holding on & retention.
The key, as many mystics and lovers alike willl tell you, to a life filled with satisfaction, variety, and yes, magic –
Is in understanding and embodying:
devotion.
Devotion is easy,
when we pay complete attention.
We fear it, because we feel the embracing of one, will mean the loss of an infinite/or a set of other.
But have you ever let a dew drop, on the tip of a blade of grass in the 7 oclock morning sun, refract light into the very depths of your eyes, shimmering as a light-flower?
In that microcosm, did you miss the rest of the Universe, when for that fleeting momment, it captured your complete gaze, with effortless power?
This is Rumi’s dew drop ocean.
The silent serenity of devotion.
Indeed it’s the inability to pay attention, that makes mundane even all the variety in the world.
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Imagine men like Donald Trump,
bored of the paid – barely willing, on her knees, latest beautiful girl.
She’s ‘new’ the man in the back says.
A saturated soul responds “Same old ‘knew’”.
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And yet,
there are other men and women,
Even after 10,000 sunrises together,
wake up each morning,
gaze back at Love utterly anew!
Consentual;
without effort,
The rebellious blossoms,
in the familiar heart's desert.
For this power is the giving up of power.
To put one’s dreams at the feat of love, and trust, she will tread lightly.
That she prays the same for you, daily and nightly.
This is the only way one can love the truth.
Having recognized one’s own unknowability, one learns to trust the feet of that ever meandering mystery; in eternal youth.
To not assume what one might find, even on the tip of a blade of grass,
Love is not a set of ornaments to be displayed –
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It is the highest form of formless class.
A flowing river.
So we learn to allow,
even love,
especially love;
we allow it too,
to pass.
To cling to love, is to be illusarily dismayed.
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For it is the only way of truly surfing on.
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Otherwise love misses freedom from the known.
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But like a boomerang, or a bird set free,
she will always come back,
when her heart misses home, depth and familiarity.
When the unknown feels known, she comes back to deepen and make more beautiful a familiar tapestry.
This is devotion’s promise, to an ever evolving eternity.
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But how can the stimulation hungry mind, love 10000 sunrises anew?
As someone much wiser said to me. “Promyth, you must learn to love each sunrise’s particular hue.
See the colours out to play, in that particular way,
See what now is just visible, just beautiful;
Learn to fall in love with her ‘today’.”
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The is how the philosopher stone,
Never slips from the pocket.
Aliveness, never becomes a burden;
Rests on the chest, as the lightest locket.
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People may mock you for such a life.
Ambition may knock you over,
For worshipping anything other than itself.
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In those momments,
love;
Remember,
Love.
Remember,
Who you are.
Remember that to love,
Fear has no par.
Like a mirror mimicking at best,
The brightness of a star.
Devotion to truth,
borne from love –
Can only glow or supernova,
Even when supposedly,
Falling apart.
It sets alight,
the chambers of the reserved heart,
So it may free fall with a parachute,
Flying in and out of life's canvas,
as the proof,
of having painted a life as soul worthy art.