There is a world of astonishing potential within this world, a world of the higher law that makes galaxies sing in spirals through the deep black, and seashells spin in golden symmetries for inexplicable reasons. Birds know the gates to that place and sing through it. It is a green place of super-overflowing abundance for all: where medicinal plants drop their fruit freely on city streets and threaten no one’s economy; for there is no competitive economy of scarcity; where joy and celebration for the miracle of such gift-giving that everyone has more then enough; a place that every tender animal nuzzle and suck warmly connects to; that we can glimpse, when we suddenly arrive in our own skin fully enough to see in the eyes of an infant staring up at us a brilliance of Nothing beholding us in unknowing wonder.
This is the realm that is alive in far more then old mythic tales, of angry angels with flaming swords — out there, back then — for a flaming sword whirls in every heart, flashes beneath every smothering defense that crackles with self delusion, shudders with frozen fear, recoils with shame, winces with guilt, convulses with remorse, anger and all the rest: those familiar energies we sophisticate our souls within as we construct identities out of vain defenses.
My question to you is: can we throw ourselves upon the whirl of steel, the bright sword flares that kill the false self and come home singing? If we believe we can’t, of course we can’t. But what if we risk it, and allow ourselves to believe Life is a miracle beyond our beliefs, and like wild little children determine to find the way to a better world, built by the truer Self, even though it kills us?
Is it possible some mystic, heretofore unknown, inner gates might eventually, softly, through ecstasy, with laughter, open?