“ . . . I’ll wait for you . . . Sleight of hand and twist of fate . . . I can’t live with or without you . . . .” ~ U2
Where is the place inside me that is the Source of life?
When I pause to notice this space, I sense Mystery, Freedom, Beauty.
Then I see you.
How long have you been here?
Are you part of the Divine who dwells here?
Are you a component of my Freedom?
Or is Freedom not wanting or needing any person?
I know I pray to be Free with or without you.
To love you cool.
I also pray to grasp your hands,
Touch your face,
Kiss your back. . . .
Art ~ Susan Seddon Boulet
My Dear Self, I need some answers.
From ego driven self:
How do I handle this being hot as coals on my head angry? I feel kicked to the curb. I have been used. I have been made promises that were never intended to be kept – misled — probably laughed at. Now my pain is being used against me. It tastes bitter. I invested self-consuming love and trust. Now I am cast aside.
From Truer Self:
Remember. It isn’t like I went in sightless. Is it wrong to choose to love someone? Is it dishonorable to give, even to someone who is giving little back? I knew. I chose to love based on examples of those who suffer for others and give, give, give. So, there are false promises that were believed at the time they were given. Big deal. No denying this person is delightful company. My joy is real. Even if someone else’s joy is not. That is punishment – for them to never feel genuine joy. I was sincere. No one can rob me of that. I built another’s new life for them. Their choice of dishonesty carries its own punishment. For me, no fear. No authentic loss. Maybe disappointment that turns into a lesson learned.
From the Divine Witness:
This has no importance. The True Source of You is present in, with, before and behind it all. Your serene power is forever protected. Deceit gains nothing. It cost you nothing essential. You are not harmed, but helped. You are not weakened, but strengthened. Your love has grown more fruitful. You have not become more imprisoned, but more free. Rest. I protect you from “being taken” – there is no such thing. I give you freedom to love. No hate can poison Me/You. It is all harmless.
Love and unified life win.
“Like a roaring lion your adversary the devil prowls around, looking for someone to devour.” ~ I Peter 5:8b
“Welcome the lion on your path.” ~ Mooji
When one comes face to face with a lion, you melt away.
At that moment you have no past,
You are instantly stripped
of the superfluous —
Stripped to nothing
but your essential, authentic
We all have those moments in life
when we face a lion on our path.
Welcome those moments —
one glimmering momentary insight
into One’s Eternal Self.
Source: The Eternally Lucid Adulteress
Do not tell me your family is my family.
Your family is not my family.
They are her family.
I have no family.
Do not tell me your family loves me.
They fear me.
When they saw the care between us,
they could not marry you off fast enough.
“Aha. We will be rid of that powerful, influential, golden devil.
We will not lose our control over this useful, servant son.”
She has the love of your family.
I have no love from your family.
Do not tell me your house is my house.
It is her house.
You are building that room with the arched window for her.
That room is not for me.
I will never see it.
I will never sleep in it.
I have no room.
I have no house.
When you look at your first newborn daughter,
you will know her name is Rajjean.
Without Rajjean, you would not have been eligible to marry.
Without Rajjean, you would have had no life.
But she now owns Rajjean.
I have no Rajjean.
Be rid of Rajjean?
I am etched in your soul.
I am the shame and salvation
of you and your family.
I do not have their naivety.
I do not have their fear.
I once believed that everyone had to like me,
but now this belief is no more.
I once believed I had to be the best person
I could be in order to be free, but no more.
I once believed that I had to first do everything
I needed to do in the world,
and only when I had done that and I was satisfied
could I turn my attention to Self-discovery.
I once believed that.
I once believed that it was up to someone else
to make me happy.
That seems a long time ago.
I once believed that I was not worthy,
but I see now that was nonsense.
I once believed I was not ready,
but I see now it’s not true.
I once believed that I had to practise more,
meditate longer, be more sincere,
but I saw it’s not like that.
Life is not so strenuous or cruel.
I believed so many things that were not true.
Then I realized nothing obstructs the freedom I am.
On your wedding day she will appear before you like a vision —
bedecked in colors, adorned in jewels, chains and piercings.
. . . . Bright virgin . . .young stranger flower.
No one will be able to take their eyes off her.
You will be intoxicated by your weariness, your horniness,
your ownership of her.
She will be timid.
You will not be timid.
Your friends will revere you like a home-returning warrior
after his conquest. You will seed many babies into your
chaotic, over-populated, hungry nation
with its holy history.
Sacred people will stand near you during the ceremony
(men, of course) extracting meaningless promises for a contract
with sole purpose to breed and please
the obtuse, old and obsolete in attendance.
You might love her at first sight.
She will love you at first sight.
But the festivities will be distant, empty-eyed —
the dances heavy-footed burdens
for the sake of enchanting Home land and its survival.
Then will come the time for the climatic conquest,
when you can remove her heavy coverings and
she will shed her jewels one by one — for you.
Her skin will be amber silk, her breasts will be twins,
her vagina will be tight, tight, tight.
You will fuck, fuck, fuck her until she begs for mercy.
(There is nothing quite so enticing as fucking a total stranger.)
She will weep and bleed for you.
And you will be in love.
You won’t notice or remember the old bitch
sitting on her haunches in the corner of the room —
howling and snapping at the universe with slicing cries. . . .
. . . . Without tears.
She will be there through the entire ceremony and
eternal nights to follow — moaning,
cursing her whiteness,
cursing her agedness,
vomiting up bloodied pieces of her shredded heart,
vomiting up her own bones — one at a time.
They are sitting at the breakfast table.
She: “Honey, this is a heavy philosophical question to ask while you are eating your breakfast sweet roll. But what do you live for? In this world system, it seems to me the only thing that drives it, is sex and money. [He shakes his head.] What is there when you take sex and money out of the equation? Think about it and tell me when you feel like it. What do you live for?”
[He finishes his roll and drinks his coffee. She sits beside him, holds a mirror, and applies minimal cosmetics from a small handmade basket she carries from the bathroom. Companionable silence continues. He sets down his coffee mug.]
He: “Now to answer your question — what do I live for? You. I enjoy anything we do together. And I get to see you prance around the house every day. [Slight smile.] You.”
[She gasps out a throaty laugh, stands, bends over and kisses the side and back of his neck.] “How I love you . . . . ”