Broken wings

We are never alone, even when we feel broken, when our solitude hurts, for there is always a remembered presence of a feeling from a moment when we were touched by another’s soul whose feathers, broken as they were, became a warm seed of healing inside us, almost as if, by being damaged, they released some essential matter, some essential magnetism which attracted the same from us.

And there you see, even in our painful solitude, we are never alone if we can pause to remember that soft touch of pain from broken wings.

How small are we?

How small are we to believe we are any bigger than the ant, restrained as we are in our belted psychology of belief thinking because we are what we are we have the right to trample, for we do trample, upon the lesser creatures (humans included).

How small are we to believe we are anything other than oil on the surface of life’s pond where we are different from the tree, the mountain, the wind, the elephant or the ant.

How small are we, how insignificant compared to the simpleness of an elephant’s soul, the intricate beauty of a petal’s unfurling, the deep touch of a snowflake’s silence, or the magnificent strength of an ant’s gift.

How small are we, when stained and shamed (as T. E. Lawrence’s wisdom says) into pettiness by the innumerable silences of stars, for we are seedling soil beneath an ant’s belly looking up searching for a chink of light from one of those silent stars.

How small are we, looking for a light to show us the way when if we were to look within for the light we were born with, the light of essential being, the light of truth in who we are, of a belief in us as simple beings we would see how we are, each of us, one beautiful person who is no bigger than the ant, who is no bigger than one’s self who is one beautiful speck of life.

How small are we
to believe
we are any bigger
than the ant.

And it feels like, life

death can arrive when you least expect it
and you look upon it as
an imposible moment
that shouldn’t be there
yet there it is
waiting for you
to show you
what it looks like

And it looks like,

You hear, feel
your heart beat
as the rain once did

is the other witness,
the silence of the dark, cold, moment

And it feels like,

Time moves on
leaving you in its wake
as sounds, feelings … heartbeats
race the rapids
you ride the fall

And it feels like,

For here is death’s whisper
stinging your ears
blocking your vision
stealing your oxygen
killing you

And it feels like,

The heart of wisdom is in all things

The heart of wisdom is in all things. If we want to learn, if we want to be better, if we want knowledge then we must allow the things we want to approach us freely and without force of thought or pressure of desire, for wisdom begins, as the oak begins, in moments of pure freedom and innocence.

We cannot use force to unlock potential. Wisdom is here inside us now, and out there, and so to reach the heart of this knowledge, and to grow, we must begin to understand that first and foremost we are such little things, such inconsequential things.

We must settle ourselves and turn to nature, for there her heart breathes for us, and there, when we have understood, we shall begin to see, to feel this joy building inside us, and to know that the heart of wisdom is in all things.