In the beginning, we were untamed. Free spirits. Going where we liked, when we liked, with those we liked. This was the dawn.
Then, we were introduced to discipline. External forces – our parents, schools, and peers – brought suppression and filtration to our impulses. We learned that only some things were good and praiseworthy. We became restrained by the desire to belong. This was childhood.
Then, we began to discipline ourselves. We attempted to modify our behaviors, presentations, and lives so that they would lead to desired outcomes. We became tamed in obedience to ideals and destinations. This was adulthood.
Now, we have all three within us. The dawn didn’t cease to arise when we started to believe in social structure. The child didn’t cease to play when we began to look with great disdain on playgrounds. And the adult didn’t cease to employ self-control when we realized that it was all a fabrication, a mere mental structure that stripped away the beauty of the falling leaves.
Now, each day we can choose to rise and enter the flux. We just need to forget the methods by which we gained our socialization and experience – for although the experience and socialization serve us, those artifices by which they arose no longer do.
Let us forget whether things are good or bad. Let us instead just gauge things by their alignment with the light – some actions and things are right, others wrong. The things that are right are right because they deny the empire, because they don’t needlessly cast us into tight little ruts or tiny mental circles of darkness, right because they are love. The things that are wrong are wrong because they deny the Kingdom, wrong because they make us believe that we’re one specific role or thing, wrong because they are fear.
Let us forget whether things are pleasant or painful, or constructive, or necessary. We don’t need to obey our little lists of tasks and errands as though they were holy edicts, we don’t need to pretend any longer that we’re building something permanent. We can use the experience of our adulthood as a general approach and we can use the social structures when we’re entering unfamiliar territories, but we can also hear without scorn the dawn within us once again.
At some point far past all white picket fences and fit bodies, far beyond bank statements and gatherings at the pubs, there is only the dialogue of the infinite One. It comes in waves as we wander through these strange vibrations of the cosmic-in-local.
The essence of the flux is the abolishment of all form in favor of meaning. The meaning of the painting is in the act of the painting. Knowing that, it is irrelevant if the painting is destroyed or accepted. This, whether we’re the painter or the painting.
The essence of the flux is the infinite and holy Love that is both our constant song and the waters of creation in which we swim. This is the only permanence to be found, and it can’t be created because it does not cease to exist.
The maelstrom of creation is magnificent when we abandon ourselves into it.