Conjuring Rust, Masks, and Foam

on November 8 | in Inspirations | by | with Comments Off on Conjuring Rust, Masks, and Foam

Conjuring Rust, Masks, and Foam

It’s been quite some time, a few weeks, since I was able to escape the entangling threads of code. Being a one-man business has its tides, and the water level has been high. I could sit and write an apology, or perhaps speak of the Muse. I could say that the metal joints of this tin-man have stiffened; I’d not be the first to sit about conjuring rust as a condition.

I could also cast shadow puppets from the fitful lighting of parenting. Nothing challenges the self or mutates the boundaries of identity quite so deeply as child development. But, even as we face new parental challenges out here in the desert, I won’t intellectualize the issues. I won’t sit about conjuring masks to shuffle around a fictional chess board.

It’s been a long haul for those interested in community and politics, too. Today, the election is happening, even though the grasses of the fields do not seem to know it. There’s a great relief in that tide finally retreating back to sea. I won’t sit about thrashing up foam in one last frenzied push.

I am a profound and mystical conjurer, you see. And you are too. In the tension of our individual journeys, families, and communities, there is a great temptation to obscure the raw material of spirit that we are confronted with. As the Beloved brings us ever deeper into His heart, we are able to harness our divine heritage to repel grace into the outer darkness. We need only set our minds toward conjuring rust, masks, and foam – and then the mystical Heart seems to vanish. Instead, then, we’ve only got the feeble creations of our minds to deal with. That’s much easier, them being improbable and fragile spirits. You can, as the Son or Daughter, put your hand up and block your vision of the moon.

But let’s not. The world is fresh and new, and all that’s happened is behind us now. Refuse the groveling little self with me, let us fly free of ourselves.

What rust? No matter how long it’s been since I’ve written, or you called your friend or family, or since we’ve sat and breathed the universe together – that moment is the same moment when we at last uncover our hearts again. There’s no rust or dust in the cosmic throbbing. The breath of spirit and ripples of self are the surface churning, but the depths contain the same luminescent eternal moment at all times and in all places. We are conjuring rust if we impose the past over the grace of this moment, so let us not so blurry our vision.

What masks? No matter how difficult the misbehaving child, or the irresponsible client, or the rude stranger on the street, we can never find the direct connection if we sever it with a conjured mask. Children, adults, and animals – all spirits and Children – are not neat little roles or expectations. There are no masks in the lovely firestorm of divine sparks. We dance together only when we release all anger, fear, and expectations. We are conjuring masks if we impose our ideals over the Creation, so let us not so blurry our vision.

What foam, dear hearts? The protests and the police violence, the corruption of government and greed of corporations, the failed human rights and destruction of the environment help us remember our obligations as stewards. But that is merely the pattern and form of the Great Work – the uncovering of our hearts, the release of all illusion in us that is not compassion. The speaking heads will always come and go, the individual arenas will tumble endlessly in these seas of form. We are conjuring foam when we impose the future over the grace of this moment – and let us not blur our eyes with that either.

No, breathe out. Blink away these cities of mind. Refuse the conjuring of rust, masks, and foam. Let all the illusions and constructs dissolve out in a great exhalation of self.

The Beloved is still here, I am still here, you are still here. In our hearts, we still dwell in the luminescent moment, in grace. This Garden is the sacred pause.

And, together, breathe in. What new fantastic spirals and waves are appearing now, here at the surface of the ocean of love? Let us smile, straighten our backs, and gaze steadily as this new sun dawns.

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