You are an eternal sea. Within you there is a miraculous upwelling – the ground of consciousness is no flat plain drowned by the sea, but an ongoing creation. As the waters emerge, down below, they sometimes catch on nothingness – air – and bubbles rise up to the surface, fracturing it. These bubbles are thoughts, little pockets of emptiness resurfacing after being conjured and held by the sea.
To sit in mindfulness is to reflect the sky. The sky above the sea is all this world, all these empty forms. When you are disturbed and churned by thoughts, the world is shattered and fragmented. When you are serene, the world is an endless azure temple with scattered cotton dreams.
Merely attempting to reflect the sky will remind you of your depth. You are no small puddle framed by land, no mere lake. These uprising thoughts are pockets of air captured not just from this sky, but from all skies. In the swelling bubbles, there are vast landscapes of strange realms. Dialogues, monologues, actions and living from unknown places. But also too, the crystal globes hold distorted reflections of this sky, these clouds. For, in your waves and ripples as you tried to hold the sky, you conjured these.
The bubbles grow tense and firm, then gently pop as human sighs. Watching, you will see entire lives emerge and then vanish as the bubbles cease to be. And, when the sea wraps around a single bubble, the popping is an obliteration – a skewing back to level, the sudden forgetfulness of all context and storylines. But you only wrap around your bubbles if you want to.
Reflect the sky! Let the dark hours be a sea gleaming with the ringing notes of wind-chimes, the hesitant hooting of owls, and the sleeping families in their happy homes. Let the hours of light show in you dawns and resurrections, the industry of bees and beavers, and sleepy afternoons. To reflect such a sky is to paint yourself, for only you are the canvas and the oils.
Let the hierarchies and desire for fixed form go, refrain from wrapping around these bubbles and believing that the ceaselessly changing sky holds any permanence. It is but a dream. Our dream. So long as the sea must conjure, let us conjure joyful laughing and profound affection… but our conjuring is but a child’s afternoon on the playground. The upwelling of love in your depth is the miracle of God.
Hold still and reflect the sky! But do not seek the Beloved there, for He is your depth.