Author: barryschade@gmail.com

I walk through my world every day like a beggar.   My hands and heart are extended, ready to receive the wonders of the world.   My deep craving reaches out and I ask for what the world is willing to give.

The hard stems of flowers I cut, the smell of the earth, the eyes of a stranger, the touch of a beloved.   I desire them all and beg for their indulgence.   May I approach them, may I see them in all their loveliness?

I set my face not as one who is pleading, but as one who is gentle and welcoming.   My heart is in my visage, unhidden, unprotected.

If I have an irrepressible fear it is that I might die before I drain this cup of its last drop of intoxication.   I fear I may not totally avail myself of the sweet essence of this world.

I will become more earnest in my begging, in my vulnerability, in my open-heartedness.   I will not be afraid to ask.

I want my flowers to want me.  I hope they want me just as I want them.

I know what it feels like to want something or someone.   For me it is a desire, a craving that can affirm the reality of both of us.   It is a deep yearning I feel thru my whole body for the encounter of intimacy.   Do the trees in the woods feel the same thing?  Do the flowers in my garden lean forward to be seen, to be touched, to share their fragrance?

Without a doubt, I long for them, reach out, desire them and am prepared to love them, just as they are.   Do they feel the same?  Is it their nature to yearn and reach out for me, just as a lover does as they are about to meet with me?   Do they feel the same anticipation, the same longing, the same rush to encounter?

I think yes.   Yes, we are attracted to one another as two lovers, unquestioning, reaching out, uncritical, fully accepting, making real.  So it is with all my world

I touch my bell so slightly, and its voice calls out for space and time to respond.   I thought it was my ears that responded to sound.    But it is my whole body that shakes with the vibration from my small bell.   I have stirred the essence of the bell and it touches everything around with bellness.

The energy of my small tap is magnified in the wave that moves the still air and vibrates every nook and cranny of my room.   The high and ringing pitch of my bell penetrates and ever so slightly moves the walls of my room.   I have summoned the voice of the bell and it in turn calls us all to become alive and respond.    The walls shake, the air trembles, and my whole body quivers with the sound.   I am wrapped in the mellow arms of my bell.

I touch the sound of my bell with my whole self and it reminds me who I am and this is my home.

How often has the Moon Goddess risen in my life?   She has come then disappeared, leaving traces of joy and ache behind.  A hard but loving mistress.

My heart remembers and still opens to the memory of their names.   There is a lingering swell of both joy and ache in the memory.   When I remember, I once again try to figure it all out.

The memory lingers of how I love them, and I remember how they loved me more than I could grasp at the time.   Do they remember that I loved them, even as I remember their love?   How could they know that my heart still fills with joy at the sound of their name.

How could I be so lucky? How could I look forward to what lies ahead, as I do?   The horizon quivers with the glow of promise.   I think there are no limits to the ache and the joy brought by the Moon Goddess.

 

 

It’s really so simple.    I cringe when I think of all the things I miss because they don’t fit my imagination, when they don’t fit the pattern I have in my expectations.   I don’t see when something, someone isn’t what I thought I would see.

I imagine that a cup is a cup.   When I pick it up, I hardly ever am aware I am touching it, that it has smoothness, that it is warm, that it has shape.   I hardly ever am aware of its color, its weight.   It is in my awareness, the same old cup that I remembered, and instead of really being aware of it, I rely on my imagination of what it might be.

I often miss the pleasure, the bliss of an open awareness of simple things.

I would do well to remember that I bring something to every encounter with a person or thing.   Reality is in my experience, and I shape every experience.  My world is truly mine, and it is what I make it.

My imagination can be quite powerful and entertaining.   It can bring me joy, excitement, fear and apprehension.   It can seem so real, and I can choose whether I want to live in it.   I can choose how much I rely on my imagination as I  move through my daily world.   I can slow down and notice that world more on its own terms and less on mine.

 

I sometimes feel I am plummeting into loneliness.   It is the ache and chill that occasionally comes with feeling alone.   I begin to feel the pain of being separate, not part of the whole.

I want to befriend this feeling of loneliness, not turn away from it.   Allow the free-fall into loneliness become instead the feeling of soaring.

While I may be given companions to help me along the way,  I want to learn and enjoy the pleasure of walking alone.  All the while I will carry my companions in my heart.

I often look at faces deliberately on the bus.   Mostly when people are getting aboard and their eyes are searching for where they will sit.  Sometimes it is as if I am seeing a human face for the first time, and I  am a little surprised at what I see.

I am slightly aware that my eyes are entering their space, their world, uninvited.   My eyes willingly betray my presence, much  closer to some than they want.   Then they must decide whether to see what they have casually noticed.

Some people are totally unaware that I have opened my eyes and my heart to them, so close yet not really present.  Others become aware and then quickly avert their eyes.   Our connecting in space is not something they want.

And there are some who glance and wonder what is happening.  Some smile, and they acknowledge my presence as I have theirs.

My being alone is something that has been on the edge of my attention for a long time.   Now it has moved front and center.    As much as I enjoy living by myself and immersing myself in my aloneness, I routinely feel a strong attraction to breeching that aloneness.

I know that having a strong feeling of being alone is essential to my growing in awareness, mindfulness.   It is part of letting go, not relying on the comfort of another’s presence, living completely in my own  skin.   Being alone is an essential part of the human condition, and I have been learning how to be comfortable with it, how to welcome it.    It has not been an easy path.

At the same time I am convinced that I must have companions that I love and support, that love and support me.   I welcome other humans who can be with me in the intimacy of mutual awareness.   I want to give support and attract the support of others, while still being anchored in my aloneness.   For me, it means embracing the desire without grasping.

It has become the paradox of being part of the one and still being aware of being alone.

I am burdened by a culture that has confused companionship with the trappings of coupling.   It has put unspoken expectations on relations between men and women, and severely limited how men become companions with other men.  It certainly is a distraction for me, even made it more difficult to experience and accept being alone.

I know I have companions, and for that I am grateful.   I am still unsure what we can and will share, and I am uncertain of my grasp on my aloneness.

I think that a time of great pain and suffering is coming for the human race and the rest of our world.    It will be a time to embrace and support our close companions.   It will be a time to open our hearts and compassion for all those who suffer.

It actually has already begun.

It’s begun and I wonder how much I will see in my lifetime.   I hope to get a chance to see the next big change in the human species.   There was a point when we humans evolved in consciousness and we were able to have a major impact on the earth.   Perhaps some 20,000 years ago, we began to reshape our living space, and we began to push that space out of balance.   Now that world is involved in a major adjustment.   We have pushed it beyond a major tipping point.

Perhaps it is more accurate to say that we are experiencing push back from the earth.   We made adjustments to our world, including the elimination of competing human species.   We have spread across the planet like a cloud of locusts and left a path of greedy consumption.   That must change.

Like the gypsy moth, the population of humans must crash for us to survive.   Many people will suffer and die.    That process has already begun.

I am certain there will be surviving humans.   Hopefully it will be those who have learned how to live in harmony and in balance with the world of which they are a part.   There will be fewer humans, and hopefully it will be those whose consciousness makes they acutely aware of their place in the big picture.   It is simply the survival of the fittest, and that will be those who have evolved to a higher level of awareness, learned how to use that intellect they inherited from their ancestors.