The space in between
This is about the space in between words and all other things made...
In the space between words I hear you talking to me.
In those moments you share your time I see your beautiful self
Silently you revolve as I observe
I do not mind: your intelligence allows me my wisdom
My art is your eye, my pain the cry I call you with, your answer is my life.
I followed you home with every footstep of my life;
I noticed every star you sent me; every hurt became my unfolding in you'
All the moments that came and went you lived them with me;
My sanctuary was always between the sheets of my understanding;
And every desire was to swim in your love under the big moon of this heart;
You came when I called to you
To shore up all the brokenness that I made when I fell from your grace;
You are my direction in all the lostness;
You call me silently, so silently, yet I hear you.
Monk: “Oh?”
Zen: “Not you, the divine.”
Monk: “Oh.”
Zen: “Divinely I wanted to dance but I didn't know how amongst all the noise of the stares in my head, of them that judged me down through all the long years. Then you came and said it was okay; now it's just you and me dancing divinely, to dance inside where no one can see...
Not knowing what is, the darkness becomes my lover, until, one day the light emerges, and then, the two cannot meet for the light is king and the darkness is blown away...
Now I am a traitor and switch allegiance; my rich lover showers me in this, that I am forever lost with no way back in a colour that has no comparison. There is no spelling for this, no word, no imaginary metaphor; this is a dance that has wings no feet can explain...
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Move inside this where your heart has a rest in a place so pure more than all the dust can consume; you are free to ride upon a silence that has no care of anything else; but sometimes, mostly, words are too heavy a thing to carry here where the feeling is an extraordinary other, more other than anything that can be said.
Sink into the silence between things, where thoughts are a long way off.
Touch the golden crown of your universe;
Experience the myriad purity of silence;
Understand the beloved dance where your stillness abounds in a joy no words can solve.
And in my head, I know, but that is not knowing; and in my heart, I look to find you. Yet, you are everywhere I look, see, I took a photo of you; look, look, where are you?
In a place that is secret, I will tell u my story, not so far away from yours where the sky falls down blue all around and the mists of the silence are the delight we revel in. I cannot wonder more than this to be so human. Flowers in life's majesty the mirrored beauty; I call your name.
There is no echo; as close as love.
Have I overcome my limiting beliefs yet?
Do I know of happiness?
Is that your hand on my belly?
Can I come in now?
Words dance into my mind from someplace; they bring along with them the echoes of another place.
But all I want is your attention, from the lips of my secret smile
to the depths of every drop of you.
It is funny that happiness seems like a distant pursuit of the mind yet it is right here all the time.
But these are only words.
The ice mice agents are hiding in the bushes and I am waiting for the holy telephone, that wireless of abundance, n drinking the coffee of patience; and the wellspring of the water-dog is a sigh full of blooming attraction; it comes to this then: that beauty is not in the things of this world but the sweetness of remembering, the joy of a life realised.
After the shell cracks, birth is only a coming into consciousness. Loneliness arises from a passing distraction; distance from the light brings darkness. The dark night of the soul comes as a cry from separation to awakening; when the light comes, accept it with all your heart and surrender. Leave the ego of thought alone.
All is not lost if the joy eludes you in that moment; embrace the hurt and know, your growing will eventually crack the shell, and your longing will bring you home; piece by piece it will come to you; embrace the time of your growing.
Angels will guide you, but remember you are your own angel.
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Indeed. Within the space between lght and dark are dependent on each other.
Like the heaving of chest under palm the very breath reliant on such balance.
The space between the here and there. Here, where we believe we tangibly reside yet understand not a thing of which it is or why or even who.
There, dangling beyond. Behind the curtain, tantalising, terrifying, calling. Echos of a home a longing to return to which I've never been. Or have I?
The mind tapped here in the space between, spins at the idea of such lack of reasoning. All the years spent suppressing the unease of intangible, yet visceral instinct. Flashes of truths impossible to fathom pushed away, replaced, the path back naively erased, not knowing any action or inaction leads one back to the divine, dividing line, the caught between, upon thy precipice, the space.
Temporary is the garb that which conceals this space. Where one dwells in dreams, imaginings, floats melancholy fantasy and dives in headfirst abandon unabashed manacle frolicking.
The space between, where all is lost and gained, that slips within beneath the current, echos lost not wasted, swirling swimming mixing mincing mimicking becoming bending bonding vending, venting lamenting. Sending all ahead, not lineal yet most indeed undead, the words they shroud the dread, shoulder the path ahead, shields the cavernous, ravenous plane, in which you swim, The space between.
Where instinct floats duck dives resurfaces another beast entirely and the tangible the realist begs question of the first. Not knowing they are interchangeable and one of the very same within the space between.
I would tend to agree with you on that, but for me it was a while before I knew there was an inbetween...
Of course; but when the world leaked out, a little bit went this way and a little bit went that way. Nothing could be found any place where it should be. Time was what you could make it, and if you could make it, it just ran out between your fingers like sand.
You couldn’t get anywhere, for there was nowhere to stand, upside down was out, and in was over there squeezing to push on somewhere else between a colour and an indisposition that was slipping and sliding round and round. Light was cracking like ice. Black was like tar then dissolving into tyre tracks that led nowhere. All looked like something, but was only an illusion, a swirling mist metamorphosing to sound in and out of the static.
I ran for it on the ice cricking and cracking under me; sped round a corner that was there, then, just when I wanted a straight line flight plan. I bumped into a man walking his dog. It was my friend with my dog from another lifetime, coming back from that lifetime on an errand that was long forgotten. The lid was off, nothing was what it seemed.
The sky was huge and moving, it pulled us up the hill. We forded a stream that hissed beneath us. Came to a reflection, found it was our very own selves, looking back at us; a mirror we shared but couldn’t understand. So we moved on into a very dark place, couldn’t see anything. We turned around, tried to find a way back. Ghostly lights confused us. The dog ran off and couldn’t be found. It all looked the same, images that wavered but had no substance.
A clock was still ticking, but was meaningless in the place we’d come to. The infusion was a timeless moment that could not be caught as both sides of the circle stared at each other forever. We walked through the sentinels on tiptoe, so careful not to disturb them, and made it to another situation that suddenly came at us, an apparition that gave us both a shock. It just suddenly popped up right in front of us, some gargoyle visage of frightening proportions.
We ran from that one too down a long road that was dusty and hot and dead empty. Behind us we knew there was something we didn’t want to be around so we kept on running. For days we ran and wore out our shoes and our clothes were in rags. We came to the next town but there were no buses and the train didn’t stop there anymore. We hung about the graveyard for a few hours to acclimatise ourselves to all that was going down about us. We got restless after the fifteenth body was lowered below so we decided to carry on.
There's a lot more, but perhaps I shouldn't bore you...Thanks for your comment...
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Thank you for sharing this. It was very touching.
Thanks. I like the writing style of Rumi and Kabir and I used to want to write like them, but these days I just try to write like me