Space shrinks to fit my meditation; to about the size of my nostril, chest, folded legs, cushion, bench, or chair.
Objects are useful, sometimes comforting, until I drop my gaze or close my eyes.
Time is present and passes and is equally here and gone no matter what I am doing.
Sound generated from thick and heavy rock and roll, bass drum and its thumping in my chest, brings a love of life that almost lets me believe in God and Angels.
Voices can equally scare and intrigue me. My own voice played back to me surprises me every time.
Language usually leads to misperceptions and misunderstanding even when I think it starts as shared experience.
Identity comforts and the jails me.
Action is the only true testament of character, compassion, and responsibility.
Gesture that leads to touch and connection can destroy and rebuild me.
Receptivity equals immortality, falsely so, but still feels reassuring…whether deity or human.
Belief escapes me but compels me at the same time. I scoff and resist but secretly pray for its comfort.
Community is an illusion. The disillusion that there are probably very few people who safely offer intimacy leads me to honest tears…but at least they are honest ones.
Dialogue intrigues me because for so long my own voice and opinion were clouded by false pretense so that everyone else would be made okay, by not knowing that I wasn’t.
Body movement to music thrills me, saturates me, and with another intoxicates me.
Conflict can be used as a bridge to deeper human understanding and not something to necessarily be feared; when I do fear it I am usually pleasantly surprised at the end of it.
Experience is all there really is.
Gender has defined me, my pain, my joy, my triumph, my terror.
Liberation comes and goes and usually soon after I feel the most free, I am thrown into a dungeon of isolation and self oppression. Fighting it only makes it worse.
Isolation leads me to creativity…nearly every time.
Modernity is inescapable.
Rationality is equally overrated and underrated.
Person hurts person. Person heals person. Person can only ever be person. I am person.
Transformation liberates me; the offer of transformation subjugates and angers me.
Transgression, and its spiritual suggestion, tricks me.
Spiritual Narcissism terrifies me.
Hope is something I wish I could possess and carry in my pocket to refer to at a moment’s notice…but I am pretty sure it fell out into a puddle somewhere.
All of these things will save me, change (me), and fail me…and that must be okay.
Image: http://www.escapeintolife.com/artist-watch/betsy-walton/
Posted in God, Humanity, Identity, Meditation, Ramblings & Observations
Tags: Belief, Non-belief, Reality
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