One Last Revolution

We must wait, always. This life is a waiting. A constant and long hesitation, among all the daily hesitations. Life promises, but we don’t know what...but is DOES promise, and we all know that. Life is empty air and a sort of swimming through empty air towards the solidness of dreams, which when neared, break apart like undone jigsaw puzzles, and we see the are partial objects, structured to look connected from a distance, and in between them are enormous spaces that we must continue to float through to the farther fields, where even more solid scenes appear. Life promises solidness. We wait for it all our lives.

What do you do when the answers are right in front of you, but are wrong?

What do you stand on?

Life, like money, is easily spent on the wrong things.

It can be taken apart and reassembled. It can be danced with. It is not up to you to say which someone else should do. It is up to you to be a vulture, circling, and pick at the scraps left for you. It is up to you to pick the bone clean. To be too finicky before life is to misunderstand what you are. But to stand before life naked and blind is for sages and the insane, most of us must aquire armor and corrective lenses. Remember that desire causes itself and that what you loathe you do well to loathe. Trust your perceptions and constantly pick at life, demanding it open up, and if in its opening, you find your desire attaching to what you previously loathed, then realign, realign, realign. There is no God but the God of the Now, and no moral code but the code of correct vision. And the now and its accompanying vision are your most deft tools in the negotiation of correct action. Each is developed by constant vigilance of the heart. If you want to know if a thought is right, drop a coin against it. What sort of ping resonates? Is it taut and clear, does it sing in your heart?

All good is known through the singing of the heart. In the interior, we all know the same moral code, but this code can only exist temporally, and cannot be forcast. If all humans could learn to listen to this voice, there would be one last revolution- and then peace forever.

No moral code may exist outside of the individual. And yet all individuals who know the now and have correct vision share the same fundamental characterstics.

I am happy to know my life is tinged a bit with this hue of infinite profundity.

I am happy to know my heart has witnessed many things and has not turned away yet. Its stories are dark, and yet it doesn’t ultimately despair.

What are we?

What do we do?

What is beyond all this?

We stand before a great opening circle and gape. It gapes back. Its mouth, ever-widening, yawns and gapes, and its diameter inches toward our toes. We are still gaping, unable to move, it is imossible to turn back, to even stand still. We are being beckoned into the dark, and all we can do is meet it, mouth open, eyes open.

It is hard, amidst all of this, to know what it is one does with one’ s life. We do things with things: we kick a red ball, we sew with a sewing machine, we flip a pancake with a spatula, we mow with a lawn mower and push forward products with an assembly line, but what is it we DO with our lives?

Any 10-year old can reason that, as the ancient civilizations in her school book fell to dust, so will ours some day. And even the megalomaniac, in his rare moment of soberness, knows that a name that lives forever is not the same as truly living forever. To live on, even a hundred years after our death, has no meaning to the dead, whose ego cannot be assauged or pleased once it is extinguished.

We do not know what life is. And we do not know what to do with it. So we use it like a spatula, like a lawn mower, like a pen, to flip, cut, inscribe; we occupy ourselves with these small items of movement, and reason that this IS life, and what live offers: DOING, and if we are lucky, LOVING. Life is all to the one living it. And death is incomprehensible. What does it mean to be extinct? It means to have never been.

I look out upon the life ahead of me like a half-ackonlwedged gift, appreciated, and still taken for granted, expected, planned for, dreamed of, unsure in its possibility. Most never awaken to the reality of their own existence. Humans have not taught each other, even after thousands of years, how to live well.

If you summon me, I will come, apprearing in the form of a cloud or a small animal. I am the will that wills fate. I am the call that requires the universe’s answer. I am the response to the sincere song’s question. I am the signs that can only be seen by the seeking. They have said in all your fairy stories that only he who believes shall see. You thought, when you were five, that you would be this person who believed because it was the hero’s way. As you grew, you began to think that he who sees because he believes is a fool and a liar. You said, I see what is there, and if I cannot believe in fairy stories, it is because I am of the real world and intend to stay there.

When life again returns to its rightful place, balanced between your real world and the world of belief, you will once again become a child, and for the first time, a true hero.

Summon your energy now. Summon your strength for the fight ahead. Half of your enemies will be flesh and bone, half with be of the ether and the interior. Use all that is given to you- as much will be given to you- and do not take for granted that many mystic scrolls, parchments of magic words, guides, seers, ghosts, and objects will come to your aid.

Always, there will be a situation in a room, where you want to continue through the door tot he next room and something stands in your way. Always there will be clues as to how to get by. Always you will be both inside and outside, alone and amid an army, near the gravestone and the birth canal. You can change the rules of the game at will, the objective, the hues and tones and parameters that set your stage. You can turn your self into a life machine that plugs in and plugs out from desires, suctioning forth through life pleasure by pleasure. You can deny pleasure for the tiny formulations of modern man’s self-concept, looking to tv and magazines for your behavioiral modifications. You can stay perfectly still in a room for twenty years, hoping no one will notice you.

Whatever you do, know that inside you is a call to happiness, a long call that echos wild through all of time, and it is not too difficult to follow, as it makes itself known when attended to. Sometimes it stakes some years of figuring, but that is mostly because we don’t believe it could really be so...that the purpose of life is to learn what happiness truly is. And to then show others how the dreaming of dreams is possible.