Shells

To taste of the sea through the rushing of shells
.....what a beautiful thought; thoughts. Only you,my Heart,  could have thought of this.
This is such a moving piece for me...I see a total reflection of You in it. I adore it.

Have you noticed sweetheart?  Sometimes it would seem that no matter how steep our learning curve, no matter how great the inner transformations, we are yet caught by the stillness of that which does not change.  And yet, there is no harm in following the direction, the flow, of our awareness.  Sometimes it will ask of us to descend into the valleys, not of the commonplace but of the intimate and familiar. To turn from the contemplation of heaven to that of the ten thousand things.

Often while walking through the woods I will begin to feel at home there, but I know that this delightful feeling would precede me to the grave were I to attempt to make good on the sentiment.  Down by the sea, who among us would not want to become a beach-comber, now and again?  Who among us has not walked out their door one morning with the fleeting thought that we could just start walking and never turn back?  Just now…I stand at the sea of my heart and look behind me at all that follows in my wake--the memories that make up a life, frozen in time; in mementos; the accumulated detritus of dreams. I do not choose to write as I do. If it were up to me I would one day sit down to begin a novel. Some days I would even give up my vast library of books and join an, alternate life-style community, to spend my days chopping wood and carrying water--crapping in an outhouse on warm summer days to the droning accompaniment of paper wasps. But would I really?

In the Way of Tea, one drinks appreciation--the, "just so".  And it opens up to the infinite.  As do our lives. 

When we yearn for freedom something that was already there has found us again. It is a presence, and not a lack. If one wanted to encounter it fully, and to taste of its rhythms and harmonies, then perhaps one could offer it a cup of tea, for the doors of wonder are always open.  We need not find them.  We need only relax the vigilance of our ambitions for a moment, and already the world cracks open and the tea-house is swept up by the waves of the tiny pebbles and the chalky, bleached shells.