Just wrote this in my journal, even though the thoughts had nothing to say. The pen, apparently, did.
Another day, another crescent of moon.
Rain poured a half hour ago, soaking travelers.
Now sun reveals itself on showered trees.
Yesterday afternoon–trimming green beans, listening to salsa music–it all illuminated very present.
It’s as if the body tunes as lyre or piano or flute, hearing it all, playing it all. No longer did eyes simply see. The entire body saw. The body heard, it smelled, it sheered green beans in half, it hummed.
A living pulsating field. I couldn’t draw myself away from the immediacy of it. The fullness. Thoughts danced as partners, not ousted in some imaginary desire of stillness.
Yes, we’re tuning forks of perception, aren’t we? More to seeing than the eyes. More to hearing than those two floppy ears. More to touching than these fingers, precious though they are.
Yet if you told someone–the body saw/heard/tasted–that doesn’t describe it. The listener might assume, rightly so, that a body does this.
Here’s what really happened. I shall try again. The field of awareness presented itself as alive.
But, no again. The field was not separate from the bean-trimmer, from the salsa music, from the urge to dance.
It glowed simply as immediacy.
As if the heart and tummy–and, OK, the hurting knee–included it all in a sweeping panorama of constant appearing.
Now, now, now! sang the vortex.
It shined so inclusive and full because all of awareness had joined in, deepened, widened. Not simply the organs of perception. All…
Of course by saying this I’ve made it into something special and spiritual and magical when it really was simple and ordinary and everyday.
Woman cutting beans with sharp knife.
Mambo Number 5.
(You can’t run and you can’t hide. You and me gonna touch the sky.)