As she walked through the hall of her life, she watched as the doors flung wide. Through the grace of others, she came to know her purpose on earth. It had always been the case. She need only pay attention. Whispered under the whispers, felt as the cool breeze blowing through her. There was no purpose, simply joy.
It breathed the sheets that danced in the wind. It painted the painting.
Cavern of her heart. With each pulse fluidity as part of the dynamic whole.
It was as if she was finally given the room to grow.
A series of pictures, momentary visions of experience and potential. The depth and form of which are still but bleed into the next. Placid and unwavering, the pulsation of time and space collapse. There is texture- vital breath. The breath that breathes me…it is a teacher. Whirling and Resting.
It is likely that the greatest teacher is ourselves. If we look around us, we are surrounded by objects that arise and fall in our awareness. The dynamic momentary movement of life takes us, leading us through a dream. We might consider all to be a teacher, and as we do so, we might rest with even the most uncomfortable and unexpected of expressions.
As it takes us over, we realize we never had control. In fact, we have been taken by ourselves. That which we are has no beginning, nor end, so it cannot be taken or lost.
We only believed we were.
All that is taken and lost, all forms are its essence.
Who is it that pecieves lost control? I cannot find her.
Now, as we begin to watch ourselves more closely, we begin to hear Truth ushering us forward. Forward into the space where we meet another form, another reflection. They seem familiar somehow.
Unfolding perfect suffering.
You are here. Here you are. Feet on the ground, wings expanding in all directions, you let go into the stillness that surrounds you. You know who you really are before the dream began.
What if you never recognized you had fallen asleep? How could you know it had been a dream if you never woke up?