Naked Vulnerability

Naked Vulnerability

“He is dead, dead, deader than a door nail“, were the only words spoken from a child in the crowd gathered around the fence. They, young, and old, were looking at the wood chuck laying in his own rotting smell. Not far away a rust red colored fox watched. You could see his ribs, and he shook with a need so plain around him, that he too did not seem far from this dead embrace. A hawk flew silent over head, and the sun dipped behind a dark cloud giving no warmth to any who were in this place. Slowly the small group quietly went there way. Each to their own walled in house. What was there to say. Life, and death go hand in hand. Each place, out in the open, serves the other.

Night settled in, and a stillness lay like a blanket over the neighborhood. As the moon rose high a man left the shadows of the dark, and entered a home. He lay naked on the couch, and asked the woman within, to join him. She turned, beginning to loosen the buttons on her blouse, and then she stopped. She heard the rain begin. “Just a moment”, she said as she headed for the front yard to retrieve a quilt she was working on. The ironing board did not matter so much here in the rain. As she tried to pick up the quilt her arms had turned to wings with feathers long, and silver gray, touched with ebony black, hung at her side. She looked up in her struggle to comprehend, and saw the fox coming through the fence toward her. She called out for the man she knew waited for her inside. He came remaining naked in the moon light, and rain sparkled like diamonds on his skin. He did not seem to mind. He too hungered, for he had for many nights, and days been alone. In his left hand he carried an empty open woven basket. He did not see the woman smile, as she thought of what red riding hood would have looked like if the story had portrayed her as a man, full grown in the naked vulnerability he was born in, instead of the child who wanted you to save her from her own illusions.

Images from the dream faded from this place, while time seemed to stand still. Words written in the dirt, and mud, at their feet rose from the ground to circle around them. They read with a clarity that shook the soul. Like a tattoo imprinted on her mind she held the images of the words, and let them burn as though they were hieroglyphics, so she might not forget. Knowing someday she would not be between worlds, but would once again have arms, and not wings at her side. As the feathers grew, and she became less a woman, and more the bird, the man dropped to all fours as he trembled in his own changes. To watch the varied grays of a wolf take his form beyond what he knew. He ran through the fields, as the bird rose over head taking to the skies. Nothing is forever, and all things are eternal. This they knew inside the heart of hearts as the night carried on, and many slept in forgetful dreams, not knowing what lay ahead.

The woman returned, and walked home from the field where her wings had let her gently down to the earth. She smelled the man, but they both knew first there was work to do. So she gathered pen, and paper, and wrote from her minds eye what the words were hidden inside her from the night earlier. Tears gathered in her eyes but she would not stop until this task was done. She wondered if others would care to read, or even understand the passion, and fire within the words, or if she alone were the reader, and recorder of truths hidden behind the lies of those who ruled the lands.

The words were; { The holy grail, and chalice are a concept of intermingled symbols to show the eternal love of what wholeness is within the soul of all that lives. No objects to be held sacred, but actions to be made holy from within. Death, and life are a process for the growing bounty that lives in the oneness, that serves the greater whole. For how could you love the greatest, if you could not also love the least. To become death is to change from one moment to the eternal spirit, and back again. Rebirth is our existence, asking for greater awareness. Without one, there is no other. The I Am is all that breaths, and we are this reflection through the eyes of the experiences we come to the edge of stillness to understand. To separate, and divide for worthiness, are words used for power, and to hold at bay our fears inside. Without the joy of naked truths seen for what they are, and without vulnerability willing to see the innocents in heavens, and hells of our own making, will we not also see beyond what we hold onto. To bend with reverence into the sacredness of all, is to embrace what is, and ever will be. This is where joy is eternal because one has learned not to hide from the symbol of our own creations. To understand the tears of sadness, and the hope that we one day might carry within us our own chalice, a trust, and nectar made from the purity of the meaning of life. In this place we came this far, yielding not a complicated truth, but a simple existence where the light within burns as the fires of the night. Oh let my prayer be one of praise. One of glory, and one that gives of the wholeness now made complete with radiance beyond all walls we see.”}

The woman knew that until we release ourselves into the full awareness of the path before us, not forgetting who we are, we will most likely cling to illusions, images, and complicated truths that are not truths at all, but some ones interpretation of what reality is. We will seek out this clouded view so we can cling to the surface of what seems to be. As you think so shall you be within your heart of hearts. Deader than a door nail is relative, and if you were to ask the door nail, the door nail would proudly say he feels each blow with understanding, as he is as much a part of the door as the material that surrounds him, and he is most definitely not dead.

Until we grok the wonder of the whole of the earth, sea, skies, and fires of the night, we will miss the point of the way, for the way that leads home is not always through the light of day, or dark of night. We will not always be on solid grounds, and what is, will teach us more about who we are, than we thought we would ever learn. Round, and round the labyrinth goes as we are made spirit, from the nectar of the gods of all, as we are, we become the gods of the I Am within us. To love from the purity of such a place leads us sometimes through the valley, and sometimes to mountain tops where the songs of the wind, and the rain sing out the seasons of change. To seek to possess these places of understanding leads us to the void of selfishness, where once only the abyss waited our courage to become whole, and one again.

Through the eyes of the soul we are reflected in dawns early light, and love will keep us from holding on to what was never made to be our salvation. This is the simplest of all truth. Until we know these things, what we do know, will cloud what we think we are, and what we might become.

The man smiled as his eyes shone with the beauty of a million lifetimes where he had walked to find these truths he too would pass on. The eternal self reached out, and neither male, nor female stood. There was no young, or old. There was no sickness, dis-ease, or need for excluding. There was only peace that flowed like the wind touching each with the kiss of being the breath of all existence. For like a river flowing into the sea we are made to be one within the whole where spirit resounds with naked vulnerability, and there in this place, there is nothing left to hide. The sacredness of such a journey is made not from time, but from all that we come to be. The purity of love is forever creating the steps as we walk toward home. Namaste, my spirit bows to your spirit knowing. We are not dead, but yet live where ever we are, for we are all going home. We are all going home with the books of our lives written as we chose to write them. Each adding to the whole the sum of our parts, as though we were the stars of the night sky.

May the Cosmic light shine within,
guiding us All on our journey home.



Re-membering & Loving You