We
are prompted and plundered, driven and drawn, separated and linked, by opposing
gestures in evolution’s call. Each step in duality’s consent is a rung of
ascension although non-directional, non-linear, much
like the frame-shift from a flashlight’s sight to a flash flood’s fury. The
humility of comprehension necessary for advancement gestures towards oneness.
Pronouncement in this regard, echoes up from within the inner canyons of our
beings. Each of us as spirit of self, is crouched and has readied ourself to
spring into the light of our life form. We are loaded and primed, prepared to
explode into the essence of our being, coming home. Yet from outside the
domains of our capacities to notice, personal trauma has engaged us in a
blindspot kind of clandestine, deviant, energy drain ongoingness. It is
immensely obtuse and enormously barren to straightforward views. It is quizzical
to the stare-back from the obviousness of life, yet we are given an occasional
looking glass view. When this is privately so, there is a presence of a soft
but radical inscrutable alarm. The discovery is that there is an unaccounted
for keel on the belly-side of life. It doesn’t respond to control, might,
justice or to reason. It seem to make life an endless circling without the spiraling
that elevates towards much of anything gained or revealed. Yes there are slops
and sloshes and blurps and apparent spillages across dimensions from within and
around. There are white-hots and sedations opposing in inner dance. There are
saddles of separateness and destinations of togetherness in the cross hairs and
by the cross weaves that life has to offer. Life is a practical joke for
finding all the ways to keep the trauma laughing, to keep the dualities in your
sight, and joyous tears in your eyes that stare into the coming ascension
beyond the mask of form or fear. For each rung up is the seed-essence
expressing our spirit. The new wonders yet to bountifully but uncontrollably unfold,
as if by unbridled ascension, storming the pitfalls and the placidity of our
otherwise normative lives . . .
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