I child sits on a rock beside a stream, an old man tinkers beside him with tiny yet to be defined things. This child wonders what is in that old man’s hands and although he does not yet have words to ask he understands. Because both the elderly and the freshly conceived harbor an innocence beyond language, logic, and tangible things. The child by route lives from this place, the elder does such as a result of an ardent dedication to the acceptance of losing face.
We fuck up, we stumble. We hurt ourselves and others along the way. This is the nature of the dance and it’s all ok. In all of our anger, hatred, fear, and greed, our lust for power, and our misguided need, we breed. We breed the seed of what we truly have been, are, and will continue to be, free.
Yes it has been said one million and a half times but this time maybe you will hear it differently like you hear the wind chimes chime. Listen like the child beside the stream, do like the elder with tiny things. All of these archetypes have, do, and will continue to exist in your psyche, along with the warrior, the mother, and Aphrodite.
A thousand poets, lovers, teachers, scholars, and holy people alike have taken upon themselves a singular hike. The mountain of our soul is grandiose and feral, don’t waste your time on efforts to keep it sterile. Do you think the hands and feet of the child and the elder beside the water are free of foder? That which seems in endless supply, that which sticks to our feet and makes some feel dirty, can also feed a herd and make a house sturdy.
Emotions should be felt, yes, there is no way to avoid them, in fact they might just be the only way back into the wisdom that bred them. Three parts of om, creation, sustaining, and destruction, might just be the items with which the old man fumbles, but we will never know unless we let our maiden self be humbled. Revel in your failure to reap its harvest. But don’t spend to long there! Believe me I know this!
Drink the sweet nectar of your painful sorrowful remorse and then shove off and love of course!
There is nothing so beautiful as pain on a face, for joy is a given and turmoil a choice. We must effort to till the soil of our own precious garden and without courage many an angel has fallen far beyond where life truly lies. Don’t be this angel, open your eyes. See beyond seeing, feel beyond touch, hear beyond vibration, smell beyond scent, taste beyond flavor. Be both the wordless child and the elder savior.