Because I can only stand here, I can’t stand there. Some things aren’t meant to dwell together: Light. Dark.
We come to see the seeing of our sight when we open ourselves to the light. Dark, too, has a purpose:
Reminds us of what is and what is not.
Reminds us of where we are and where we are not.
Reminds us of the people inside the realm of our choice to keep, to let go.
I let go.
Alone in the aloneness of being here alone. I am used to the echo, how my voice rings. The shadow in front of which there is the light. I exist an island amongst people, expanse amongst clouds, vast amongst God.
The view from this table, the one at which I have taken a seat, turns me back toward the within of myself. That is why I chose it. Why I lifted myself from the comfort of the ground, elevated myself inside the view. I always want to see. I always want to know. I know fully that I know nothing even when the knowing comes from within. Seasons change. I am changed. I change inside of the changing. This is the gift of time, yet some things remain:
What is there at the root of the tree does not shake. It does not sway in breeze. It does not buckle at the knees of the events of its life.
It is when we see the oneness of all that we become that which is at the root. I am rooted.
It is my deepest joy.
It is my deepest sorrow.
It means that I cannot un-know.
It means that I cannot un-see.
It means that I am carried.
It means that I am responsible for being carried; that I can only be weightless.
like the blind.