Rambling through Joy

There is a window to joy:

in distant memories (going to the pizza parlor with my little league baseball team and playing arcade games);

in future imaginings (envisioning an AYP-based meditation center in my hometown where many come to practice);

in the present moment (listening to the cars slosh rainwater outside my window as I type these words).

Many are confused as to the nature of the Here and Now. The Here and Now encompass Past and Present. There is a Past Now and a Future Now; a Past Here and a Future Here. Linear time is just as real as the cycles of repetition that unfold like clockwork in our matrix of perception. One aspect is old and familiar; the other is fresh and new. And in between, there is a nexus that joins the polarities. That nexus may be perpetually mysterious, or so it seems.

There is a competitive joy in sensing that others are confused, and that I am more in the truth, and that I might relieve your confusion, but then watching others believe that I am in fact the confused one, and watching you try to fix me, and then realizing that neither of us is proving the case definitively. Who will win the contest of truthfulness? Time will tell. And some will say there is no contest, and to this, I chuckle to myself. And there will be plenty of times when I will chuckle with you, and already have. And there is a better joy in being on the same page, surely, with no confusion at all. So just relax, I'm not trying to surpass you (that much).

Some words I have deleted, because they didn't want to stick to the screen. Editing has value. Not all of the creative flow is flawless.

Still, there is a story to be told—a growing history—with signature characters, and countless minor characters that have not been embedded in the printed archives. Perhaps they are stored in an archive that does not rely on physical or digital imprints, because physical imprints are bound to fade away, aren't they?

And yet, the sun fades away behind the horizon, and keeps returning, to resurrect a new day, and it makes you wonder: Perhaps every piece of the whole is just as eternal as the whole itself is.

It's fun to write in a stream-of-consciousness, childlike way, because the rules are forgotten, if only for a moment. The objectives and parameters are discarded, and the writing determines its own course. Inner space expands. Outcomes are nullified. There is almost a complete trust in the uncertainty of things, even as there is a parallel (or maybe identical?) trust in the certainty of things.

Right now, I'm working on an online writing course that will empower writers to get more in touch with Spirit, with their chosen ideal. It feels great to share the bag of tricks that have helped me unpeel the layers.

Thank you for reading. Be still, and flow.