Mother Willow stood on the river bank dangling her fingers in the crystal clear water. Suddenly she heard the moaning groaning sound of someone in terrible pain. She knew immediately it was a man. He was the only living species capable of self-inflicted suffering. She inspected this particular specimen, which had plopped down next to her, trying to discern the cause of his distress. There were no signs of blood sucker bites. He hadn’t been blown over by a gust of wind, nor burned by a blistering sun. No, it was as she had expected, he was fine.
How can I come into the present moment, you ask. Come clean. Come empty. Come full of space. Come full of empty space.
If you let a word define you it will always be wrong. Words disintegrate, letters crumble. They are but vanishing ink marks on a slate. Do you really want to hang one around your neck like a noose ? Take a word, if you must, hold it tight and never let it go. The winner is me ! Raise your clutched hand high, shout the word out loud. But do you really want to make yourself so small ? Do you want to live hidden in such a cramped space, behind letters that someone might suddenly and simply erase ? Winner is just a word and you are so much more. Continue reading “Come clean”