I’m over here, right next to you, immersed in the complex geometry of being.
While you talk I am noticing the light that emanates from your skin, the dynamic swirl around and through us, the exchange, the disconnect, the circles under your eyes, the slight sadness that plays at the corner of your mouth, the electricity of your hands telling a story, the life that breathes you, all amplifying the great beauty of your being.
There is no way, no human mechanism, that will allow me to reveal the spacious embrace that overwhelms me as we stand here.
There is no vehicle for the complexity of what happens in me – it is a perpetual feeling of being behind very thick glass, of being stuck in another dimension.
I see the substructures that underlie the illusion of our separation and my mind whirls with potential upgrades. If we, together, make a small tweak to just one dial, the veil would part. But to convey the tweak I must also, then, paint a pictorial foundation of both the invisible tale we inhabit and the truth of our magnificence to contextualize and give meaning to the tweak, or even to reveal the dial. Attempting to do so with insufficient tools is a great vexation, a tormenting bondage.
The limitations of the organism of me coupled with a preexisting framework that is wholly inadequate leaves me in a near constant state of isolating frustration. The way we think and the tools we use to convey our thinking are impotent in the face of our dimensional truth.
I simply do not know how to let the bigness of love come out such a small opening. It is a feeling I might describe as God in its vastness rushing in and filling me, trying to get through, and the only outlet is the size of an atom. I leak light but it never breaks free, never bursts onto the scene, because of the limits inherent in my embodiment.
To witness, to feel, with full awareness, the impotence of my abilities to portal the consciousness that impregnates me is a distressing torment – a baby that refuses birth or a human bladder that cannot piss. I am both full and inadequate.
There is a saying “When two or more are gathered in my name, there will I be.” Connection summons God, sucks love in through the holes in the air. With a ferocious determination to be as a most precious gift to us, God pushes and shoves its way into a very cramped space, making me hyper-cognizant that a universe inhabits my interior and I am both too small a host and too feeble an interface for its voracious splendor.
I am not complaining, but explaining – emptying out in the hopes that it will relieve some of the pressure and create more space for the cosmic calculations of my witnessing heart to come forth in some useful way. I would like to be more proficient at being what I am and escape, finally, the invisible labyrinth of such a small self.
Perhaps wording the hidden experience will allow something to shift.
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