Beyond a branch, the natural extension, reaching; growth out of mutilated arms gives rise to a new beginning. What mysterious existence lights up life around us?

I can hardly call it knowledge, for nothing was acquired or learned, I simply trust that you and I see the same wonders. I have no reason to doubt. Not your words, nor any other part of you, though truly it is your smile that exposes you. Why conceal awe, when resonated by your heart in the smallest crease around your lips, highlighting the passing admiration of your sensual intake?

I dismiss any hesitation. A rush of felt confidence, nourished by witnessing how you assume the same delight for these marvels and their magical helpers. Look, there’s one silently working, screwing a bulb into the life containing vein of a branch. And yet another, a laden bundle resting on his shoulders, trinkets of nature, little enclosed orbs, each encasing the colors of our world, in a single moment revealed to our senses without purpose. If anything, just to unfold a rarer, inner cause to ascend to full blossom of creation.

When every second we are open to the miracles surrounding us, and I mean open beyond classifying, naming or in any other way posessing, truly open, like unrestraining floodgates, mere bystanders, permitting the forceful cascades to pass, then we too emerge as the incessant, sublime currents of nature. You cannot restrain the cumulating resonance shining through you and I do not resist being affected by your glow. I can honestly say that yonder the untangled silliness of social constructs and emotional desire, I love seeing you entwined in wonder. I feel as though the moment unveils your true self, that pure essence of life, sometimes hidden in the obscure depths of the sea. I rest assured that Captain Nemo in the human created abyss of inflicted pain and suffering, deep inside his heart is enlivened by each new encounter, beheld through the wordless senses of a child, toying with the wings of mankind, a marble of gold nestling in his core and in yours alike.

A lost flip flop and with it the looming consequences. The cost, the squandered emotions: a tiny episode mirroring the struggle to let go. My constant conscious and unconscious efforts to perserve my-self by all means, wherein a financial loss becomes a threat, tugging at the corners of my existence. The mind convinced in forseeing the beginning of the end. So challenge the mind to let go of all financial securities, along with insurances, investments and technological aids. It is scary. How am I to survive in the face of insecurity? Better hold on tight to whatever, better not question the false-guarantees. Oh the attachment to the physical buoy, keeping me from sinking, from…? Why is it so terrifying? Could having nothing, or else, losing everything be liberating? I cringe at the thought. What will I cling on to, when there’s nothing left? Nothing. No holding on, or should I say, purely letting go; finally.

Maybe there is some relief I can’t or don’t want to admit to yet. Nonetheless it dawns on me that the difference is none, that holding on to illusion is like holding on to thin air. It’s a bird soaring high, soaring low, the wings gait transversing the naked haze, a transparent film reflecting light upon our receiving agents, coats of blue sky and green vegetation. I am that bird, thrusting wings into nothingness, trusting no one in particular to extend my flight. Dizziness overcomes me as I close my eyes and alas my mind. Like that one time in the sea, the water could take me and break me, apartness amplified in fear, then submitted to the cradling basin, soaking my heart, surrendering in spiritual awe. Maybe letting go means to open the doors to death and to meet its gaze, not in spite or grief, but in acceptance. See here, death is the cradle in the basin of life. And I shall bathe in it unclad.

This very second all of us are dying at various rates. Maybe we differ only by means of measure. What makes us appear separate might therefore be no more than the distinct struggles of staying alive, which we may or may not be exempt from.

The mind consulting the mind:

I was tempted to call you a freak of nature, but now I’m not so sure. The one contemplating you is the very same object of scrutiny. The divide is artifical, for I can take a step back and seemingly look at you from the outside, yet this phony metaplane only allows me to reflect upon my own from within. The mind recognizing itself, pretending to detach; one of the mind’s many tricks. So this is at most a little tango or a slow dance on the gym floor, in a hidden den, in the grandeur of a ballroom, where one seeks the other in close proximity.

You have been well trained over the past decades. Trained to always be attentive, to think it through, to think before you speak or act, to think twice. Socialization and education conditioned you to be able to predict, reflect, assess, take on the perspective of an other, learn from experience, inhibit action and surpress emotion. You have literally become a mastermind and as such paved the road to degrees, careers, riches and a place in society. Maybe you are a means to survival in this odd species‘ evolution.

You have built-in mechanisms that keep you from disconnecting, trickery to the extent of deceiving yourself. You feign to shut off, if necessary you urge the body to fall asleep, whereby you, I have discovered, merely change the channel and continue to broadcast in another dimension. I have figured you, or me, or whatever any of this folly is, out, and receive every new twist of your craftiness with a yawn.

Are you trying to outsmart yourself? Don’t be ridiculous. Fighting you is witless, nothing short of half-baked, attempting to cast aside one’s own shadow – come on! I can well imagine insanity being the outcome. Thus I came to wonder and learn, what you are so afraid of: part of me has argued that you are a primitive machine, programmed to execute the above, simultaneously fearing the unknown, fearing that you could perish into nothingness should you be quieted. In this habitual pattern, I suspect, lies a link to our breeds permanent, subconscious fear of death, thriving on terrifying fantasies about the unknown. Maybe it is you, that has been fooled all along in your own limited argumentation that the mysteries surrounding us must pose a threat.

I conjured time and time again strategies to still you, and was always met with the dilemma of the same chessplayer playing both sides. I cannot blame the babe for having delivered the secret. This I too understand.

Hush, my twiddling partner, it appears we are inseperable, as well as sometimes dull, often predictable and perfectly incapable of grasping anything of importance. This chatter has me gazing at the stars. Can’t we just enjoy the dance? Grant a loving embrace of insignificance, with a head-titled-smile, absentmindedly smudge the little pencil drawn circles of human acts, unsubstantial. Letting go is now a voiceless shuffle to the right, a choreography of hearts pumping in unison with orbits of laughter traced onto each others faces, whispers blown inside of balloons, ascending quickly, touching the sky from yonder – the world has become so small.

I has left the room, mind has put up its feet, the battle has ended. Freedom, the enlighted universe beams; never left. I shall now call it accepdance – surrender to silence. Nothing to loose in losing your mind. Now breathe.