You have much, and far too much to leave me at peace. Your song and dance, cry and despair, effort, effort, effort, and that pirouette to chance turns…
You rise in my thought like a leaven bread that holds all manner of meanings of the moment, when I want none. I want none of the sounds you bring to me; none of the melodies and none of those harsh rhythms. No meaning, please, and not any of these these thoughts that hang and hover, waiting for me to move and leave a dark patch of its loaded impression when I do not. Damned if I do and damned if I don’t, aren’t I ?
Stupid life over the life filtering through the curtains in the morning : nice and imperceptible, quiet light of being just, and no more. Just. Just for the witness, still, witnessing its bloom and ingress within, illuminating ever so gradually, even more and further. Just the light, the light within, and no more. Just this presence filtering in, growing.
Aye, life ! There, I differentiate you from being, as it is, with me and without me. Unlike you, who must have me on a scale of more and less, here and there, this and that. Like a driver prying me up through the karmic preserve you have banked in me.
Life is, I admit, like a viscous, intermingled and sticky ooze that draws me in and immerses, perforce overtakes and overwhelms me. It is the lover that demands to be loved. There is no freedom for me until I do.
Being is as it is, I now know, as a sparkling effervescence passing over me ever so softly and unannounced, and unacknowledging until I choose to beseech it with an unburdened and unoccupied sense exclusively aware of its presence. It is the one I choose, want to be chosen and be loved by.
Wait for me, Being, till after I have dealt with Life, this damned life !