Post by debbyflorence on Oct 31, 2011 8:29:12 GMT -7
Releasing the Self from Oppression
“In the morning a bear finds a horse, the head turning to two horses, depending on which way you turn.”
Where does my heart lie – in a field, in my son, on the concrete - does it lie? Is it Truth? When we seek to do good, we may also do bad, our close faces don’t matter when hidden by pain. In the morning someone comes after me and closes these doors, a turning on a hinge: your heart goes after something among the books. Looking through the fence, a wooden mane, a changing eye. In the morning , this is the time to wake up, dispel the recklessly obscuring illusion of analogy, rein it back in, be a cocoon just a second longer, then be the real.
Trying chimes, trying time, trying to turn my heart from the language of the heart which is nested in the language of pain, into Gold. Headline: Heart Value Rises Against Failing Heart Economy. Is clutched onto in moments of fear. But a heart of gold is a heart quantified in arbitrary human terms. A gold heart as the standard of goodness = economy of spiritual reality. Where are those banks?
Trotting along the bare path, mourning stream, empty horse: Rest the heart in deep waters. Rest the vain efforts in the forests. Leave the goodness behind. Let the banks fail. Open instead / dilate to the size of acceptance and wonder.
“In the morning a bear finds a horse, the head turning to two horses, depending on which way you turn.”
Where does my heart lie – in a field, in my son, on the concrete - does it lie? Is it Truth? When we seek to do good, we may also do bad, our close faces don’t matter when hidden by pain. In the morning someone comes after me and closes these doors, a turning on a hinge: your heart goes after something among the books. Looking through the fence, a wooden mane, a changing eye. In the morning , this is the time to wake up, dispel the recklessly obscuring illusion of analogy, rein it back in, be a cocoon just a second longer, then be the real.
Trying chimes, trying time, trying to turn my heart from the language of the heart which is nested in the language of pain, into Gold. Headline: Heart Value Rises Against Failing Heart Economy. Is clutched onto in moments of fear. But a heart of gold is a heart quantified in arbitrary human terms. A gold heart as the standard of goodness = economy of spiritual reality. Where are those banks?
Trotting along the bare path, mourning stream, empty horse: Rest the heart in deep waters. Rest the vain efforts in the forests. Leave the goodness behind. Let the banks fail. Open instead / dilate to the size of acceptance and wonder.