There is Rampant Chaos Everywhere

The hoax is that we

think we are holding it

all together.

There is a force larger

and smaller than who

we are able to know

ourselves to be

that

actually

is responsible for the

falling together

and apart of everything

that does.

It is a tumbling of quarks

in the deep space of the

invisible conundrum we

think we understand.

A position just inside

the ineffable yearning,

a bit to the left

of the un-circumscribable

tenacity and whimsy

of the ONE.

That force is really

all there is.  We sometimes

catch a glimpse of a thing

we believe to be

I.

That one simple

yet drastic illusion builds

ample speed and momentum in

the short run cavalcade of

days we suspect to be

our life.  It consumes

the whole of what we suppose

we know to be this very life

we allege ourselves to

be living.

Decades hence we look back to

find that the writer of it all

was suspiciously

absent.

Deep in the bag

we dragged far away

and behind us

were the tiny clues that

the pieces we selected

to be ourselves

were out of sorts with the

writer of the whole.

The crackle in the fire

was only from one side

of the burning log.

The chirping in the tree

was only one grackle

among the hundreds

that suddenly arrived

out of no where -

all at once –

in the twinkling of an eye.

How are we to know ourselves

without the vantage point of

time.  In the brush stroke that

paints the cosmos we see a

motion beyond the present.

In both directions our lives

are painted as a piece of

a larger still life that is

endless in its unfurling

entity and grace.  There is

not simply one or two

dimensions to the quatrain

of our days.  There is a depth

attributed to ambiance and

intuition that is nothing less

than molecules of spirit and

supposition that are as solid

as jasper, and quartz, and  granite;

and yet as wispy as spider’s web

in a gale of the Creative Father’s

breathing.

There is a senseless seam along

everything that is that will only

reveal itself when one stops

trying so hard to hold

the disparate pieces of the fabric

together.

Step back and let go

of the way you hope to see it end.

Those tattered edges you

thought so ruined

and incomplete

reveal a mass of intricate

maneuvering and emotion

just beyond the thinning

threads.  But,

to see that you must look through.