It is the emptiness that fills me,
The void at the heart of Life
Where the whistling winds of eternity roar.
It is only in the space between thought, desire and expectation,
It is only in the pause between one attachment and the next
Where the kiss of true belonging can be recognised and felt.
Am I afraid to fall headlong, heart surrendered into the great expanse of Nothing?
I know that I am not.
I know that I have already plunged and continue to plunge into myself,
And it is the echo of the free-fall into Heavenly Grace
That I would recreate in moments of faulty comprehension.
The precipice is a myth, the greatest myth ever told,
But by belief and repetition it gains a half-life, a shadow identity,
But it is not real, it is not real, it is not real.
When the promise of Heaven threatens to rip open my skin,
Scatter my bones and burn away the last vestiges of who I think I am
I lean away from the ecstatic abyss into a game I have created.
Why? Why not?
The game is not done with, it still plays out.
When I am ready for the most beautiful pain,
The sweetest agony,
When you are ready too,
We will plunge together into Divine Union
And then all will cease to exist,
Every thought will be forgotten,
Every emotion erased
And only the Bliss of Being will remain,
Undifferentiated, still, silent.
Creation will wind down and fold into the still silent point.
But for now we play at forgetting and remembering,
That is the joy of the Game of Life.
So, if you, like me, are a seeker,
Understand why you seek,
Know what you seek.
Enjoy the gift you have given yourself,
Treat it with playful reverence,
It has yet to begin, it is eternal and it is over.
It is all these things,
But above all remember that you are never lost,
I am here remembering you, you are here as a testament to me.
You are home; you are the destination and the journey.
You are Life living Itself.
© Sue Claughton, 2016