Sunday, June 1

eggplants and turnip

labels are a funny thing. you would think with the way we attach to them, offer them, and give them so much authority, that it was labels that made this world go round. for all it's worth, labels only have that power because we give it to them. in and of themselves, they are only letters we assemble together. they are nothing more than sounds we make like all the other creatures in the Gardener's yard.

she asked me if i was a disciple of one of the teacher's whose teaching i love to share. and i answered "i am a disciple of Life rather than any one particular expression of it." we are not masters and followers, teachers and students, fathers, and girlfriends. these are roles that belong to a dream of separation. attachment to roles is attachment to delusions.

just like you take your shoes or clothes off before you go to sleep, you leave all these seemingly precious roles behind when you enter the dreamless state. here you are no one, thinking of no one. here in this deep sleep you think of nothing. no one's important enough for you to conjure up in this state. you are at your happiest in this realm where nothing is. and you come out of this formless space feeling rejuvenated and fulfilled. ever wonder why? ever wonder why it is in the absence of roles and names, identities and such that you feel at rest?

i understand the apparent necessity of these roles. but in truth they are in name only. they are not real lasting identities. they are fleeting character plays. masks we put on to amuse one another. to play with one another. but somewhere along the line, they became everything...

a woman to one man is a daugher, this same woman to another man a sister, yet to another a lover. how strange?! the same woman takes on name after name, identity after identity, as she walks this physical trail. she forgets them when she goes to sleep and then drops them altogether when the body drops. how strange!

you know what the truth is? i am neither his girlfriend or sister, his mother or daughter. nope not his wife, lover, grandmother, or mistress either. i am none of those things nor have i ever been or will ever be.

i am his eggplant and he is my turnip. what? it's just as meaningful and relevant. plus, together they make a fine salad...

the cucumber is our love child.

Be Still awhile, and free yourself from delusions. you have never been these roles you insist on offering.


namelessly.

Namaste

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