As we are feeling sensitivity to this world we also experience the sensitivity to ourselves. For what is this world but ourselves as we truly are. Today the world is quiet and beautiful. So quiet in fact that the sharper forces, and faces of life, loom a thousand times more noticeable than usual.
The more inward we get the larger the world becomes. The deeper we go into the "I", the less "I" we feel and it is wonderful. Retracing our steps back into greater and greater simplicity... The teeth fall out from the edges of our experience, leaving us soft and supple, receiving and in surrender. All that remains are the wounds cut the deepest, the most subtle insecurities.
I tremble in this sensitivity like a fresh blade of grass in the wind, I shake in front of crude forces of this world and within, almost unbelieving. The world is such. But which one? Can I reside in its fragile, gentle core and be unhurt by its rough edges? Can such extreme sensitivity sustain itself in the worldly atmosphere and while still having personal memories, and if so, for how long?
Words and sounds limit the vibration of the soul. When overtaken by silence, deep and pregnant, we travel far and wide. In silence expression is not bound, nothing has limits, sensations fly to the corners of the world, to all the elements, to the material, to the void. We can go anywhere, be anyone. And most of all- be no-one, except perhaps life itself.
In the end- even the deep scars and wounds, both internal and external, that rise up in this state, are forgiving. Their whispers are perhaps the anchors that are needed for greater transformation. And then, hopefully, there will be none.
