The Lakes

The Lakes

There is a stillness, in the corners of the world.

I feel as though I’m sitting in the center of a large, placid lake, with every sudden movement sending forth concentric ripples, from the source of the disturbance. But movement is not a disturbance. Rather, voice seems to be the jarring note in this canvas. Waves of undulating noise, rolling over and crashing over each other, edging the surface of my sea with little foamy crests, pushing through to the surface and demanding notice- it is too noisy here, but the stillness commands my attention.

There is a stillness, in the corners of the world.

It shifts with me, as I walk down the road. Till the road is not a gravel and pebble structure, but simply a surface, far below the surface of dim realization, just a strata upon which the layers of my consciousness rest, and glide on. The steps do not matter, the direction does not matter. The people who cross my path with their own satellite-like atmospheres do matter, though, as do the animals. Each radiates a different light, that overlaps and passes through mine, either unsettling me or inviting me, but there are very few of the latter. For the most part, I resent the intrusion. It’s as if my ocean is being diluted with a different substance, with a tide pulling in the opposite direction,or the stillness is being tugged away, oil dragging through – I do not like it. I gather my flowing skirts of mirror-like water and pull away. I like the stillness in the corners of the world.

And the trees, and the animals, and the birds, they know. They are smaller beings of being, with smaller spheres of fluid light, circulating in birth and death, subsistence and existence- but no less significant. Their light passes through mine as stria in a crystal- unnoticeable to plain sight, but on careful observation, I am the richer for it. Just as I am richer, happier -stiller- by the few, few people who’s colors feed mine, instead of leaching away the vibrancy. And I hold on, unconsciously tighter, smoothing the ruffled thought, walking away from those who toss pebbles in, to skim my surface. I shelter, away from it all, if necessary in the remotest caverns of my mind, and my lake of stillness grows….

Till you. Till your aura of infinite stillness, a pacific calm of passivity into which I walk in, and am lost. My waters lose their separate, conscious existence, and it is a blending of two colors of one color, of two persons of one thought till neither of them is ‘thinks’ at all. They have both melted, like the mouths of rivers that melt into the oceans and no one can ever define with certainty, where one is more one than the other. There is no dividing line between the east sky and the west sky, there is no demarcation between the air I breathe and the air that you do, there is none.

That is why we are as one, as we are one. It may not mean anything to anyone else, but the same stillness-the same potent, tasteless, formless, stillness- the same stillness waters me and you.

That is why I revel, in my nothingness. That is why nonexistence holds the draw of such bliss. That is why we are one- you and I. We are the West and the East of the sky.

And the stillness holds us.

For AMA, always and forever ❤

©CM
15.12.2014