A prayer (The Book of Aphorisms and other Barbarisms)

A prayer (The Book of Aphorisms and other Barbarisms)

 As a morning prayer in apparent isolation, facing a latent mountain, in front of a silent belfry, the first lights of the Sun are dispelling the night shadows. Last night, the full moon reflected that huge light so that the split between the underground, the terrestrial and the celestial vanished: I thanked myself through her like a wolf howling at its true origin or the sea looking for the earth or the silent howl of its fish that comes to the surface for a truce, I could, for a moment out of time, feel one with everything, no fragments or empty interpretations from that who sees himself trapped by his own rational mind, in time, in space. 

 I was, again, in my temple; I was, again, wave, light undefiled, without "thinking" at all that could petrify that altar with all the weight of the world. And there we all were housed, the universe there flowed with the harmonies of absolute beauty, there love was given without conditions or limitations and was returned, without any fraction of time, at the moment because perception had failed to act. There only one heart beat, red, pure, full or with no shortage at all: it accepted the Son, the World, as it Is.
 In front of this mountain, facing the silent bell tower, I could thank and bless myself as an erratic human that only wants his peace of mind, his own love. You cannot give what you do not have: the visible part of all of us is exposed to error after error brought by a limited perception that only the brushing with the world, if you accept it as impersonal, as gifts from the mechanics of our universe, without guilt, without trial to the Other, the Otherness---as you are judging yourself---will correct: the universe sends you each time what you need for this correction rather than what your limited reason and wish believe that you need. 

 Each morning the mountain let us see that its light, its aura, its brilliance, its invisible power to the eyes of the body, not to the soul, is your light, your own look clean of the interferences at which your Ego clings believing that this way it just will not die. The great cosmic eye opens and you feel the mountain is you, and the belfry, and the village, and its first pedestrians: you are free and loose everything you think you did, you think they made to you, with a blessing, because all that is what makes you Being now, alive and latent like a wild animal that feels the Earth Dragon roaring full of energy that you will give again, that you are giving and receiving incessantly and tirelessly---green nonstopping ray---and as such you will feel if you give your ''judging'', unarmed, to the universe that so wisely has brought you here from eternity: let yourself be loved and do not defend yourself with your poor mental tool: feel, forgive yourself the fantasies that you generate about the other, because you did not make the world, not even yourself, you just made a poor identity of yourself, your 3%, appalled by the 97%, that your little mind, isolated and locked in its limited perception fabricated believing it would save you from death, idea, paradoxically, made by that mind to justify its Ego, identified in its body, it resists, it stirs furious against all, against itself in the darkness of fear.

 Yes, like a prayer, I celebrate my Being that brings me a released Present full of love and abundance as this rising sun. Thank you, one more day.