We have all had cosmic moments, indeed. In the last few years, I can attest to a handful that have left me breathless and mindful of what exists beyond my perceptions. I enjoy my senses, but I have a sense that there is a world of energy that exists beyond them, or perhaps only beyond what I have understood to be my own sensory limitations.
I have sat in my car on a busy street in St. Paul, Minnesota, and had the distinct pleasure of melting away from myself, and into all that surrounded me. What I was experiencing was ego death, perhaps, and an expansion of my boundaries. I felt as if I was everything around me, the people, trees, sidewalk, air, all of it. It was almost as if I had been holding myself back all of my lifetime, and finally had understood that I could let go. The ease of slipping into the cosmic moment. To feel deep compassion for the life force that surrounded me. To see myself in the eyes of others. I felt connected, my heart opening, pouring out as well as being poured into. Love is endless, the ultimate renewable energy source. I expanded outward, until I felt my boundaries reaching space, which is when I put on the psychic brakes and came rushing back into this body, this ego that has pushed me along my life path. This ego that I love, but that exists to feed itself, a snake eating it's tail, if you will. I felt constricted, comfortable once again.
I have been aware of time as the formation of crystalline moments, time as space unfolding like flower petals, every drop of liquid an essential life force, a consciousness, a player in this cosmic game of energy. I have become aware of my movements, the pumping of my heart, the expansion of my lungs, my eyes darting to and fro, the air moving against my skin; all of this illuminated by great gasping waves of time, time that doesn't exist as a parsed linearity, or a diced up mathematical goulash, but as the very essence, the endless Now of Zen, the last breath of our lives being spent so quickly and slowly, a glacial hummingbird sucking the nectar of life.
Once, my eyes opened in the morning, and I realized that I was still dreaming. This whole play of the dream we call reality. This play of reality we call a dream. We believe we have woken up, but only until we understand that we are dreaming are we really, truly awake.
I have seen places in between the pages of what we call reality and have wondered incessantly about these mysteries. My best guess: Life is the Art of Energy. Visionary, Mystic, Poet, Artist: all have been cracked opened, intentionally or not, and have experienced the dreamtime. They have attempted to bridge the gap. The calling of the endless openness drones on in the ears of those who have awoken to something more then themselves.
Consciousness is in everything, I have thought. The rocks and the hummingbird, even the TV and a spoon have spoken to me. I have decided to open my heart to this dream in order to understand and connect to the endless openness, rigpa. All I can do is live my life as well as I know how to, and open my heart to this beautiful dreamtime. My best effort is all I know.
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