礼品之路 ( Lǐpǐn zhī lù ) – the gift of Weight

Loss and gain and loss again – this the rhythm of the life we receive.

Every gain, carrying inside it the seed of loss.

Every loss, creating again, new space for gain.

Loss and gain not bound to matter, although it matters, but found in what can be touched with fingers and hands as much as in what can be felt with invisible heart and soul and being.

Becoming our life, as it unfolds.

Not in chaos, without reason, but intricately woven.

Every stitch and cord, precisely placed.

Even if we are unaware.

Convinced of meaningless oblivion.

Our lives given.

To each one of us.

And to all of us.

At-one.

And at once.

As we become in what seems to be an endless flow of time, but which is really a burst of being, beyond comprehension, simplified for our comprehension, in chronology and time and wasting.

Loss, never truly loss.

And gain, ornately spruced to hide its sisterhood with what was and is and will always be again.

Neither of them a witch.

Both beautiful.

Exquisite.

As they accompany us.

Not only guiding us on our way, but encouraging us.

To be.

To unfold and become.

To seek and embrace at-one-ment, as we are sought and embraced and atoned.

We the weight we carry.

Who we are.

In all our splendour and possibility.

For we are, as They from Whom we come, is.

The Great I Am.

By Whom we were lovingly formed, in the womb of our mothers.

Two tiny broken pieces of earth, fused into life as it is breathed into life, Their Being, our breath of every day past and every day to come.

We, not little parts of Them, like tentacles of an octopus, but embuied with Their Essence.

They Essentially Free.

And us, individual.

Seperate as well.

Related to Them.

As our children are related to us, but not owned or enslaved.

Although, in the timbre of their voices or the gait of their step, we might recognize something of who we are or were or might’ve wanted to be.

And so we see ourselves, or a glimpse of us, in them, as They see a glimpse of Themselves, in us as well.

Forever atoned, or at-oned, regardless of recognition or admonition, because They are our Origin.

And yet, despite this Oneness, we have a weight to carry.

A distance we must go.

A destination we can’t know.

We have a weight to carry and can put it down nowhere.

This weight unbearably heavy and simultaneously without substance, when carried blindly.

Oblivious of Them.

And us.

As if all of it is per chance.

From some random bang.

In time incalculable.

Our being immensely tired as the weight bears down on us.

The meaninglessness.

The hopelessness.

The randomness and uncertainty of it all too much to bear, as we stumble on from one day to the next, barely surviving the relentless load of feeding and sheltering and clothing, with not much left to love or enfold or raise.

Yet, this weight at once a Gift, once seen for what it is.

Or at least for some of what it might be and once was and could be again.

No burden at all.

A light yoke.

Not apart, but a part of us.

As we come to be.

Of service.

Companions.

Friends.

Collaborators of Them from Whom we are truly born.

For They bear us.

And we are borne.

And even the little things of life become visibly infused with meaning, as our Source and Sourceror gives.

Substance.

To what could easily be no more than fog, which would dissipate, before the noon hour shines.

And so, we walk through fields of Evil.

Every day.

Perhaps the price we pay for being who we are in all our exquisite wonderfulness.

Evil, not a thing we do.

A destruction we visit upon this earth.

A poison we sow, as we give ourselves to fear and envy and hate, instead of being found by Love and Peace.

We have a weight to carry and can put it down nowhere.
We are the weight we carry.
From there.
To here.
To there.

A weight beyond belief.

Intruding wherever we are.

Offending the blind and fearful.

Confusing them.

With its wild enigmatic attractiveness.

Trembling.

Its depth too deep to measure.

Its height to high to see.

Its vastness scary.

Until you give as well.

Give in to Them Who’ve been calling all along.

And so I hope, for me and for you, that our yoke will be light and soft.

Our weight immense with substance.

Our step easy.

Comfortable and confident.

Inexplicably so.

As we receive what has been ours all along.

Our Origin.

Our breath.

Our Energy.

Who brought us into being, here, now, for such a time as this.

To be.

As They are.

Not mere mindless atoms, randomly arranged.

Life.

Bringing Life.

Wherever we may be.

Whatever we may be doing.

For we come from Life.

And we are from Life.

And we return to Life.

Born and borne again.

And again.

And another time, just a little more.

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