January again. Anniversaries and remembrances of grief and joy. Exploring that paradox I thought of Quan Yin, goddess of compassion.
She speaks quitely like a goldfish gliding under thick ice.
Beauty is there. In dying. In birthing. In waiting. In acting. In eating. In releasing. In forming. In decay. In song. In silence. In cold. In warm. In rain. In sun.
It is inescapable and pervasive. It is not always easy to look at. Did you know beauty can be in terror too? In scraping and scratching. In panic and wailing.
Like an aperture our hearts are really only given the choice to open up ever wider to let in the light of the universe. Or to close down in a protective posture and attempt to be unchanged.
I want to be opened. pressing for one more millimeter of trust. pushing. Until like Emerson I am the Great Eye. Part and Parcel of god.