An expression of life.

When you know you’re alive, you have everything you need to know.

That’s all.

Being awake is just that:

The simple, basic knowing of aliveness.

A delicate energetic hum.

So sweet, so obvious.

And SO powerful that it doesn’t need to prove its existence.

Closer than close.



… and then you are swept away by experience again.

The perfect agony.

Bullshit fucks up your bliss.

Eternal simplicity gets obscured by the chattering mind.

And the searching starts all over again.

For security, for stillness, for happiness, for the end of sorrow and worry.

The hope that one day this pure, direct connection will be all there is and last forever, and we can lazily sway in a hammock of peace.

Now here’s the irony:

I’m writing about this to find it again.

I’m surrendering to the flow of words so it can bring me back to that place again, that place we can NEVER ever leave, but that can seem so devilishly elusive.

By being in and with life like that I forget all the crap, I transcend the majestic magnetism of the personal mind.

By opening up to what wants to express, I feel part of the expression.

And maybe that is all we truly want.

Being an expression of life.

Could it be that simple?



(Photo by @cris_trung, for Unsplash)

Just holding it.

Just holding it.