When one no longer rests in the story that one co-creates for oneself and steps back from and beyond that and beyond the beyonds while simultaneously living the story that one co-creates, this is the development of capacity, of capaciousness. One is no longer a corporeal being, skin-bound, but a vastness incomprehensible by the subject-object world.
I know. I know. We love to live our story. No problem. Do it. Live it fully and completely with all its nuances. Be the best you that will ever exist. You have no competition, other than your disparate parts.
Outside your story, what are you? What? You do not wish to consider the question? Then let the dead bury the dead. You may as well write your obituary now.
I would rather be like the wind, which "blows where it blows, and you hear its sounding, but cannot tell its final beginning nor its destination." Open. No Story. Capacious.
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A line from one of my favorite songs, co-written with you know who.
ReplyDelete"Soaring with the wind,
Calling down to the spellbound,
May all birds be uncaged."
~Stan
:>)
ReplyDeleteStan and George,
ReplyDeleteI love these metaphors. Soaring like a bird without being a bird. Dipping soaring and diving; with no bottom or top; no destination; no begining and no end; Blessed be the meek; no cage to contain the almighty.
And here's one of my favorite songs, appropriate to George's muse today ~ Child of the Wind, by Bruce Cockburn.
ReplyDelete"I love the pounding of hooves
I love engines that roar
I love the wild music of waves on the shore
And the spiral perfection of a hawk when it soars
Love my sweet woman down to the core
There's roads and there's roads
And they call, can't you hear it?
Roads of the earth
And roads of the spirit
The best roads of all
Are the ones that aren't certain
One of those is where you'll find me
Till they drop the big curtain
Hear the wind moan
In the bright diamond sky
These mountains are waiting
Brown-green and dry
I'm too old for the term
But I'll use it anyway
I'll be a child of the wind
Till the end of my days
Little round planet
In a big universe
Sometimes it looks blessed
Sometimes it looks cursed
Depends on what you look at obviously
But even more it depends on the way that you see
Hear the wind moan
In the bright diamond sky
These mountains are waiting
Brown-green and dry
I'm too old for the term
But I'll use it anyway
I'll be a child of the wind
Till the end of my days"
[The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind -
Bob, from Bob]
Bruce Cockburn's "Child of the Wind" if one of my favorite songs! Thanks to everyone, George on down, for helping me remember to open today.
ReplyDelete