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I came here to have fun;
to ride an awesome Kingda Ka
high into the azure skies,
wandering,
wide eyed
amongst the clouds.
Then to plunge ever faster,
deep into seemingly endless
dark sinister chasms
filled with nightmarish
phantasms.
Only to burst through
into the light
flying once again
towards the stars
on an endless ride
of thrill and ecstasy.
But,
I didn’t expect
it to feel
so real.
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
As an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
From Essential Rumi
by Coleman Barks
It isn’t fair they said. Life just isn’t fair.
Well it isn’t fair and shouldn’t be fair. We are all here for a reason, a purpose with lessons to learn and teach. Some are here to learn the experience, for example, of picking up garbage, thoughtlessly scatter by others, whose purpose is to provide them with the garbage to pickup.
So when you get crap dumped on you, remember if you can, all involved agreed to play these parts before you came here. The worse it is, the better everyone has an opportunity to play with abandon the role in this awesome game.
Money, is there ever enough, is more always better, shouldn’t everyone have the same? Is this not the “fair” way it should be? Isn’t this similar to having all parts of a canvas being covered equally with equal amounts of all colors, to be fair to the canvas? But, it is only in the way each color’s unique character is inequitably painted on the canvas, that the Mona Lisa is the awesome masterpiece it is. It is only through the opportunity to be generous where much is given and fugal where there is never enough, that character can unfold. It matters not at all what or how much but rather the love, with which the gift of abundance or scarcity, is accepted and used for “All” it has to offer.
Love is the same way. Can you ever, love another without condition or expectation if they always love you back? When you meet those special individuals who light your fire to a raging inferno, remember they came here to light “your” fire, not to have theirs lit by you. In the same way remember if you are loved and kindled a flame in another and they have not sparked one within you, be happy for the fire you have lit, for there is none more beautiful in all the cosmos and it was you, who sparked it.
Never try to be other than you are, never be a traitor to yourself in the name of fairness. It is not about equality, it about playing the being you are, plucking every string, to the best of your ability, and in playing thusly being in harmony with the song of the One. You play your part of the symphony that is life, while others to play theirs as well, without ever requiring equality, fairness or justice. There is no place in Life, in Love or in our world for any of these. There is either uniqueness or equality, not both. Truth is there is only uniqueness and in this, all us is uniquely one of a kind; none “equal” to another.
(Shoshone Love Song)
Fair is the white star of twilight,
and the sky clearer at the day's end;
But she is fairer, and she is dearer.
She, my heart's friend!
Far stars and fair in the skies bending,
Low stars of hearth fires and wood smoke ascending,
The meadow-lark's nested,
The night hawk is winging;
Home through the star-shine the hunter comes singing.
Fair is the white star of twilight,
And the moon roving
To the sky's end;
But she is fairer, better worth loving,
She, my heart's friend.
~ Author unknown
Some days are a battle with no satisfying rewards; something akin to fighting the stench for the opportunity to suck the puss from a putrefied corpse
Then others are better.
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Perhaps like petals of the same lotus blossom,
we feel and are immersed
in the fragrance of our blooming.
Perhaps if we stop to inhale it all
we will hear its song
whispering to our souls.
And in the quiet whispers
know it is Our voice
singing
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Dive deep into impending doom
and find it is but a rose bloom
