I am not sure that I exist, actually. I am all the writers that I have read, all the people that I have met, all the women that I have loved; all the cities that I have visited.
~ Jorge Luis Borges
He loves me. He loves me not.
Picking at dying wildflowers plucked from the ground. I flash back to ten, fifteen years ago. So much insecurity I could scarcely see until now, from the vantage point of early midlife, even-keeled, happy relationship. Back then there was the infinite craving, the crying, the putting myself through hell, all for half a night of faux romance, lust and desperation masquerading as love.
You and I have separate bodies, yes. But do we have separate minds? Maybe not. The consciousness of humanity is not owned by any particular human, but rather all of us as a holy whole. We seem to possess separate mind, but maybe that’s an illusion? What I write, something is moving through me that is not just me. It is me, plus more than me. It is me and you and the energy of everything.
Our hearts are not our own. Our human emotions and animal compassion and personal passions are common to us all. The licuado of our feelings (which are all mixed together and impossible to separate out or segregate into separate lines for separate facilities) is what gives flavor to our every moment, experience and relationship.
It all comes down to a paradox. We are separate, and we are one.
So. Let’s just interbe, why don’t we?
While we still can…
This human body that you possess is not owned by you.
It is borrowed, and you will not possess it for an indefinite period.
While you have the opportunity to do something worthwhile,
don’t you think you should make use of it?
Please turn your mind within and reflect on this.
~ from Precious Sun ~ Padma Karpo’s Spiritual Advice