Last night, while on a frustrating and frantic search for my cat Lalla who did an after dark escape into the spider filled bamboo outside my loft, I looked up at the saturated night sky and was stopped in my tracks. First one white bird. Then hundreds. It's amazing how beauty takes us outside of time.
Ma has been gracing me with these well timed and well proportioned drops lately. I wish I was a better poet. I cannot seem to convey how one droplet can quench a thousand years of thirst. Hours of sadhana to serve the droplet. The smallest quantity of liquid heavy enough to fall in a spherical mass.
I don't analyze things so much anymore. I watch. Life is unfurling Herself while I get pissed at the cat, mesmerized by the glowing whiteness kissing the dark, and I watch myself write this... and I don't know what any of it means. I only know my belly feels more exposed and I move instinctually from this place of increased sensation.
I read the ancient texts. I enjoy it. I learn. But the movement comes from this flesh and the space that it houses. It is simple this way and everything is more obvious. I laugh hysterically to know it is hidden in plain sight.
Lalla gazes with wide blue eyes oblivious to agenda of time. Resting in eternity in her utter cat-ness and is-ness. I imagine that she has seen those hundreds of birds time and time again....and a million other things.