The salt, the sand, the sun–the desert.
All is dry and dessicated.
Where is the fount of the waters of life?
Why suffer this needless thirst,
knowing the waters of life flow within,
without and within reach?
Ponder well.
There are yet rivers within your being yet untapped:
reservoirs of strength and clarity,
deep wells filled with love,
chasms coursing with vitality,
ardour pulsing through the veins.
So much life! So much vigor!
So much to share…nay, give away wholesale!
Endless renewal of inner force lies
in the font of the living waters.
One need not thirst at all, ever.
But there are yet veils of illusion which
keep you from slaking your spiritual thirst.
What are these illusions?
They must be revealed and uprooted;
tossed out like evil weeds:
Are you ever separate from others?
Are you still “special”?
Do you harbor pride in spiritual matters?
Secretly, yes?
Where are you prideful?
Were are you hard and unyielding?
Where are you unrelenting in judgement?
Where are you small and contracted?
Where do you allow thoughts to take you,
unaccompanied by the heart?
Where do you lack trust?
Wherefore are you still fearful for
your material security?
These are all matters for the desert life:
The hot, dry, burning, unyielding facts of
where there is resistance to the flow of life.
When the waters flow, they cause all to yield,
softening the realities of the hard, rocky road
below the shimmering fluid life.
When the waters run dry, we are given a chance
to examine the bottom of the river bed–the hard stones,
the dregs, the fallout and trash which has precipitated
at the bottom of our lives.
Without the flowing stream, which can distort our
vision of the bedrock of our lives, these cold, hard facts
come into sharper focus.
When the waters return and the glorious
life-affirming stream is restored, we at least know,
and have examined hard, that bedrock upon which it flows.
We come to recognize those boulder-like obstacles
within us which are still creating eddies, troubles and distortions
within us. We gaze upon the sharp rubble of our lives
and know that until the living waters grind it all down into
fine sand, we are as yet incomplete beings,
We are as yet unredeemed, and our essential nature
has yet to be fully made manifest. There is work to do!
See you to it!
But in the end: “the ocean refuses no river”.
