Continually restoring equillibrium, dancing on the fragile bridge, mid-step, look up, the sun! Writing and reflections on relating to Salt Spring Island, AI as a tiger in the house, Martin Shaw weekend immersion, memories.
I'm always so relieved when you write to me. I can mosey down the road and just enjoy the view, the big picture.. Thank you.
Thank you, Carol. Keep on keeping on. Love.
Let us imagine how a Sufi mystic, wearing chunky glasses under her dark bangs, would explain seeing truth deeply beyond the veil of our ordinary senses.
Picture yourself sitting with this enchanting mystic, her eyes twinkling with wisdom. With a warm smile, she begins to share her insights on perceiving the profound truth that lies hidden from our ordinary senses.
She leans in and, with a mischievous glimmer in her eyes, tells you that it's all about discovering the secret glasses of truth. These magical glasses, she explains, reveal the world in all its vibrant colors and unveil the extraordinary that's often overlooked.
You see, our ordinary senses can only grasp the surface of reality, like gazing at a painting from a distance. But with these special glasses, you can step closer and peer into the intricate details, unlocking a deeper understanding.
As she adjusts her chunky glasses, she encourages you to look beyond what meets the eye. By cultivating a sense of curiosity and wonder, you can begin to see truth more deeply. It's like discovering hidden doorways in the midst of a bustling market or unraveling the hidden message within a poem.
The mystic shares that seeing truth deeply requires a shift in perspective.
It's about noticing the subtleties, the interconnections, and the layers of meaning that dance beneath the surface of everyday life.
She whispers that it's not just about seeing with the eyes but also with the heart, the intuition, and the soul.
Through the lens of these truth-revealing glasses, the mystic assures you that you'll start to perceive the world in a whole new light.
Colors become more vibrant, sounds more harmonious, and the touch of a breeze more exhilarating. You become attuned to the whispers of the universe and the hidden messages it conveys.
In this heightened awareness, the mystic emphasizes the importance of embracing stillness and silence. By allowing your thoughts to settle like dust in a sunbeam, you create space for truth to emerge. It's in the quiet moments, she says, that you'll hear the symphony of the cosmos and witness the dance of the divine.
With a gentle nod, she assures you that seeing truth deeply is a journey, not a destination.
It requires patience, openness, and a willingness to let go of preconceived notions. It's an invitation to explore the depths of your own being and to encounter the infinite wonders that lie just beyond the veil.
So, my dear friend, put on your metaphorical chunky glasses and embark on this wondrous quest to see truth deeply. May you unveil the extraordinary, find beauty in the unnoticed, and embrace the world with wide-eyed wonder.
“AI can take all the words, and create all the images and expand our minds’ abilities to express so much more. But I’m not convinced that it can carry that secret code that opens the door to the realm beyond that expression. The golden ones won’t be riding alongside it, and it may be like the google map that sometimes fails to show the updated bridge or the new corner.” EXACTLY!!!! Thank you!
You remind me of this:
I've been thinking about writing lately...and the why of it as in why write at all now? I always wrote from since I was very young and got out of the habit of it in the recent years. It is a muscle I stopped flexing and now it is flacid and when I tried again, as in journal writing, I was struck with the question, why write? It came to me that I wrote for all those years imagining a reader, believing that one day my words would be read. But then about 10 years ago I gathered all my journals together with the intention of reading them and instead ended up methodically and deliberately fed them to an old pot belly stove that held a raging hot fire quite happy to consume all those pages, all those words I had hoped someone would read one day - and perhaps know me. When I began to read the journals I grew critical and cringed. I was ashamed of the repetitive banality, the same, the same, the same and so I flipped through them and kept only the ones that held stories and decriptions of my lived life, my travels, my adventures as I like to think of them and burned the rest. But now, when I think to write again it is not to make sense of my world or to wonder how I got here or to muse what it all means or where I am headed. It does not interest me. So then I am left with, well, what does? I am interested in watching the leaves shimmer in the trees; tracking a seagull's arc over the ocean; how the tide comes in or goes out over the rocks and makes the pebbles crackle. I'm interested in sitting still or in feeling the salt water on my body or in laughing with the children, picking them up from dance class or ju jitzu or whatever it is they do after school these days. I am sometimes interested in conversation. But not writing things down. I am not compelled to do it as I once was. It is just another muscle subtacted with disuse. I do not have the answer to the why. So maybe I won't. Maybe I'll just be here and look around...for a little while longer.
Thanks, Carol, for being my prompt!