LIQUID GOLDEN EMBROIDERY OF LIGHT AND DEATH

In FICTION by Martin Fernandez CufreLeave a Comment

You have to make the link. Or rather, see it. Every moment of your life is linked by a golden thread to the moment of your death. Then, every moment will shine like a holy mosaic or embroidery. It always shines as such, but we seem to miss it. It’s a holographic embroidery of transparent jewels. A dream made of rainbow light. A dazzling and flashing memory in the mind of God, as God. “God in disguise”, some say. “A symbol of totality”, others. Can you read between the lines? The link between each experience and the noninstant of death is here, but we seem to miss it. In the end, it will be the only relevance: the inherent radiance of everything, in that strange, elusive, subtle way. The names, the details, maybe they will fall away, but the inherent radiance remains.

Just look. Notice. Whenever your attention breaks out for a nano-instant from its usual hustle and bustle (including maybe the elusive infatuation with escaping from the hustle and bustle, or from elusive infatuations), notice the sound, the light, the movement. Notice “it” dancing just in front of your eyes, as your eyes, in your eyes. In the seer, as the seer, and the seen. What is “that”? Relax, Friend, don’t hasten to grab hold. Caress, inhale, exhale. Remember the mystery of lovemaking. It “is” this, you, that, it. “It” cannot go away, because “it” has never arrived. “You” have never caught “it”, for “it” is the ground of you, that, this, now and then.

The link is inherent, but somehow what we think we are, misses it. Conditions for its recognition are varied, as much as personal proclivities, but there is a tendency to moments of silence, maybe not literal but even narrative or existential. That is, moments when the usual teller of the story you believe to be living and giving you identity seems to be missing. Just then, there, when the Primordial Horror seems to lurk, you discover “it”. The link. The pattern. The hologram-dream-song, sung in/through/as you and that and him and her and every single thing or action you seem to have perceived or done or known or even ignored.

So look, notice, but don’t “do”. Don’t pretend. Don’t enact. Don’t “don’t” either. It’s kind of confusing, I know. Looks like a mind destroyer, but it’s not. It’s just a holographic playground, and something is going on which cannot be pinned down. It just can’t, because “it” is the playground for even the idea of pinning down, or someone doing it. Do you get “it”? There is nothing to get, nothing to do, nothing to catch, and yet everything is at stake. Right now. Just now. And then. And then then. It’s all absolute equality, and yet multifarious variety ensues as the colorful spectrum of the rainbow of experience. All sensation, all emotion, all experience, all thought, is a modulation of this subtle Song. But, as we said before, don’t get too royal about it: it’s not about “you”, and yet it’s all about You, as the Song. But it doesn’t get hung up on localized drama. The river is never trapped by the eddies, yet energizes them as ornament. And when they go, where do they go? Who are they? Are they less important than the river? Are not the waves the caress of the sea, its singular shape in its lovemaking with the wind and sky?

Nothing is important, and yet “getting the link” is the most important thing to get. Look. Smell. Notice the texture in the electricity of your thoughts and emotions. Don’t get hung up on the contents or the apparent importance. The quality, the texture, and the space in which they seem to appear are key. But beware of subtle self-importance, please, dear Friend. Even separating the appearence from the space is trickstery, in a way. It’s all magic. Dream magic. Dream yoga. The playfulness of lucidity, disguising itself as a child in a school play, even in/as ignorance and forgetfulness. Don’t get hooked with the dramas; it’s all just the lovemaking caress of the dharma! Not being it, yet being nothing other. This is a confusing point of instructions given by “wise men”. They get all warmed up and excited with pinpointing key distinctions and sometimes forget the ineluctable paradox and poetry. Like a recipe which cannot be put entirely in paper if lacking the key details of spices, or a masterpiece that cannot be transcribed in its spirit, if we lack the right touch of humor, existential integration, sensibility, humility and yet boldness… the crux of the balance of the elements, then we will get an arid construction like a Frankenstein monster of the spirit. But She, the elusive blow of the flow, the Mystery that sits on your nose right now like Tinkerbell projected from your own Source, doesn’t give in as that.

So look around, inside, smell, feel the texture, the electric light of it. The subtle sound of the Song. The moment of your death and of awakening is there. Feel the awe. Feel the numinous presence of You, completely beyond you, but in/as/through you and this sacred moment. Can you picture now what those masters/poets meant when they said that the mandala of Now is all the buddhas and their consorts in perennial lovemaking? Or just the union of sky and light, Samantabhadra and Samantabhadri. Primordial or inherent buddhahood. Not depending on causes and conditions. “That”. Inhale. Can you feel where those tears come from? Can you feel the source of all Joy and Sorrow, of the Tragedy and Comedy of this life? Beware, dear Friend, beware of formulas. Love them as clues and enigmas, but love is not rape.

Know this labyrinth, Friend. Know this dream. Know its luminous, transparent, liquid, holographic nature. Gnothe Seauton, Know Thyself, as the Greek formula went, and know the dream. Feel its texture, for nowhere is its nature and mystery revealed but in the electricity of its experience. Feel the rainbow in whatever color or shape you see, whatever sound, texture, taste, smell. Whatever emotion, whatever thought, even sadness and pain. Keep this message in your heart, Friend, we are all there, in that moment, in this moment. You will see this, the golden and jewelled embroidery, maybe just in the moment of death, and that is Freedom, as now. All golden threads are connected in a golden pattern of mysterious light, manifesting as all possible scenes, actors and actions. Breathe in and out this totality in the vibration of a single open A and there you are. The link is made. Re-ligata. Restoration of the Temple that was never destroyed and not even built. Here we are, Friend.

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