a paradigm of opening
part 1, part 2,
part 3,  part 4

~

And he let it all go.

Embraced fully the smooth wave roll into a perfect backstroke of enveloping sleep.

He sank first into a sound—melodic warble of a baritone pitched flute that resonated, surrounded, permeated the whole of him.

And then gradually came a visual accompaniment.

Soft lavender and peach hues emerging, merging, and reemerging in myriad shapes. Ever evolving into new patterns while still unified in a radiant choreography.

All the while - a somewhat enigmatic verse slowly unfolded and repeated. The words appearing and then fading, swimming in languid strokes amongst the color and sound.

the cloud is a part
of the paper
surely as is the tree
surely as is the air you exhale
surely as is the ground on which you walk
inextricable you are
from the paper
and cloud
as all things
are inextricable
from all things
existence of one
impossible without
the other
each being, each thing
intertwined
individual drops
comprising the same ocean

Dreaming thus, his body and mind slept in great peace and breathed-in renewal, until it was time for him to wake once again.

~

—
inspired in part by the SES prompt ‘let it go‘ and the writings of Thich Nhat Hanh
—

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—
a paradigm of opening
part 1, part 2, part 3
—

~

And so he took a short step forward. And then another. As he relaxed, his stride naturally began to stretch out and become full.

On the third step his right knee came up and bumped something. He reached up with both hands and found that he was nearly nose tight to a wall. Could he have turned 90 degrees and run into the wall beside him?

That hardly seemed possible, but here in the darkness he was ready to believe almost anything. He took two full steps back, reached his arms out directly in front of him, and walked slowly forward.

Sure enough, his hands again met the wall his knees had bumped. Could the hallway have changed when he passed the lighted door?

As he began to ponder this, he moved to relax his arms and sensed something to his left.

(more…)

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—
a paradigm of opening
part 1 - part 2
—

~

He froze in place, cursing the dense black around him.

But maybe all was not lost. He moved backward taking two small careful steps, then reached out, trying to find the doorknob.

His left knuckles ran uncomfortably into the wall, and he cursed again. Figured he must have made his backwards steps too small, so he shuffled back two more small steps.

He was more careful about reaching his hand out this time, but encountered the wall once again. How could the door not be there? He was sure no more than a minute had elapsed since he initially passed by the threshold. And now, the door had apparently vanished.

He stood still for a moment to gather his wits and contemplate his options.

His heart was pounding. Hard. Enough so, that his head began to ache, and he took a few deep breaths to try to calm himself. And in those moments as he fought the panic attempting to overtake him, he remembered something Melinda used to say. He recalled how she would often remind him that people create a great many challenges in their lives simply out of fear of the unknown. That if fear could be set aside, a great gift of clarity would be revealed. Most things, once met face on, were far less frightening than our imaginings of them.

And this was certainly a large helping of unknown, and he was certainly afraid as he stood there in the indeterminate blankness. But thinking of Melinda’s voice helped him relax just a bit, enough to relieve the pain in his head and allow him to think more clearly. He was able to move his fear off to the side, and focus on the situation at hand.

Realistically, his options were few, but he did have options. He could continue going backwards and see if he could find the mirror, then make his way back into the original hallway. He could stand there hoping that a light would come on somewhere so he could see what was going on, or he could walk forward and encounter whatever was in front of him—if there was anything there beyond the apparent emptiness.

Melinda’s voice again came into his memory and he thought of those days when she was leaving. How he had asked her why they could not just forget his proposal and move back into the comfortable place they had known. He assured her he would never broach the marriage topic again.

He remembered telling her that he didn’t need her to be his wife, that he really had been happy as things were, and he most wanted to just go back to that. He had asked her to think about it. Begged her to sleep on it. Told her that maybe tomorrow she would see things differently, see that he was being sincere.

But she had looked long into his face, and then just smiled. She told him that life only moved in one direction. That is was impossible to go back, impossible to not be where they were, impossible to not know what they already knew, impossible to not move forward and follow the unfolding path in front of them.

Only forward. She had said that life moves in a single direction, only forward. He hadn’t really understood that at the time—oh, he understood all the words, but he thought she was just being stubborn, and more than a little bit condescending. He even thought she was being deliberately cryptic and that she was trying to shame him for not knowing these things.

But right now, he thought maybe he understood at least some of what she was trying to say. He felt bad that he hadn’t tried harder to understand her at the time, that he had been so suspicious of her motives.

For whatever reason, it made sense to him now. It felt true. Something almost physical resonated deep in his belly as he realized that life really did only move in one direction and moving forward now, was clearly the only choice.

~

—
inspired in part by the SES prompt - ‘maybe tomorrow‘
—

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—

a paradigm of opening
part 1

—

~

He crept slowly. Wondering about his choice.

It was not like him to be rash.

To wander off in the dark without a light—particularly when there were other options.

He avoided risks. Sometimes, even when that meant doing nothing.

He thought about all the standing still he had done. Began to wonder about those choices.

But he wasn’t standing still now. He was shuffling in the dark. Inexplicably believing it was the right choice.

He stopped for a moment to glance over his shoulder and was surprised at how far he had walked.

The mirror was now a distant pastel blur. He could no longer tell if it was pulsing or not.

He recalled the welcoming ebb of the mirror’s light and felt a renewed sense of rightness in his direction.

He was surprised to find he could no longer see the un-chosen hallway. He had expected to see its light still glowing, offering him the potential to turn back.

And he though for a moment, about the corridor that brought him to the mirror. How its doors had gone dark as he passed by them. And for a brief sweep of the second hand, he felt there was something quite important about those darkened doors, but he could not quite grasp what it was. As quickly as the feeling had visited it slipped from his awareness.

Then abruptly, his mind filled with thoughts of Melinda. How gentle she had been. How plainspoken and direct. How grateful she was for even the smallest ray of sunshine amidst the clouds. How easily she laughed, and cried.

He remembered his proposal. How sure he had been in their pending life together.

He remembered her long faraway gaze before she said she could not.

She had said the two of them were not in the same place.

He remembered how he did not understand what she had meant. He knew she loved him. That was clear. And he loved her—which was obvious also.

But she said she did not know how to explain any better. Said it simply wasn’t right, that it was not on her path. Which he did not understand either.

And he remembered her leaving. How he had wanted to go with her wherever she was going. How he vowed it would not matter where, as long as they were together.

But she had told him she could not take him. No one could. Told him that her path now was turning a different direction from his. That he must continue on his journey as she must hers.

He tried to understand. Even pretended that he did. But all he understood was that she was leaving.

He wondered why he should think of all that now. In the middle of this confusing corridor. Now, while he was tring to make some sense of where he was and where he was going.

He looked up to see a nearby door radiating the compelling colored light, and all thoughts of Melinda quickly faded.

His steps were still careful, but he hastened just a bit. The colors from the transom and door knob were casting a pale light-pool into the hallway.

He hoped the pool would illuminate more of the hallway so he could see where he was headed.

As he neared the door, its light emanation grew more intense.

He felt a flicker of warm invite. This puzzled him and he slowed.

He stepped into the light-pool and felt a strong desire to reach out his left hand and open the door.

But he could not do that. He had no idea what was in there.

And the lighted handle might even be dangerous. Hot. Or charged with electricity.

No, he could not risk it. There was clearly no one here to help him. So he fixed his eyes on looking forward.

Just as he’d hoped, the pool of light had grown bright enough for him to glimpse the corridor beyond.

There was another door a bit further along and to his right. Its transom and knob were dark.

He again felt a deep wanting to open the door beside him. He turned to look at it, the knob pulsing colors in sequence.

But he needed to look forward. The light almost reached the threshold of the unlit door.

That looked safer. At that door, maybe he would try the normal looking knob.

He began to move on. Careful to keep to the center of the hall.

The moment his back foot passed completely by the frame of the radiant doorway, the transom and knob colors disapeared.

Immersing him in the dark.

~

—

inspired in part by the SES prompt “take me with you”

—

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A mirror stands at the end of a long hallway.

It is framed in golden oak, and its silvered surface gleams clean as though dust were forbidden entry to the air around it.

~

He walks with slow deliberation down the long hall. Careful to never touch either wall.

The long corridor is lined with doors. The doors are interspersed at irregular intervals and yet they occupy nearly all the available space.

Each door has a clear knob, faceted like a gemstone. And a back-plate of dark hammered bronze.

No door possesses any visible lock, and from some of the doors a filament of warm light seeps out from under its bottom edge. The transom of each of these doors glows with the same soft light.

Though he feels drawn to the lighted doors, feels an inexplicable welcoming there, he does not approach any door. He will not stray from the center of the corridor. His plan clear; to move straight down the hall, secure in his steps.

~

After a time he comes within sight of the mirror.

From the mirror’s surface a clear blue-white light seems to pulse toward him as he approaches.

He is cautious. New events require caution.

He thinks that perhaps he should turn around, and glances over his shoulder wondering about going back. He is surprised to see only vast darkness behind him—the path, the lighted doors, no longer visible.

The choice now is to stand fixed in place, or move forward. So he continues.

As he moves closer to the mirror he begins to recognize his own reflection in it. This quickens his step just a bit.

When he is a little more than an arms length away from the mirror he stops, amazed by what he sees.

It is him, but not as he as ever seen or imagined himself before. His reflection is ageless, and it is glowing with a creamy light that seems to soften the edges of his outline.

As he puzzles over what he is seeing the image before him starts to change. He sees faint colors begin to outline the soft-focused frame of him. The colors radiate concentrically out until the entire mirror is glowing with color.

He is transfixed by the mirror. The colors seem to emanate directly from his reflection, pulsing with a life of their own. While watching this, he notices for the first time, two new corridors.

The mirror seems to be at an intersection. One hall goes off at ninety degrees to his left, another to his right.

To his right the hall is softly lit. A clear path is evident down the center. It seems that the hall stretches infinitely into the distance. Unwavering.

To his left the hall is somewhat darker, enough so that the center path is difficult to make out.

Distance is difficult to estimate, but some dozen or so yards along, the left hall appears to bend around a corner. Its destination indecipherable.

Along the twisting hallway to his left he can just see several doors. There may be more, there is no way to tell.

The doors he sees are similar to those he remembers from the corridor that brought him here. They have faceted knobs and each a transom overhead. But some are distinctly different.

Down the left hallway there is color. From a few of the transoms and their corresponding doorknobs colors are radiating in sequence.

He glances back at the mirror and then to the left hall doors. The colors radiating from his reflection match those emanating from the doors.

The colors in the left corridor are at once radiant and yet do very little to illuminate the hallway. He feels pulled to move in that direction, if only he could see a little farther. Or perhaps if he could see the center path more clearly, then he would be able go that way.

The right hall appears clear, predictable. Sure and consistent. That is certainly the better choice. He turns to his right to proceed.

At the last moment he stops. Turns to look one last time to the left, the colors so lovely.

And he cannot turn away, does not want to turn. He looks down, realizes that though he cannot see far, he can see a few inches in front of his feet. Enough to take at least one or two steps.

~

---

inspired in part by the SES prompt ’sweet dreams’

---

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She parked her pickup close to the sagebrush. Acutely aware of the quiet.

The February air bit her skin with the dry chill of desert morning. Her stiff cold fingers threatened non-compliance as she laced and tightened her boots.

The nail biter 4×4 roll down a thousand feet of snowy dirt had not brought her the warming canyon floor she’d hoped for but, it was early. The was day not likely to get colder, so she layered on everything she could find in her pack, grabbed her poles, and set off.

Not enough snow for snowshoes, but enough to chill her feet so she moved quickly.

The small dusting of fresh white had fallen last night, making the coyote track pristine and distinct in front of her. She hadn’t expected company. Was glad though for the four footed steps marking the path. It felt right. Brought a warmth into her skin.

Copper sandstone rose around her as the sagebrush scrubbed her pant legs fragrant. Nice the cold season, no deer ticks to worry after at the end of the day.

New trails were such a special kind of delight and about two miles in, she found herself transfixed before an unexpected beaver pond. The beavers here had done an excellent job and she was forced high off the trial to find a way around the marsh that had formed.

Not difficult routing, the coyote had found a path walkable for two legs also. Once again, her gratitude for the canine’s presence was sent out to the universe—a silent salute.

She walked on for some time. The trail rising and bending along with the canyon, its creek now below her carving the earth.

She watched the sky gently push blue into the gray clouds, coaxing shadows from the cold hills and stunted trees.

She listened to the wind and the water. Allowed them to brush away the heavy thoughts she was carrying and gently lighten her mind. Listening too, when the low yellow sky light told her it was time to head back.

On the return, she found a dry place near the beaver pond and fetched out her small meal of dried fruit and day-old bread. As she munched quietly, she listened to the rhythm of the pond. The small gurgles that would soon call the beavers back to their task.

The slow trickling water sang in a special voice. Carried its wisdom through the land, feeding and quenching both moving feet and rooted souls.

The water rinsed clean any angst still lingering in her. Reminded her of what was true. She heard a rustling near and behind her, but felt no fear. Knew it was her guides sweeping the last of the dust from her thinking.

As she came clear in her soul once again, she remembered the grandfather’s teachings about darkness. She remembered how all people carrying darkness had a most terrible burden.

Arms laden and leaden, they dragged with them everywhere baskets of pain, sorrow, and regret. When one basket became full, another they readily picked up. Filling it also as they journeyed through life. Weary and worn, from the weight of it all, they trudged on.

These shadow warriors had only to set down their baskets and turn down a new road to be free. And yet they did not.

The grandfather’s teachings did not praise or criticize these dark basket carriers. The teachings told that each human soul carries a basket of dark pains. But in one lifetime or another every human will awaken and simply set the basket aside, and will then step naturally into their freedom, realizing the truth of their inner being. This was the teaching.

Send blessings. That was what the grandfather’s teachings taught also. Send blessings to all who are burdened.

The teachings taught that a blessing is made of a special kind of light.

And any light, is light. It will push on the shadows, help make the way clear, set feet to stop stumbling.

The eyes must only be open, ready to see.

The grandfather’s teaching stressed too, that the more blessings sent, the brighter the light becomes. The easier it is to see. Taught that this is the true heart of compassion.

A light breeze picked up as she moved surefooted toward the trailhead and her truck. The wind now blew the coyote prints soft and invisible, but she no longer needed them. Her eyes were again open, seeing clearly in the available light.

…

inspired in part by the SES prompt: ‘The Hill‘

…

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