Perfect Peace
Here, in the heart of the darkness, there is a stumbling, as if love moves too far in searching the outer precincts of all that could be revealed as other.
If love goes further, we fear, it will tear us apart: a great rupture in creation; a slice out of the silence through which a great cacophony of chaos will overcome the whole.
And man will be separate from woman;
The seed will be divided from the fruit;
The dew drop will be disguised from the river;
And the wild things will forget their wildness, begging between themselves for something they will never name.
And all the time, this love seeks unity with its outer precincts. How will it ever turn back to the source of who we are?
“You speak with human twisting,” says the One, emerging from without and within all things long broken. “You can not fear that which is through you, in you, with you from a time before there was ever a you and in the greater you which is I.”
“Look a moment through these eyes, and witness the form of peace.”
And there emerged in the wilderness the holiest holding of all things and the spaces between. These infinite arms of peace, holding and affirming all that ever was and all that ever will be.
Peace, in every thing and in every breakage and through every rift, never moving as love runs her course: just holding and allowing it all in its sublime infinity of form.
And struggling to allow it all, we see battlefield and bloodshed; and still, this peace is here.
We see man and woman, naked, seeing each other seeing themselves; and still, peace is here.
We see carnivals of masks and oil-drenched confusion, with dragons of greed swaying randomly through starved alleyways; and still, peace is here too.
And I see my body and myself dead and decomposing, fooled by she that once believed that peace belonged only to the dead.
And we am carried by that peace to spaces of finer illusion; and the peace in every particle of light holds a wholeness that is always here, even now.
“In peace, you can release,” says the One, without words, through the language of silence, as we are not falling but flying. “In peace, we release.”