12 mei 2019

This is your journey

child walking

This is your journey, your magical time,
and I'm happy to walk it with you for a while.
To look down the cliffs, scary wonders below,
to see who you are, a perfect story untold.

You might not remember, sedated in time,
where alone in your presence, you pour some more wine.
Not to wallow in fear, you swallow your sorrow,
you flee from the present, and long for the morrow.

But when this too heavy veil marks the ending of time,
you embracing the pain, makes it yours makes it mine.
There's the pain, there is love, as dark as the night,
now you soar in the moment, a wireless kite.

Yes, this is your journey, your magical time,
and I'm happy to walk it with you for a while.
We look down the cliffs, that are now torn asunder,
we see who we are, and marvel in wonder.

-- Kim Cao-Van

To speak the unspeakable

How do you speak of what is unspeakable, of what can only be felt?

How do you convey the wonders of presence? How to explain that pain can be beautiful, because pain is a friend that is trying to tell you something. Again and again and again. Something you fear to love.

Words tend to fail. They are the symbols of the mind that doesn't want to listen. The mind that only hears what it wants to hear. Deaf to anything but its own truth. Musing in circles, stacking thougts upon thoughts, it loses itself ever further in the labyrinth of its own making. And it feels content in there.

Because inside the labyrinth, you can persuade yourself that it is the labyrinth itself that made you lost. The world and everything that happened to you in the past. And everything that keeps on happening out there. Again and again and again. Over and over and in any possible variation you can imagine.

And strangely enough, that makes it easier. It might still be on the brink of unbearable, but easier than allowing the idea that you created your own labyrinth. With its walls and its fences, that you keep them up and painstakingly maintain them. Because that hurts... And your mind doesn't want to hear, see or feel it. To protect you. Or so it believes.

But you are not your mind. And you don't need to believe everything it tells you. In fact, you don't need to believe anything it tells you. Really.

To listen to what is

And your mind doesn't need to believe me, of course. I know it will not. That's why I speak to you, instead of to your mind. Because you, in stark contrast to your mind, have absolutely nothing to do with beliefs or judgements.

So, listen to your invitation of the wordless that is unspeakable, to allow everything to enter you in all it's rawness and uncomfortableness. That you may penetrate the walls that make up your labyrinth, and walk inside their core. And become child-like aware of your sadness, your anger and shame, the tender rays of love. Become powerful, feminin and masculin, and let it scorch you, and warm you, and bathe yourself in your light. Again and again and again.

Until the sun rises and falls, and time has no meaning anymore. And then you feel free in the moment that is yours.

Always yours, Kim Cao-Van

Others trying to speak the unspeakable

Some of the people I see have tried to word their experience, or I have written down parts of our encounters.
If you like, you can read them here (in Dutch).