Lingering Here

There is an old myth. When the river is just about to flow into the ocean, after its long journey, it is said that it trembles with fear. Merging with the vast sea, it will be no more. Looking back, it remembers. The clouds, the snow falling gently on a high mountain peak, clinging to its granite face. The spring meadow, so luminous in the midday sun. The tiny droplets glistening on clear ice, joining, flowing in the tiniest rivulets over cold black soil. The ecstatic streams and waterfalls, crashing over boulders, running with unbounded energy in sunlight, and under the stars, coursing this way and that, so alive, so fresh and playful. Everything so new, the forests, the animals and all the fish racing up and down. The smell of the pines and the fecund earth of the forest floor. It remembers all its friends and lovers, all the streams that contributed to it. The hardwood forests, the long, hot, winding way through desert sands, where the only company was the cactus and moon. The smell of the grasslands and then the slow wandering, just spending days lightly in the sun, just lingering, moving so slow as to be imperceptible. And then slower still, spreading out, widening, feeling the countryside, the flatlands, the swamps with their banyan trees. Tasting salty whispers from fog rolling up along its channel, hinting of something vast and unknowable ahead. But the days are long and slow, easy, loose. And the sky so blue and lazy. After this long journey, after all the challenges and experiences, the old river had grown fond of its way, familiar, comfortable. It was used to being in its channel, confined by its banks, however far apart. Indeed it had matured into a mighty stream. Now nothing could stand in its way. It had earned this identity. And there on the horizon, "What is this, this vast water, this endless sea, this openness with no boundaries, this huge mystery that I am moving inexorably toward? It seems to be my destiny, but what will become of me, my rich personality, my identity as a mighty river?" Looking back, over the course of its life, and looking ahead to an inevitable merging, it trembles with fear. Somehow it senses that this is the time to be open and receptive, to be a deep allowing. Overcoming its fear, it surrenders itself to the vast silence of the sea, gracefully allowing water to merge with water. Not knowing, the river dissolves, with unconditional trust, into the endless sea. Here, now, experiencing the depth of unity, of eternity opening up from within, bliss and light streams from everywhere and nowhere. Isness. Suchness. Boundaryless. Beyond any words. No ocean, no river. Then, miraculously, vast ocean, sweet river, flowing in a circle from the clouds above, to the snow, rain, streams, river, ocean. Then circle dissolving into just this... Pure consciousness, bliss, authentic presence.

Blessed river, do not fear. This vastness before you is none other than your original home. Letting go, feel the trustworthiness of existence, the warmth and nourishment of this womb illuminated with starlight.

Post by Akilesh