dyad

43 degree sunrise and me naked under velvet burgundy blanket, seeing the sun warming the day, shaking the dreams from my fingers & vaguely resistant to participate in a morning meditation sit i said i would attend. i dressed in form fitting black & tied hair back & went out the door to dive into the shyness i was feeling about this process.

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(((there are many people not even God can save, oscillating in their own reality apart from the Whole. they have the lock & the key. the power of save is in their hands alone. sometimes this is me.)))

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but who am i?

this was the question at contemplation meditation this morning. my fist time.

we were in the angel room: buzzing, very fresh & lively. the 4 of us sat in pairs. we each took turns of 5 minute duration to either ask the question & listen or to contemplate & communicate the interior experience.

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i was scared to ask this question. i was afraid the answer that would come is that i am nothing. i fear this question taking from me some semblance of what i understand.

but i asked anyway, like a rescue dog diving into the rubble for scent scraps of the one beneath who seeks the fresh air and weightlessness. the rescue dog focused to find, to answer the need.i need to ask myself who am i, and send my awareness to rescue the who i am under the who i am not.

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who am i?

asking the question makes me feel separate, as if the question itself divides.

a part of me has to leap up and look at everything, distancing itself from what it is in order to describe.

i am mostly space.

darkness.

folded into that darkness are the colors. like the deep ocean creatures that exude their colors so intensely, to travel through the medium speaking invisibly, to be felt.

who am i?

i felt two spirals in my throat. a place where intelligence & matter meet. the expression center. who i am & who i am not waging war of will - which will win? this contact erodes the creation spark of possibilities to impasse. there is no momentum. cooperation is the pathway introduced to again widen the range of what can be made. the war dance ceases as this new idea begins to brighten the thick twists their willfulness created.

who i am loves difficulty & pleasure, both allow it to grow, to chisel at the suppression of who i am not.

i am afraid i am nothing.

i can feel what a tree feels, merge into laughter when i hear it, feel others pain as my own

i am nothing but everything.

i feel life scraping, sculpting
who i am
the words, the listening, the doing, refining the expression.

i am a part of the momentum that moves the universe but not the momentum itself. aware that this consciousness that speaks is Itself; no other part of Eternity can express what I express, how I express it, at this moment.

i feel a spiraling opening my crown. i ask "who am i?" and i see a wolf dive down the spiraling vortex of skull, spine. the wolf moves through tailbone and into the heart of earth, out through Chinese soil and clear across the atmosphere to the other side of infinity.

who I am feels who You are and asks to be
flood flood flooded with You. who I am invents You
because i needed help shredding & tearing,
to be ruthless with untruth.