Labor Day Weekend here in the States. Always bittersweet, as it marks the end of summer. I had a lovely lunch with a friend I met on Facebook and then spent the rest of the day idling. I called my first cousin and we shared memories of growing up in Memphis. There are few of us left now.
Who am I? A collection of memories? No, but in childhood we make essence memories that never fade. The ego has not yet taken over and our memories are of nature, of how big the world seemed and therefore how small we were. We had not yet looked in the mirror and learned to project everything onto something else. This is our Original Face.
Now when I look at it, it is emptiness itself. Nothing there but the absence of the material world and presence of pure witnessing. It is usually well-masked, but is is indeed who we really are.
When I see Theo, I return to that primal state, as he is a constant reminder of it. How can my writing best serve this state with faithfulness and gratitude? The only way is through remembering that I am a mere scribe. Of my own self I know nothing and all things are merely passing through what seems like a permanent world. It isn’t.
Nevertheless, I live here and I must contribute in some small way. Consider these words a reminder of who you are and where you come from. This leads to a state of grace.