Number Twenty Eight

The circus closes.  The great tent is taken down and just the field is left.  Time stops out where the grass is bent and walked upon.

Just the field is left -- a space between each possible world, where time waits for the next show to arrive.  Waiting for the barker, clowns, and roustabouts.

When the show starts, performers say their lines and prance across the ring.  Then time begins again -- holding all that was ever said or done.

Number Twenty Seven

The relentless light arrives.  There's no thought, no awareness that isn't touched by it.  Quite suddenly the lie of time is gone.  Before and after is gone.  The reasons are gone.

There are only the choices.  All now; all forever.  Each choice shines in the light.  Like a house on the plain -- individual and yet connected to every other house.

The light shows the choice for what it is -- something that cannot be taken back.  Something that lives.  Something that pushes every other soul -- somewhere.

In the house on the plain one thing happens that pushes the whole world together or farther apart.

Number Twenty Six

We travel to see something new.  But every moment is new.  We travel to be in the moment, to see it finally for what it is: the creation.

Choice is what creates the soul, how it evolves.  But the choice in every moment is gone with that moment.  The choice unseen is always lost.

We travel thinking that only in a foreign place will something new exist.  But it is there when we are dropping off the dog, packing, waiting for the taxi.  It's in that moment, the moment which is creating us.

Number Twenty Five

There is nothing done to us.  There is nothing taken, nothing broken, nothing stained.  What happens, no matter how sad or painful, is just the color, the motif of this moment in life.  The moment has its purpose, what long ago we agreed to, what we needed to fully use our days.

There is nothing done to us that wasn't necessary for the lesson we came to learn.  The life we had planned or wanted is no more than a source of necessary disappointment.  The love we expected, looked for , becomes no more than a turn down some empty road, weeds and branches choking the way.

In the darkness, the place we never thought we'd arrive comes like a sudden warning, like a dog barking in a lonely farmyard. The place feels wrong, as if we were the victim of something.  But despite its strangeness, it was our own plan.  It is what we needed to know, to feel, to embrace.