in my meditation on pure, earlier today, during maghrib, as the pure love rays of a precise sun sank into shadows in the firmament, definitions arose like jesus touched bodies, like the soul of shyams in the prayers of rumi.
pure is to love, from the place of One, where the individual soul meets the endless ocean in fana. love and give love like the arithmetic of trees.
the trees grow to be unassimilable to the chemistry of big macs and decibel breaking hurt of wounded rockstars and the bravado of hip hop heads plastered in gold, or beads, and the overall outward show of material.
the trees grow to be unassimilable to the chemistry of big macs and decibel breaking hurt of wounded rockstars and the bravado of hip hop heads plastered in gold, or beads, and the overall outward show of material.
the purity of trees is on the equations on their leaves, on the spirals in their trunks that align with planetary spheres.
thought about how everyone is beautiful. thought about how beauty manifests in even frequencies that are off, and since most of us reside in the frequency of off, there has to be beauty to look for, to find, in all.
with this thought of love all, of purity, i thought of how like the leaf on the tree, i could love, and yet maintain the algorithim of boundaries. that like the truth of 3w,6b,P(W1+B2) = the leaf, i could give love and admire, and express pure compassion without being in a relationship with everyone, with even the few i come across who rock my world for a second, unless the truth is aligned.
pure is to recognize and love the beauty of all without chasing after coke bottles, or the hands that will hold them. pure is to love yourself enough to know what love is and what is seeking to make redwoods out of plastic. you could make a sari a mini-skirt, but it's no longer a sari, even if you call it that.
pure is to love myself, i realized, enough to stay at bay of those who are so hurt that hurt feels like love, and storylines of fly-by-night-lovers woven into sheharazad tales to maintain a thousand nights of hope, to refute the wisdom of friends as they don't know her/him like i do...
...no other animal will know intimacy with the coyote like the rabbit.
...no other animal will know intimacy with the coyote like the rabbit.
pure is to love and be compassionate to the women in our lives who hurt, who inadvertently search for those who hurt to reconcile their own own hurt with.
pure is to love yourself enough to stay clear, to thank you, another lifetime when you have worked through your millenia of carcinogenic karma, to love from a distance, to maintain the equation of leaves, to steer clear of persuasion on what is love and what is abuse.
pure is to take time to heal and be pure for your family, friends, sacred reflection, so you don't recycle the karma of disguised masculinity that seeks to hurt, control, abuse power...
pure is to love yourself enough to stay clear, to thank you, another lifetime when you have worked through your millenia of carcinogenic karma, to love from a distance, to maintain the equation of leaves, to steer clear of persuasion on what is love and what is abuse.
pure is to take time to heal and be pure for your family, friends, sacred reflection, so you don't recycle the karma of disguised masculinity that seeks to hurt, control, abuse power...
there is no rescuing anyone, and hurt is as strong an emotion as love, and taints thoughts and dreams, and colors hopes. pure is able to see past the emotion, ground in the spirit and draw the lines that keep you from being contaminated on what feels...
...the good lasts a minute, the hurt lasts a lifetime, keeps us in a ferocious cycle. get out of the cycle. escape!!! but do it Quietly. Quietness is the surest sign.
...the good lasts a minute, the hurt lasts a lifetime, keeps us in a ferocious cycle. get out of the cycle. escape!!! but do it Quietly. Quietness is the surest sign.
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