One cannot keep the wind in a box

I went on a journey today.

This is something that has been troubling my meditations for quite a while. A deep concern that I have had of my own purpose. I come to dreamland quite often, but now the dreamland came to me. It was no longer a place where I would reach, but a reality that surrounded me. Waves of movement, green jungles, boundless prairies full of life, all in motion and beauty. The endless galaxies and heavenly nebulas moving and undulating in a dance of perfect harmony. The Ether was the soup of consciousness — the ground for unfoldment and manifestation. All beings, all sparks of consciousness inflicted creative waves of consequence into the soup. How interconnected we all are, how we all affect each other in this divine dance.

I played with beautiful creation, with black anger that consumed all, with delicate joy of a singing bird. Yet I found this level of reality, which is so close to our physical one, to be disillusioning, it's meaning dwindled in the light of a deeper yearning.

What have I got? Who am I? How do I find out? What do I do? Not do? Why? How? Questions without words. Yearnings and desires for something not of this world - for myself, for my Self. For that which I tasted once before. That, which forever tainted my ignorant happiness with it's Love, Peace and depth of Being.

Ceaseless motion of beauty that is meaningful to someone else.

Why motion? What is driving it? Am I?

It is the unexpressed, the suppressed that wants to blossom. Here it comes as frustration. No, no way out for you here. Lost again, forgotten. Here it comes again unexpectedly as anger. Not now, it's not the time. Gone again. The current manifests as fear. Wonder-full fear. No room for you now. Sadness? I'd like to welcome you, but I don't know how. I know you are the same, behind all those veils and masks. You are trying to show me the way. Please be patient, I'm just learning.

A motion towards stillness. In stillness, in not doing, there is a drop. A drop that I can't come towards. A drop within. Into the unknown. Not just unknown - into the Unimaginable. Depth of Unimaginable - that, which is not created by me. That, which IS me. That, which IS.

The wind awakens and blows the puffs off the dandelion. I try to catch them all in an attempt to save the wholeness.

But I loose them all in the wind. They will never come back and be the old dandelion.

Then was now, but only then. Now it is no longer.

In trying to catch the now, I create my own burdens and cling to the past — to the then that was once a now.

The now cannot be caught, nor sought after.

One cannot keep the wind in a box.

- Andrey