The communal field is not a blank canvas

The communal field is not a blank canvas
awaiting
splashes of color from our participation or imagination.
Arrive through a portal of vast whiteness,
luminescence or a
deep warm womblike darkness;
it matters not.
Perceive an
vast sense of emptiness or
or profound completeness
neither description works for long.

It does not wait
for us
to come alive.

Forget the notions of a magical land,
secret garden or desert mirage;
it hides not,
nor pretends to be something extra-ordinary.
There is no end to the secret recipes for this delicacy,
An infinite number of genie lamp rubs
will offer up thousands upon thousands
of magic carpets ready to whisk you there.

Right here, right now, where my breath
Joins yours
Sharing life
without discrimination.

The communal field sings its song
For all to hear
Who have ears to hear
As the dogs do
Beneath the silence
For the master’s homecoming.

Come, romp and play, wild and free
In the creative juice of life.
The birthplace of imagination
The jumble of our prayers
The sunrise of our longings
And the sunsets of our gratitude

Souls, guides, fairies and ancestors
Gathered around the heart fire
Plotting your joy
Stirring up wonder
Turning concepts of truth inside out.

You are not so different.
You are not so special.
Laugh with just one other person
And you will know
More truth than a thousand holy books.
There in the vibrating of your hearts and the
Holy water of your tears
You have found “us”.
The us where no one remains.