speaking into hearing

I imagine that in an world that is an illusion it would be illusionary words that would ring most truly.  Even if the truth could be spoken I doubt our ability to hear it as such.  Fallacies must echo more serenely in the walls of our false worlds.  My mind thinks that thinking in its highest form is in and of itself doing just as doing in its highest may be being.  For being is the highest known thing as it reaches into essence itself.  For when thinking and speaking and listening becomes an end to themselves they move to be an act of our holy doing as building is doing or sewing is doing or anything of that nature.  Further, that doing can sink into the sea of our being as we begin to be healing or killing or this way or that way to another or to none but ourselves and even in some ways only into that essence as everything touches it, though nothing holds it. 

It has been my thought in times that our often delusion of dream does reach out in some sense of masturbatory emptiness.  Worse, and as I wrote into my prayer book over a year ago, we often find ourselves painting a fire on our chest but as the dying draw near they only find a cold image of their needs and desires.  It has served as a form of torture, to my thinking, that my thinking and speaking in complexity and self supposed rightness often do not aid me.  In fact fancy words have often made me feel sicker.  Yet, in the rise and fall of this tidal being I now find a place wherein I feel a certain sense of hope stirring, and I feel no need to dismantle the kindling in order to examine the integrity it holds.  We know this is in fact most likely only to kill what small beginnings may exist.  Instead my intention is to encourage the little flame with necessary pace.  As I reflect in the quiet of the morning I am reminded of the bigger sense of being beyond such a current moment, as this.


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