“The value in our ache”
By James Anthony Curtis
It’s 5:59 in the morning, flashes of light streak across the bedroom window, as rain begins to fall gently on the trees outside. It’s still warm enough in early October to keep the window open, fresh air wafting in natures breath, and in the distance, thunder rolls somewhere in the far hills, moving closer, the morning approaching but not here yet. Now and then a crackling lightning can barely be heard, static building, reminding me of places within, feelings from long ago.
Memories come, water welling up in the corner of my eye, of various precious moments, gone now, ironically as I blink, the tear rolls down across my face.
In years past, there was an old thread of doubt, a sad story that would come upon me, moving me in this theater of remembrance, more of a captor to some sad story. But this morning I Am moved with awe in these places, viewing each haunting, with thankfulness in the heart of compassion. I’m beginning to realize the depth of loss, the fulfillment in its gifts, where joy and sorrow meet, with each utterance of branding grace, and what makes this experience so special, is not the intensity, or the surround of its venue, but the high place from which I sit, looking upon its rarity.
Abandonment, rejection, poverty, and aloneness, are but messengers of greater friendship, the connection to our future self, observing the rules we have laid down, for our liberation of life’s treasure. It wont make sense, its not supposed to; just as the fiddle player moves in rhythm to bandy dance, our ancestors come forth from another time, bringing their melody, through the strings of well played paths. The mind will never figure it out, and will struggle to understand, but this way is for those few, who dying to live, gasp their final grasp, releasing to the nether.
Like monks in some forgotten monastery, we chant our koan in anticipation of letting go, only to come into the fullness of embracing. Prophets will affirm, with each listening as we draw closer, to the one we honor, hold, and acknowledge, when ready we will move forward; finding no solace in our temporary condition, upon this road all things meet, and will converge in harmonic oscillation, until we see the truth of it, played out as one line infinite in form. Yes there is joy in sorrow, blood in the deepest hue of blue sky, if we give way to our eternal life, awakening to point Reyes, in the midst of waves crashing upon our shoals.
So the rains drizzle this morning, reminding me of old, each memory has a place, a divine insight, some just to be expressed. Mother, father, sister, brother, the depressed, yet loved me with such passion, until in a blink regressed. But I know who they are, what they wanted me to see, so in each affliction, rests sweet melody, its not a time for mourning, unless it is, lets begin, with what we digest. For the benefit of all, loss comes, may it be so, so it is, for in our reign, nothing does not exist.