All Comments By B.L.P. Simmons

I asked myself, “How deep will this sorrow burrow into my joy of being?” I am witness, I see. I cannot judge my ignorance of complicity, I am also perpetrator, the defence the prosecutor, the victim and the one who weeps. I am one of babbling fools, but I am witness in gratitude for my seeing. In my seeing my tears are miracles, my sadness is drought. I am sorry for my life I rejoice and praise my life when I see that My life is as all life: A remarkable mystery of balance The culmination in each second of millions of unknown years. In my moment, I am but a mote in an inexorable flow of change. I can see, I witness, I weep, I exult nothing is mine, but I belong to all.

It comes in waves, the universe reminds us constantly, gives us endless guidance in these interactions. When we can perceive them, respond to them then gratitude accompanies these moments. My usual experience is that before thought, I bask in and absorb this deep, inner response, then tears come and I know that gratitude has arrived. It seems to me that giving and receiving are a single event. The thought is the recording of this event. Being in the moment...

When there is a pause, in this silence my senses awake...I listen more deeply to hear the planet's song...there is always movement, so soft that it is beyond human perception, but it can be felt...as though listening with one's skin, and this listening will reveal a song, somewhere...