It’s all the same, and at the same time it is not.
From the chaotic well of inconcieved and formless world of inner knowing, words trickle out of my being, into my body, out into the world.
The sensation that there is a depth so unknown it becomes somehow my nature; the Void.
A need, so deep within, that only finds its expression without. Reflection of the source only known through outer mirrors.
The paradox of being, only while becoming.
What is this need of desiring the fullness of experience to know oneself through the world?
Isn’t it the same longing that creates it all?
The sacredness of the divine unknown, making itself known, because it wants to know?
Knowing itself through becoming?
The one in the many, and the many in the one?
Words are also symbols of the soul, rearranged in eternal change.
It’s all the same, and at the same time it is not.
What peace at last to feel the one without fear of losing it in the many. It’s just waves in an ocean, or a sparkle of light bursting forth from a great sun reflected in the water.
I breathe at last above the water, and also in its depths.
There is no way to separate myself from water, or light, there is no way to not be breath itself, life itself.
There is a feeling of great calm after every storm, but there is also peace in the storm itself.
It’s all the same, and at the same time it is not.
Journey To The Self 