We are like snowflakes,
all made of snow,
all the same stuff,
expressing itself
in myriad ways.

We are permutations
of one great pattern,
simple and sacred,
repeating and mutating,
in endless variation.

We are one great spirit,
refracted through a million lenses.

We are each unique,
and each the same.

There is a man named Shaka
who shot and killed someone
when he was only 19.

Tried, convicted, and unrepentant,
he spent 19 years in prison,
and 7 years in solitary confinement,
alone with his tortured thoughts.

Through Grace,
and the truth he found
in the writings of others,
he was able to discover
that he was the cause
of his own suffering,
and that he had a choice
about who he wanted to become.

I have had an easy life,
free of the horrors he endured,
but I, too, have spent too many years
trapped in the prison of my thoughts,
victim of my own self-induced suffering.

Surely,
having lived a life of privilege,
I can find the strength
to free myself as he did,
and become the person
I was meant to be.

Thank you, Shaka,
for the light you spread!

I have struggled,
for much of my life,
to keep my worst
from those around me,
but, all too often,
I have withheld my best
as well.

I have been afraid to love
and be loved
simply as myself.

In this painful prison,
the joy of authenticity
is hard to find,
and the boundless belonging
of an open heart
is likewise scarce.

Why have I settled
for so little,
for so long,
so willing to trade joy
for safety?

It has been a fool’s bargain,
a burden, slowly crumbling
under its own weight.

Bit by bit,
I feel it falling away,
until all that will be left,
if I am blessed by grace,
is me and the world,
with nothing in between.

The universe does not care
what we think about it,
but the more that we care,
the less we are connected with it,
and what we think about it
becomes the map
we use to make our way within it.

And thus we live our separate lives,
each in our own imagined landscape,
born from our assumptions and prejudices,
blind to the changes and surprises
that life is mostly made of.

But there are times
when we come to the edge of our map,
bumping into borders
we have imagined into being.

Then, by Grace,
we may look over the edge,
and see the world’s true form,
in all its dazzling presence.

Beyond every wall we build,
there is a vista
surpassing understanding,
confounding our expectations,
out past the limits
of hope and fear.

Everywhere I look,
I see people waiting.

Some are waiting for death,
or for their next meal.

Others are waiting
for their next success,
or their next big romance.

Whatever any of us have,
somehow it never seems
to be enough.

I have waited too long,
for things that did or didn’t happen,
and now I am tired of waiting.

I have this breath,
I have this moment,
and that is enough.

We are connected to the world
through our direct experience,
not through our thoughts.

As the world changes,
moment by moment,
we do not see it
when we are lost in thought,
and we cannot change with it,
and the dance of life goes on
without us.

The best things in my life
are not the things I have done,
but the things I have allowed.

When I step aside
and let life happen,
results and actions
flow as they will,
and I watch with gratitude,
as my life unfolds
exactly as it should.

As I awaken, once again,
from the dream
that sometimes seems
to be my life,
the deluge of daily details
that parade across my mind,

I fall, once again,
into the sea of the senses,
awash in the brilliance
of what I see,
and hear, and feel
around me.

There is a world outside,
when I’m not lost in dreams,
that speaks louder than any thought,
and the world inside reopens,
merging in intimate embrace
with what is beyond it,
until there is no inside,
no outside.

These are the moments
that cannot be bought
with thought or effort,
when everything falls away
except being alive,
and I find myself
in the middle
of everything.

The clouds
are not the sky,
and my thoughts
are not the world.

When I get lost
inside my thoughts,
my world
is only clouds.

When I look outside them,
I am what looks at them,
then I see the sky,
and I AM the sky.

Sometimes I catch myself
doubting myself,
and I have to ask myself,
“Who are all these selves?”

And sometimes I see
that only the one
who sees all this
is really me,
and all the rest
are merely dreams
and imaginings
of my restless mind.