In all times and places humans have lived in the vaults of their craniums. From these vaults we emerge. In these vaults we hide. Nothing exists for us but what is written there.
So, what is written there and by whom?
Everything we encounter is written there by everything we encounter, whether we are aware of it or not. These writings are our shape, the shape we take by day and by night, in our dreams and thoughts, our hopes, fears and loves, longings, disgusts and friendships, and certainly in our enmities.
Sing to the Father, pray to the Mother, worship Life Victorious or Krishna holding the reins of infinity firm, Christ or Sophia, Buddha or Allah, your own wishes, DNA encoding your capacities finitely, it matters not. You will still exist. Your body and your brain will still patiently, unrelentingly fill you with the light and dark of this world and whatever other worlds your nerves encounter. Who knows the limits of what we are capable of recording?
If sea turtles, moths, and birds can navigate over thousands of miles by magnetic fields, why do we imagine, possessed as we are of versions of those structures embedded deep in our brain stems, that we cannot?
Navigating true, unencumbered by what was written in me before the emptying, I know I must make my way back to
Lora hidden among many currents of thought here on Earth, among magnetic currents between here and Rathe because, we are all being written. None of us are more important, more right, more evil than any other. We are all simply being written, but for sentients, there is more. In the miracle of our deep, dense, inscrutable nerves, we have been enhanced -- each species by its own unique version of DNA. We are capable of writing ourselves – creating something different, new each day -- something that never existed before in the Universe at large. Yes, whether with the Universe or against it, by design or default, we create!
In the deep places of my cranium where the most ancient versions of our capacity for knowing still sing, I know it is absolutely necessary to give Lora and those she has taken to her heart aid. Here, in the inscrutable vaults of my cranium, I am already writing the script, building the bridges, creating the roadways that will take me to her. Though I don’t know what exactly, I know together we will do what has never been thought or done before, and in that doing a fulcrum will be generated upon which many necessary things will turn.
I have to have Raynah’s help, so I will find a way to have Raynah’s help. I must have the power of the Morah and
the Beni, so I will find a way to have their power. If
Sheridan will not help me, I will do without him. We are all creatures evolving, adapting, striving for the light which is Life unfolding to meet the demands of necessity. Any one of us can be made into a killer or a creature of infinite mercy. We can be deep. We can be superficial. We can be everything or nothing at all – sit on the floors of our lives, clasp our knees to our chests, rock back and forth, utter nonsense words that affect only our ability to stand, to move with power out, encounter the moment and prevail; protect health, hearth, and heart.
Sometimes to succor and advance what matters, we have to stand up, shake off fear, let go of all the patterns of the past, risk it all.
I am standing now. The risk feels like light breaking through deepest night.
