My heart is opening again.

I’ve become accustomed to this ever deepening, ever tender movement.

And yet I’m always astounded (all over again) that there’s more. Which is ridiculous because I teach that existence is limitless. Further evidence we are only ever students teaching ourselves.

These openings never fail to feel like a mix of raw astonishment, tender free-fall and fish-knives to arteries when I’m in the middle of them.

I remember those boys at school who used to turn their eyelids inside out and chase me around with their arms out screaming like the boogie man. The tender pink flesh from inside their eyes…outside.
My whole system feels like that during these heart opening phases.
The tender pink flesh of me exposed – to the seasons and the elements.
It’s as if every piercing drop of dew lands right in the centre of me, in slow motion…and with the impact of a sweet bullet.

my heart
is stretch marked
and strong

Yet when I go through these phases of deeper and deeper heart-opening, it’s no exaggeration to say that every breath feels like it could undo me.
And when I say undo, I mean exquisite unravelling. Which is at times foreign, strange.

All existence enters deeper and deeper inside this space – this me/not me/we.
And can the vessel tolerate this level of openness? This level of intimacy with everything? I don’t know. I simply have to choose to keep opening. Each breath tells me I’m still “here.”

I sit in stillness that feels like loudness.
Hours feel like minutes.
Birds and ether and wind and the way a tree bends toward light.
The Standing Silent Nations – all around me. Rocks, trees, creatures.
The way light reminds us we are all full spectrum.

In these moments God is my body and I am that.
Everything falls to such deep stillness and silence it’s almost terrifying except that it’s nothing. It feels like longing…for nothing.
Longing that has no wish to be satiated.
It doesn’t make sense.
It’s not about sense.
Sense becomes irrelevant. Laughable.
Madness, so sensible.

My heart is on the rack. Being stretched wider and wider still by the hand of God.
The only pulse, existence. Which enters through my guts, my forehead, my chest – and becomes it.
Can I walk as this?
With nerve endings out and veins opened and atom/particle/wave – splayed?
I think I can.
All it needs is the next step.

“Take this flesh, open it wider still. Use it for your will.”