Awareness and the Anchor

I want to grow and hope.  One cannot enter a hallway and perpetually stare left or right.  This focuses one’s energy stagnant into the wall in front one’s face.  The unknown of choice is but the potential of the now expanding into the universe or contracting into a stasis of self.  Only by focusing on that which is beyond, yet inclusive of all, will we ever taste our potential. 

The scents and stimulation of expectation and predictability bear not the accuracy to measure the subtly of such oversimplifications of the words like red, good, soft, or love.  It is in these iterations of subtly that one exits the infancy of the past.  The demarcations expand like canyons, where they were once threads of a sheet.  The woven tapestry remains one universe, but the detail blossoms like a nation of orchids, roses, irises, and freesia belting radiant arias for the viewer. 

This is the opera of the open heart.  In lifting the anchor of what life is, we do not shed responsibility for the anchor, but find the strength to obliterate the anchor into dust shared with the universal one.  The weight which we carry is a common burden.  Empathy glows in such acknowledge like nuclear fusion combing the energy of mutual struggle through divergent vantage points into a consensus of purpose, action, and enveloping love. 

These mathematics permeate the decision making of still, left, or right and merge into the knowledge that one’s choices are not independent.  There is no individual segmentation, only ripples in a pond that when viewed in the proper context is completely still.  The motion of one is always the reciprocal of another.  Whether one pays attention to that which is greater than but inclusive of the self, this occurs.  Our task is to attempt to be as aware as possible.  This is the beautiful struggle.