(and thinking about IT is avoiding it) J. Krishnamurti

After Mother Teresa dropped her body, the journals that she kept daily for most of her life were published. It was revealed to God/dess farmers like me that for the last 50 years of her life (FIFTY YEARS) she was in a spiritual wilderness where she did not feel the loving embrace of her God. Yet she kept on in her mission to relieve suffering wherever she found it; whomever was in need of help, with no help from beyond that she could feel. She felt alone in this suffering world, except for her beloved Christ in all of his distressing disguises. Yet no cool drink of heavenly water came her way. She continued to be inspired by love and goodness, lowering her bucket everyday, and everyday the well was dry. “Why” she asked, had her God forsaken her? There is a Buddhist proverb that states “from emptiness arises compassion.” This is the ground of our being. This is what we are given. The place where rocks are hard, and water is wet. Movement, either forward or backward, arises out of self-potential. But this compassion that arises; the compassion that defined her life; the source can only be love. A love larger than we can comprehend. A love so great that we become part and parcel of it. It is not something we do. We ARE it. But we have to be empty, so IT can flower.
God, make me a vessel. There is no happiness to be found on these fields of broken hearts. This is true, and I know it. But the suckin’ other half of the truth is that I can’t wait to find a better way to get lost in this phony world, at least half-way. God AND mammon. A better burger, a faster computer, smoother wine, slower sex, a greener house. I’ll never leave this beautiful ugly holy sinful paradox, and I know that as well. I’ll never be a saint like Mother Teresa, but then, maybe I’m just fine as a shade tree mechanic in the Paradox garage, and until another message comes through, that’s what I’ll do. Perhaps one day I will learn how to fix a broken heart. Love, make me a more empty mechanic in this weird existence. To whomever is reading this, Goodnight, sweet dreams, and God/dess Bless You. Namaste, sisters and brothers.

One thought on “TRUTH IS WHAT IS

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