I have found more easily the space of stillness with help from Life Of Source. The idea of living in Presence is more gargantuan a task than any other and yet it is found in the simplicity of life as no other simple measure may express. The complexity of our minds has driven us far away from this most subtle truth. But there is a way to retrieve our most dear friend. Here is an excerpt from Chapter XXI, “Conversation With Stillness.”
“What did you write?” V asks with curiosity.
“The dialogue surprised me, I have to say. I’ll just enter it here, and you can see:”
I sit with silence and feel the space.
The sensation of presence enters around me and in me.
It is alive and welcoming. I appreciate its resonance for many minutes before I start.
“May I dialogue with you?” I whisper in my mind.
“May we have a conversation?”
“Yes, you may” an answer comes, quieter than my whisper.
“Ah, that pleases me,” I sigh.
“But why is that?” replies the silent one within.
I ponder. “Because I need to know more.”
“More? More of what?” presence asks.
I wrinkle my brow and try to imagine. What indeed!
I finally answer, “More than just this silence, I guess.”
“There is no more than this,” presence says straightaway.
“Words are less than this, my child,
less than this full moment. Hear me clearly:
There is no ‘more’ of presence.
I am all and always that I am!
When words are formed around me,
they are but a tiny part of what I might be.
They form an outer edge, a crust, a temporary fence;
and thus are more subtractive from the whole
than being whole.”
I sigh, a little disappointed. I wait, but then I say, “Does that mean
I should not speak to you?”
The spacious being brings up its voice from the stillness deep,
“Go ahead and speak. Yes, you may.
Your words and mine can rightly be as pointers on our way.
Only, we must know them, as they really are:
They are the lesser part, the humbler part,
of all the Life expression in our world.”
“What are words for then?” I ask, dismayed.
“What are we doing with them here?”
“These words we use and wear
are your sensibilities and intellected dreams.
These words—of here and now—speak out from you,
though they appear to be the voice of me.”
I ask, “But are you not inside them somehow?
Could this not also be the voice of you?
Can’t you be here among us in these words?”
“I can. And indeed I am.
But you may not completely, truly know me here—
in mere word or thought or sound.
For me to truly be, I must be whole!
Look not for presence to expose itself so indiscreetly,
nor in such a finite way
as a fabricated trace of forms.
It’s not for eyes to prove nor ears to drill,
the ways or means of what I really am.
To know me as I am—and that I am—you must stop!
And stop again, upon your very heart.
No longer be a speaker;
not a seeker, nor a guide;
not a leader nor a follower nor a finder be;
not a teacher nor disciple; not a devotee.
Escape your understanding and your postured mind.
Just stop and listen to the silence.
Let me in. Let me go.
Let my freedom justly rise.”
I reply, “It worries me to think of what you’ve said.
If I am to be none of those things you catalog,
what ever can I do to know you
as my essence does seem to urge?”
The precious presence—Life itself—falls down
around me in its space. Its silence shakes me to the cell.
“Be tranquil, here, in heart. You must come down
and be what is—the just and blessed will—yet even destiny.
Be calm. Be true. Be very silent and be
ⓒ 2014 Robert L.Potter