The lone plane

In the night as I walked slowly around, up and down the long drive that goes East and West, in the early morning warmth with only crickets for sound and the occasional car sounding like ocean waves driving by in the night, with my inner instincts aware, though gently so, of any danger in that young mornings darkness; I find peace and contemplation away from my sleepless bed.

In the sky, a lone plane flies overhead, lights all aglow as if mocking the night. I wondered about those whom for a time have created a world within that flying tube, zooming by overhead.  People sleeping, reading, talking, accepting service from the staff, created to distract from the reality of their situation just outside the thin walls.  Flung together, fleeing through nothingness towards a better life, or perhaps a hell. Or just a trip to visit family and friends, people sharing the same fate for a time.; to travel as a community of sorts, loosely knit, yet one when truth be told.  Their lives entwined and perhaps their deaths. For when passing through that threshold, they are born into a complete world, enough for their sojourn through the air at 500 miles an hour, with no brakes……well that something to be thankful for.  Perhaps some say to themselves, “Today we could all die together, these strangers and I”.  Sharing the same air over and over and over again, eating peanuts or pretzels with coke or orange juice, or perhaps something stronger to further distract from the darkness of the void outside. 

Some talk, others read and some I am sure, meditate and pray.  Some are friendly others not so much so, many absorbed in their own world, others seen as only vague images perhaps getting at times in the way.  So yes for a time, a world created, a lifetime really, a bardo state like all of life…born….movement….time passes, quickly or slowly….then the end, birth into a new life, whether at the airport or in a crash. For not all bardo states are pleasant, nor do they end happily, yet end they all will, transmogrifying into something else, the flow continues it can’t be stopped.

Cars rush by along highway 212 , each having occupants with their own lives, stories with their joys and sufferings.  I greet them silently and as the prayer knots flow slowly through my fingers; yes I remember them also, for again we are one.  We hurl through our lives, our fragility often ignored or buried deep, yet we share this Orb and closer than we think. For each a universe, with hearts greater than often adverted to, so often burdened with worries blocking this truth. 

When strangers pass in whatever situation, think of the bardo state and its fleeting life; look at who accompanies you for perhaps only a moment, for within that time a whole life passes.  Now this, then that, people come and then they are gone (a mini death), who are they, these silent often ignored presences?  They are you, they are me, and they are Christ in which they are made in the image of; if only the eyes were opened to the Atman within, the infinite light buried within hearts often weighed down beyond bearing. 

Labels important, yet in the end worthless the more they are believed. For we are not made for boxes, we suffocate, screaming in inner silence, often wordlessly begging to simply be seen, called by that name that only God knows. Such is the suffering of living mysteries walking in flesh, each a revelation of divinity crouched in simple everydayness, or in suffering and tragedy. Just grab a ticket have a seat and wait your turn.  The wheel never stops turning, round and round and up down.

If we saw the stranger before us, perhaps we would light a candle seeing their oneness with that which is ineffable, nameless, yet revealed as love, bowing in homage to our brother and sister involved in the mystery that we call this life.  So many whys, so few answers; yet is that not what propels us forward, the question? For in reality there is only one query, the one we seek.

Each of us is that mystery, nameless to each other, yet one day, that mystery will be presented to us, finally answered:  “What is my true name? Who am I, my essence, which only my true name will answer”?   For only God can carry that burden, carrying and bearing the compassion that loves brings, for to know a name, truly, is to see all, know all and yes to bear all.  To know all is to forgive all, such is the Mercy that accompanies us on our often dark journey through nothingness, the dark night moving us towards our true home.  A long journey, yet we are never alone, though that cold grip often felt. 

Everything real yet passing, each event having a beginning, middle and an end, a constant flow, unending, yet in the midst of seeming mercilessness, mercy is King.