old stars

One has died for all, therefore all have died. 

This arose interwoven with realisation: One refers to universal, union -- all. One has died for One. 

It's hyper individualism that makes us think that 'one' refers to simply one physical form. Once you realise innate oneness, inherent sameness, essence -- how we are all, truly, one at our core, that we are literally sameness, that our interconnectivity isn't just lines joining each other but pure essential oneness -- one being, that deepest I is deepest 'you' -- the word 'one' is transformed. 

My 'sacred' word in meditation has become this -- One. I'm trying to express what 'one' is; it's where the name of this blog derived from, an awareness of union, of sameness, of one essence as the reality of all form - me, Rumi, the moon, to put it one way. 

Growing up immersed in a religion wherein some pieces were, to me, irreconcilable, I could not hold what were held as crucial, integral beliefs such as 'one has died for all'. Yet this -- oneness enabling a reframing, a realising of how interconnectivity re-stories the essence of the religion I grew up in: One, being every one and every thing, one being the core of who we are, the elements and plants and physicalities, planets and stars and every transformation of energy converted into something new -- this one, core essence, the centre of Being, of you, me, the tree, this is what the stories were always referring to, larger realities. 

Finally, a way in. Something to hold, a key to the next step: One... has died for all. Is simply the same, one died for one. I for I, Rumi for me for Mars for Saturn for the lily for the daisy for the moon for the chimpanzee for Sally down the street for... all in one breath, not a linear line, not a me-for-you exchange, but a breathless, mirroring. 

It's simplified. The next line, simply stating what we've already said: therefore all have died. Therefore One has died. In my mind, in my upbringing, the 'One' was always separate. The religion of my childhood was founded upon separateness, upon the individual, upon division. There was the 'one', there was the 'all' (and then there were the 'others', not mentioned in these words as there is no such thing). Yet the one and the all are one. To repeat myself again -- one and all are One. 

It's a circle, I see the circle. One has died for all therefore all have died. A relinquishing. It almost loses its meaning, instead of clouding thickly. 

And then -- this death that it speaks of. This archetypal death, this surrender, this egoic breakthrough -- this laying down, letting go, what was called the kenotic display, the energetic release, the transformation through humility. This common, this one, death. How we hide from this one potential, this secret doorway into awakening, hiding in lands and laws of comfort and tyranny, attempting to secure a sense of continuity. 

To acknowledge the past tense of this reality: death has happened. I am holding on to a shell, a hollow skin. The surrender has occurred, already. I am not required to hold on to the personality, the beliefs and assumptions and requirements of what I feel I need to ascertain. Oh, it's already given way. 

The death has already happened. I need not live attempting to reclaim what has been given away. I need not hold on to my personality, I need not lean into my fears and things I'm afraid to have seen. I need not lord it over my flaws. Let the feelings be. The sadness arising right now -- it is not something to overcome but a locked-up secret to be felt. Let the energy release. Sadness, you are welcome here. 

Be free. 

I worry about relinquishing control. About how I am perceived. I try and conjure an image to be believed. I try and steady the image, maintain the story. Like a dead star, still shining brightly. I do not have to try. Yet I keep trying, so hard. Projecting the self-rejection onto the voices of people around me. 

Be free. 

The belief that I have to supersede my own abilities. That mistakes are fatal. That I have to prove myself. That I have to secure my position. 

My beauty, you belong. 

You are grounded deep below the earth. Your arms stretch long into the starry sky. Your heart yearns wide, expanding in the breath of wind. 

Who am I? Still asking. I keep trying to emulate the image of who I believe I might be. Not realising the majesty of who I am, the glory that needs no trying. 

I AM 

...may I find the central being, once recognised though now somewhat buried. May I remember the I beyond understanding, before and after form, the I that is One, all. 

May I release the stories I tell, the stories I seek to replicate. Let old stars shine til they burn no more. There is no need to recreate what has already been. Let it be, my beauty. 

Let it be. Let the song play. Let your stories weave and untie themselves until you forget where you've been and the image you seek. 

My beauty, undo. Surrender the holding and listen to the voice beyond the moon: I AM holding you. Remember that comfort, the reassurance that it is not up to me to uphold a story, an image of who I ought to be. 

Rest. Release. My beauty, you have nothing to prove. I know you think you do. 

My beauty, there is nothing you need to do. You are already you. 

All have died. My beauty, the stories and the images and the shining stars have died. 

You do not need to keep telling these stories, upholding these memories. Let the death be. 

Surrender to the truth of your being. 

Rest from holding. 

May you hear me, through the sleepy hollow of your thinking, of the noise inside. 

My beauty.