It is only in recent years That I have begun to Feel and truly notice The few precious moments On random, infrequent days When the edges of what I learnt to regard as myself Dissolve just a tiny bit In spontaneous release Where the accompanying Spaciousness requires no Opinions to be formed Nor any beliefs to be held
I love this poem! It makes me think of how important a continual practice of "letting go" is for us humans. These lines also reminded me of something I wrote not long ago. I appreciate this moment of connection ♡
You have done in it again, just exquisite. Unlike the tree's roots, Renaee has opinions but they don't define or divide me, they are ephemeral, they are here while they are here, then they pass. The phrase mobius strip was unexpected and novel, as you often seem to squeeze in there, that gives it a new vibe. very much enjoyed! (and the image/art is just beautiful)
Thank you Renaee for your always generous reading and appreciation.
I find the Mobius strip such a fascinating concept. I remember as a child, fashioning one out of paper and endlessly running my fingers over one edge, going in and out, over and over again. Time, with its ability to mysteriously expand and contract, holds the same kind of fascination for me. I long to “understand” it knowing at the same time that it eludes neat definitions and classifications.
It’s beautiful. This oneness that needs no words. And yet, without the contrast afforded by words I might have never known that I dwell in unwitting twoness.
I really love your phrase, “I dwell in unwitting twoness.”
I find myself cycling between the aching longing to truly see oneness and the glorying in awe and wonder which is only possible because of this unwitting twoness. I think it was Alan Watts who said the undivided infinite has a great curiosity to see and touch itself and so here we are, with our outpourings of thinking, wondering, languaging, etc. All a source of much joy but also of much grief. I am curious about your views on loss and grief and how to hold these emotions while still seeking glimpses of oneness.
Grief and loss—our most faithful companions in twoness, and perhaps its strongest symptom. To be moved by them as beauty—not despite, but because of their ache—may well be what we once called enlightenment. But I sense it’s not far away, not for the few, not earned through severance. It is accessible to anyone who keeps walking toward it—not as the Buddha who cuts ties, but as one who sees in grief a flowering.
A bloom that does not open in the desert of arid spiritual detachment, but in those who have known the fullness of relationship—its twoness—and touched the oneness at its root. That flower is longing, memory, and loss all at once. And it grows only in those who stay tender. Hold it close. It knows the way.
Everything else—time, separation, the need to become—is illusion.
I’m bolstered in this likely naivete by Jill Bolte Taylor’s experience, which I’ve linked below. That glimpse of non-duality, born not from retreat but from rupture, affirms what the poets knew all along:
Yes, I have seen this Jill Bolte Taylor video several years ago and marvelled at it. I’ll watch it again, I’m sure new layers of nuance and texture will reveal themselves.
How beautifully you write! What a joy it is to find my incoherent thoughts take shape in your writing..
Eternal emerging
Brightness following brightness
Unbearable joy.
Shadows made subtler.
Me, moss, mud, margins merging.
Boundless belonging.
I love this poem! It makes me think of how important a continual practice of "letting go" is for us humans. These lines also reminded me of something I wrote not long ago. I appreciate this moment of connection ♡
"The soil has no opinions
As it nourishes the roots
Of every tree that grows
Silently breathing out life"
You have done in it again, just exquisite. Unlike the tree's roots, Renaee has opinions but they don't define or divide me, they are ephemeral, they are here while they are here, then they pass. The phrase mobius strip was unexpected and novel, as you often seem to squeeze in there, that gives it a new vibe. very much enjoyed! (and the image/art is just beautiful)
Thank you Renaee for your always generous reading and appreciation.
I find the Mobius strip such a fascinating concept. I remember as a child, fashioning one out of paper and endlessly running my fingers over one edge, going in and out, over and over again. Time, with its ability to mysteriously expand and contract, holds the same kind of fascination for me. I long to “understand” it knowing at the same time that it eludes neat definitions and classifications.
It’s beautiful. This oneness that needs no words. And yet, without the contrast afforded by words I might have never known that I dwell in unwitting twoness.
I really love your phrase, “I dwell in unwitting twoness.”
I find myself cycling between the aching longing to truly see oneness and the glorying in awe and wonder which is only possible because of this unwitting twoness. I think it was Alan Watts who said the undivided infinite has a great curiosity to see and touch itself and so here we are, with our outpourings of thinking, wondering, languaging, etc. All a source of much joy but also of much grief. I am curious about your views on loss and grief and how to hold these emotions while still seeking glimpses of oneness.
Good morning Jayasree,
Grief and loss—our most faithful companions in twoness, and perhaps its strongest symptom. To be moved by them as beauty—not despite, but because of their ache—may well be what we once called enlightenment. But I sense it’s not far away, not for the few, not earned through severance. It is accessible to anyone who keeps walking toward it—not as the Buddha who cuts ties, but as one who sees in grief a flowering.
A bloom that does not open in the desert of arid spiritual detachment, but in those who have known the fullness of relationship—its twoness—and touched the oneness at its root. That flower is longing, memory, and loss all at once. And it grows only in those who stay tender. Hold it close. It knows the way.
Everything else—time, separation, the need to become—is illusion.
I’m bolstered in this likely naivete by Jill Bolte Taylor’s experience, which I’ve linked below. That glimpse of non-duality, born not from retreat but from rupture, affirms what the poets knew all along:
the One is already here,
softly veiled,
aching to be seen.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UyyjU8fzEYU
Yes, I have seen this Jill Bolte Taylor video several years ago and marvelled at it. I’ll watch it again, I’m sure new layers of nuance and texture will reveal themselves.
How beautifully you write! What a joy it is to find my incoherent thoughts take shape in your writing..