Crown of Creation

1999

Suspended between dark and dawn, a bittersweet loneliness washes over me
in this hushed, expectant moment. It is both personal, and yet somehow also a reflection of the collective consciousness. Indeed, there seems to be a kind of wounded-ness inherent in this beautiful but fragile human form – this humble temple of art and soul, doubt and hope, fear and resistance, love and yearning.

I recall a childhood picture: Jesus, chest opened, pointing to a luminous heart nested within a crown of thorns. I knew that there was something important being revealed about life in that illustrated juxtaposition of compassion and suffering that I needed to learn, but any attempt by mind to figure it out proved both futile and frustrating. Something else was clearly required. Moreover, any of the doctrinal explanations I encountered never really satisfied me – only by slipping into that heart-space myself did I begin to get a feeling for the paradox of wounds.

In the soft grey predawn drizzle, not a breeze stirs and yet, it suddenly occurs to me that the old Yaqui Brujo was right – there is a crack between the two worlds of dark and light. As I gaze through my window, my spirit extends out and soars through that crack. Have I been magically shifted into another realm, or has it always been this very world, but I – so hypnotized by consensus beliefs and the numbing stream of random thoughts – have been too blind to see?

Impossibly, the many trees before me begin to lean and sway in an orchestrated dance – all in different directions, but perfectly coordinated in a divine choreography that is wild, ecstatic, free! Alive as consciousness itself, they seem at first to wave within me, woven in the shared recognition of our undivided being, until I realize that there is no within, no without, only limitless loving Presence!

Immediately, a joyous choir of blessed birdsong blends into this harmonic chorus of life awaking to itself, celebrating itself as one immense Being, bursting with unbearable Happiness, undulating in synchronous bliss. Have I died? That odd thought momentarily arises, but is quickly washed away in a sudden gentle downpour.

The softly falling rain is pure nectar, sublime water of precious existence, origin of every streaming river spilling through this transparent landscape of bright and sky-like vision, irrigating the dryness of dull despair with the sweet healing moisture of remembrance, remembrance of our innocent primordial nature which has never been divided from its Source – this indescribable Presence.

That living Presence has now become like an enormous aviary, embracing all the vast and varied birdlife within, all the brilliant birdsong, all beautiful breathing beings, with only a translucent rainbow boundary that arcs majestically between what sings within, and the symphonic glory expanding infinitely beyond this fragile love-sifted shell of Heart, garlanded with the Crown of Creation.