Rainy Day Story, Part 2

Some bards may sing of the rain as a metaphor for our fragility, but there is a deeper secret to it, a secret of amazing power. It is not difficult at all to enter into it, all we need do is recognize the one who hears and sees. That one is not elsewhere, waiting for us after the rain stops, when glorious rainbows arch through clearing skies, heralding our arrival at the end of the search. That’s all part of the story, but we are not the story.

The story is just a way we choose to amuse ourselves in the midst of the immensity. It seems we love our stories, why else do we fill libraries with all sorts of tall tales? Why else would we create every kind of religion and political ideology, if not for the fun of making stuff up?

However, the power inherent in the recognition of the one who hears and sees is different from the sense of strength that comes from belief and commitment to ideals. It does not depend on any story, because it is before all mental fabrications. It is the power of reality itself, though such terms only suggest the vibrant potency of the natural state, the state prior to notions about identity and destiny.

The one who hears and sees is doing nothing — never has and never will. Somehow everything conducts itself in a grand symphony of synchronous movements, bringing wondrous worlds into being, cherishing them as dear children, then escorting them back into the void from which they came. All the time, we are simply impersonally aware as the one who hears and sees. When we turn our attention around to grasp that one, we find only a luminous emptiness. It had seemed that someone was there, but now there’s only a kind of shimmer in the air.

Perhaps there’s another story there. In that story, we emerge as from a black lacquer light, radiant with an innocent happiness to which mere words can do no justice. If you can imagine a film in which a puppy shakes off the water from its fur in slow motion, so that you can see each drop flying through the air, we would be one of those water drops, beginning our journey through the space of ourselves, until we eventually evaporate and mix again with the sky of mind, the source and happy home of all the manifest water drops that constitute the totality. Wouldn’t that be fun?



About Bob OHearn

My name is Bob O'Hearn, and I live with my Beloved Mate, Mazie, in the foothills of the Northern California Sierra Nevada Mountains. I have a number of blog sites you may enjoy: Photo Gallery: http://www.pbase.com/1heart Essays on the Conscious Process: http://theconsciousprocess.wordpress.com/ Compiled Poetry and Prosetry: https://feelingtoinfinity.wordpress.com/ Verses and ramblings on life as it is: https://writingonwater934500566.wordpress.com/ Verses and Variations on the Investigation of Mind Nature: https://themindthatneverwas.wordpress.com/ Verses on the Play of Consciousness: https://onlydreaming187718380.wordpress.com/ Poetic Fiction, Fable, Fantabulation: https://themysteriousexpanse.wordpress.com/ Poems of the Mountain Hermit: https://snowypathtonowhere.wordpress.com/ Love Poems from The Book of Yes: https://lovesight.wordpress.com/ Autobiographical Fragments, Memories, Stories, and Tall Tales: https://travelsindreamland.wordpress.com/ Ancient and modern spiritual texts, creatively refreshed: https://freetransliterations.wordpress.com/ Writings from selected Western Mystics, Classic and Modern: https://westernmystics.wordpress.com/ Wisdom of a Spirit Guide: https://spiritguidesparrow.wordpress.com/ Thank You!
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