Too many times I’ve drifted along the way
tumbling so, to an alien tune
never finding my way, I’ve found myself here
ever recanting the endless phrase
hardly forgotten, hardly achieved
those things in life that are sought
how shall the voice bark its voice?
how shall the instrument play its chord?
in a world of forgotten time, blissfully lost
the lost are found and the found are lost
. . . Here I sing: the endless recanting phrase.
(This unrhymed descriptive reflection describes a dilemma of immersing ones self in beingness. There in beingness we often lose a sense of our self, the world, everything. This creates a sense of disorientation that can lead to great conflict, the ‘disorientation of beingness’. Getting used to this sensation is not easy. It can border on madness, and often leads to despair. In this disorientation there is a humbling, that we are not what we think we are, that what we perceive and think about things is not correct. It creates a great inner ‘quaking’ of the soul. In the disorientation the soul is as if ‘stirred up’, woken up from its sleep. Like a great intoxication it makes ones head spin. Logic fails, thought fails, belief fails. Here, the self is tested, it is challenged. Since many of us are not prepared for this it can lead to great turmoil and conflict. It seems, though, that the best cure is embracing the disorientation for, in the disorientation, is beingness. It lies there like some great riddle, the disorientation being the riddle. Can you solve that riddle? A riddle without words, without concepts, without formulations, based in ones awareness, one reactions, ones sense of self and beingness. A great riddle to be solved . . . not an easy one at that.)