The River of Life

What is to the sun as the sun is to waking? What is to truth as truth is to thought? I ask this because there is always the danger I might stop trying to know; I might stop trying to develop; I might stop trying to be the sun that I am inside. In the summer in particular it's tempting just to relax - to stop thinking, to stop doing, and to let the sun sparkle on you as it does on a river in flow. To a certain extent this is justified. But the sun itself doesn't have the power to stop shining; my life doesn't have the power to stop flowing. What kind of beinghood is it that lies behind sun and life to keep them in existence? Because even if life stops or the sun comes to an end they will only change form into another level of being.

This question is bound together with my knowing; with my need to know. If I stop needing to know I essentially stop living and my sun goes out. Life flows on like a river; the need to know is like the bridge that spans it. The bridge is subject to strains and stresses. It must constantly reinforce itself to do its job; it must bridge. The pain of life is to flow but not know; the strain of understanding is to span. And that brings us back to the question who or what is the being behind life itself; who or what spans the whole of understanding? Because if that beinghood stopped doing what it does the whole of existence would fall into darkness.

And that in turn brings me to a very narrow line - a thin line which is the word 'I'. And yet that line has the width of everything in it. I can fall on one side of the line or I can raise myself up on the other. I can stop needing to know and fall into darkness; I can let the sun that I am stop shining. Or I can be 'I' - I can think and know and feel and do as I am meant to; and then my life will always sparkle with my own light. The word 'I' is also a bridge.

That leads to the inevitable question: what is the 'I' within 'I'? What gives the power to be a sun, to keep building the bridge? To my mind the answer lies in the original question: 'What is to the sun as the sun is to waking? What is to truth as truth is to thought?' Precisely the same active beinghood, which never stops, is the 'I' within 'I'.

Am I the river or the bridge, the passage

of life or the understanding of it?

The pain of life is to flow but not know,

the strain of understanding is to span.

If life creates the bridge then who spans life,

which is so deep in understanding still?

I feel with my life, I know with my heart -

the wisdom of the world never left me.

Jay

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