The Brambles of Experience
Rummaging through the brambles of Experience in Form,
In search of sweet berries,
I emerge, scratched and bleeding,
Over and over again.
Divine Mother struggles to hold me, feigning severity,
As I squirm and giggle.
Laughing away Her chiding, wincing in pain, I exclaim,
“Oh Ma! How I love those berries!”
She relents her fierceness, laughs, and holds my face,
Tenderly wiping the sorrow-stained tears of Joy.
“I know, My Love.
I made their delight, and their sorrow, just for you.
They bring you always…
Back to Me.”
I am not separate and aloof from this Most Beautiful “Illusion” of arising manifestation. I am not simply “That”. I am… THIS! Like a child I rummage for enjoyment… and sorrow… and all that is existence in form; innocently, guilelessly, lovingly, sweetly, doing no harm.