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.