The Beautiful Dreamers

Eternal consciousness rested forever in perfect unmoving bliss.

Then, for no reason, the unmoving exploded into a playful dance of wild swirling ellipses and seemed to decide, for the fun of it, to forget his former self, to give birth to the illusion of infinite universes.

But before the dance of forgetting, he had, for his own enjoyment, hidden a gateway in one of innumerable universes entangled with the infinite strands of time; like a pinprick in a hay field.

And in this infinite universe, this one spot was blessed. Just here on this fleck of dust, the empty dark universe conspired to bring about the miraculous flower of its highest intention: the possibility for the dance to see itself, for consciousness to become self-aware.

Here, from the mere joy of this possibility, consciousness manifested as water lovingly softening minerals to the idea of becoming life. Then, oceans full of life spilled over onto land.

Flowers burst proudly of out seeds to reach for the lifegiving sun. Jewellery-like insects appeared to make tender love to the blushing intricate flowers. Birds dressed in outlandish plumage danced, strutted, sang, and build impossible nests.

Here, clear rivers roar down towering mountains, swirl mutely around rain drenched emerald islets, slides stunned through red deserts below vacant skies and empty themself out with a sigh into the infinite blue world ocean.

Each of the billions of lifeforms has a definite purpose in this world. A rock is a rock. A rose is a rose. A beetle is a beetle. A virus is a virus.

Wave after mesmerizing wave of innumerable lifeforms rise up, appear, sparkle for an instant and disappear according to the wise breath of nature, as life keeps reproducing itself in an infinitude of variation, driven by the golden promise of freedom.

Carried forward by the endless waves of birth and death, propelled by the combined desire of creation, the dreaming children arrive.

The dreaming children are conceived when consciousness finally glimpse itself, barely concealed behind the luminous veil of matter, and falls hopelessly, irrevocably in love.

The dreamers have a billion purposes in this world but none particular.

The children are the beautiful beings who love to rest empty minded in the soft verdant grass under blooming apple trees while humming an imaginary song to the spirited white clouds passing over head.

There are those beautiful beings who sing in harmonies with others but weep silently in solitude.

The dreaming ones are beings who sow wildflowers around their simple huts, simply because it pleases their hearts.

Some of the beings polish stones from the ground to wear them as playful rivals to their own sparkling eyes.

There are tender beings who stay awake in the heavy hush of full moon, telling wide eyed stories to each other.

The older and wiser beings sit around dying fires in frosty crisp nights with their young ones to talk about the stars, time and death.

The magic beings dance when the first spring sun awakes the body. They look at each other with love and lust.

There are the beautiful ones who sit alone on mountaintops with reed flutes.

There are the gentle ones who love other kinds of beings as much as they love themselves.

Imaginative beings dig colour out of mother earth to draw what they have seen and what they hope yet to see, they draw their visons of the great beyond.

There are those beings who stand in the threshold, looking timidly into this beautiful dying world while having the infinite eternal life at their backs. They live in a mysterious yearning but not for food.

From their vantage point the see they see that there is enough for everyone.

There are those rare stooped being who look only at their feet. They cannot dream. They cannot see despite having eyes. They can only imagine. They are not many, but they are loud and restless. They live in fear and are never satisfied.

They carry the fear as a badge of honour named greed. The call the greed greatness.

Those are the beings who cannot share the joy. They cannot see the purpose of life. They try to blind everyone who meet them.

They are lost. But not hopelessly so.

For there are rare beings who have gone beyond and come back.

The yearning ones who recognize those who have gone and come back, place themselves at their feet to inhale the scent of eternity. Of fullness. Of love.

The ones who carry the scent of eternity speak to any being who will listen: This world is the wreckage of the eternal upon the shores of time, space and causation* they say with another great teacher’s words.

Tell us more, sings the dreamers.

This is the place, the teacher says, this is the spot, and this is the life for you to know what the universe is for.

This planet is where matter transmutes back to consciousness. This is the point of return. This is the black hole that does not just spit you into another universe.

This is the door that goes nowhere.

You are that hidden exit. The gateway, the pinprick hidden in the hay field.

Will you walk me home, oh lovers of eternity?

Kaare Troelsen – Vijay Shyam, April 2021

*Swami Vivekananda