On The Love of Consciousness

It is a roundabout way to go from one supposed state of consciousness to another, to believe that within consciousness there lies a key to the great mysteries of life or death. 

 

It is not a great voyage to be in love when consciousness itself, the simple seeing of one’s own being, is the love one may project to outward things and other people.

 

Even in dower moods and flights of thought when the mind is supposedly occupied even with great themes, consciousness is the ever present core of mind and heart.

 

Even in the depths of depression and darkness one is still alive and awake in that which seems so elusive and yet is present and full.

 

It does not go high or low nor far or near. It is just such, present with mind and alive in sight.

 

Some have described this present being in Dzogchen texts or as The Highest Yoga Tantra, but let’s lose the names for a moment, and look out with simple eyes. That consciousness can be loved is one thing, but that it is love itself may be another.

 

We look from tree to tree at the hills covered with rocks and leaves. At the river with houses and smokestacks. We imagine at times we see outward things that are far and not ours to keep. We believe we can keep consciousness though.

 

We hope in some seed form to always wake up to meet the day. Sometimes we awake groggy and fearful and wish to go back to sleep.

 

The ever present love seems to be only while one’s mood is sweet, and in the comforts of life we may feel that simple consciousness may in fact be good or expensive. Yet if the hills and trees catch us with an off color even they seem not to love us.

 

A friend asked, “How are your days, are you well”? …even with discomfort and poverty…”I still love the consciousness “.

 

The simple seeing of present-being can be described in a thousand ways. It is, however, one thing where words fall short and perhaps the feeling of love can be.

 

Searching on the outskirts of mind for states of consciousness that are  greater than this are found old boats dashed on the sands, and circling birds laughing at scurrying crabs.

 

Seeing, awake and present is love that is expansive as dreams. Consciousness with its folds of mood and vagaries of mind is a love that embroils all clusters of stars and rests on the wishes of eyelashes.

   

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