This lake has no bottom, it is infinitely deep,
it may be a lake you have seen in your waking dream travels,
even one you have seen in your sleeping dream,
perhaps in a book or movie.
Picture a glassy smooth lake that reflects its surroundings,
so still and tranquil on the surface,
at its depth, total stillness, unable to be disturbed.
As water evaporates, it is taken up into the clouds as condensation,
moving across the land and falling as precipitation,
sometimes appearing as fog,
some times as dew,
eventually moving to the lowest point and becoming a stream,
taking the easiest path until it finds the lake again.
The water takes many forms and shapes,
at no point was it not wet,
wetness is permanent.
A flock of migrating ducks land on the lake creating minimal disturbance and water displacement,
once they leave there is soon very little evidence that they had visited, A gaggle of geese soon follow,
their coarse honks changing the vibration of the atmosphere as well as disturbing the lakes surface with a little more impact,
the displacement or ‘hole’ in the water that their bodies create is very quickly filled in the moment they alight.
A clumsy flailing cow may jump in creating even more disturbance or the wind may push up waves, but the lake always returns to itself,
and at its greatest depths the lake is untouched and forever wet and still…
Floating on the lake is a waterlogged log, so waterlogged that it barely exists above the surface.
Etched on the log are the words ‘persona/ego’.
Despite occasional turbulence the log resists sinking always manages to stay afloat with its sun parched side always pointing up.
On a particular day the log is observed sailing and struggling against the current, when it encounters a duck.
The duck exclaims, “what are you doing, where are you going with such struggle and suffering?”
The log replies, “I’m heading down to the deep south end of the lake, I heard it was raining down there and I wanted to soak my gnarly parched surface; I also heard that the rain had a particular quality.”
“Its all the same wetness” replies the duck, “try rolling over, you’re soaking in it!”
With this, the log becomes saturated and sinks, small pockets of air escape back to the surface encapsulating the words beliefs, opinions, positions, thoughts, emotions, sensations and stories.
Without the parched suffering desire for wetness, the log dissipates into the infinite wetness and stillness that was nothing but a rotation away.
Real… eyes… ation happens when one stops looking to the sky for wetness. The manifest will either rot, rust or be eaten by insects.
The persona is the mask we ware and the sound we make, enjoy the bobbing around on the surface while it lasts until you become splintered and parched or one could just sink into what always was, floating would not be possible without the infinite lake.
Thank you for the pain.
I’m Sorry please forgive me,
for forgetting to remember.
I am the Lake and not the log,
nor the passing ducks geese or cow,
I am wet, I am wet,
I am love, I am Love,
am love, am, love,