Good Grief 132

Walls, worlds and parts of the whole.
Stream of consciousness following discombobulating times ...
Transitions - from there to here, from that to this.
Climbing down the steps to the familiar dungeons and the old familiar prisoners.
As with dipping in to Anam Cara again ... so what ... SO WHAT ... that same angry, derisory frustration.
The significance of the presence of another that allows momentary shape shifting as we watch the sun setting on the golden chimney
I saw the moment like the glancing sun - the brief glancing reflection caught between the beat of a wing as consciousness echo-locates momentarily from one to another.
Berlin Wall and realisations ...
Of course, I've been living in East Berlin all this time
The other side of the wall
And we don't even know it's there ... until it is ... and it has always been there.
The illusory, the chimera, the briefest glimpse from the fog at the edge of awareness.
The matrix, the background, that is so familiar we cannot see any other - until we do. It cannot be forced. There is no prescribed formula for insight.
Even the gaoler is another part .... another part! Of course ... he is not the whole, and yet he is so blended he has (or, has been) utterly imperceptibly merged as the whole - the keeper, the keys, bricks, the dripping, dark, cavernous vaults, the subterranean uncharted forever.
And he's so bloody angry, gnarled, blocking, deriding ... the gatekeeper of unworthiness ...
Of course .... (bring on Tara Brach).