The Humble Musings Of The Manhattan Monk 7/7/11

The desert which I must cross is the desert of the vacant spaces of my mind, of my heart, void of all feelings, of the truth of your own heart.

In this desert are the scorpions whose sting I refuse to take, yet what else can I do if I must walk this path? Their is no mundane antidote to their poison. The only cure is the nectar stored within my own heart-space. I must access the storehouse of this nectar, by care and love and service, to keep in a pouch with me as I walk along these hot sands

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The balance of respect...

On one side, my personality which needs the social touch, who longs for the heart-to-heart, freely giving in time and space, exposed and vulnerable and ready to heal.

On the other side, the silent one, learning the art of finding the treasure within, who needs relief from the extraneous noise and demands, needs a recharge of the batteries, who is free to meditate on the flowing waters in the woods everywhere.

If I disrespect one side, the other atrophies. This balance of respect insures mutual growth, reinforcing through each others' best qualities and gifts. Each side, when healthy and whole, knows exactly when to lend a hand to the other, to pick them out of their latent mirages.

**
I pray for the end to my creature comforts, but I understand their is a certain quality of madness that can come by pulling the plug too quickly. If I tear down my castle too quickly, without finding true comfort in the communal quarters of loving souls and our relationships, I will have no provisions for the walk into the desert.