The Law of Allowing: Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness

I usually post pieces of this nature on my ShareTree blog, but I believe this is worth the space on River-Tree Whispers.

Last night we watched the movie, The Boy in the Striped Pajamas. Watch it if you dare. After seeing it, as well as a few other significant news items lately -- like the forced medication of Danny Hauser, and the torture memos -- I decided to distill into words my outlook on the matter of liberty. Here goes:

There is one law -- the Higher Law -- that all others or based on, either in support of, or in defiance of that law.

• The Law grants the freedom to do anything . . .

But because we live here, and the Higher Law is manifest in this world of opposites, it proceeds in statement as:

• . . . except denying others the same freedom.

And because the passivity of allowing has an opposite activity, it continues:

• Only the defense of freedom will assure it. Passivity in its defense is activity in its corruption.

* * *

There is awareness and there is action. Where do I stand?

What do we do when we become aware that freedom is denied to another who is not being justly defended? Should we speak out, state the obvious and make others aware? Or is not doing so passivity in defense of The Law? Passivity, I believe, will result in heightened action -- either in defense of The Law, or its corruption. Revolution need not be violent.

* * *

Be aware that
what and when and where
to speak and act
is best guided by
a more direct connection
to The Source
of the Higher Law.

The Spirit of Life
does not degrade it.

* *

There are no Others. We are all Soul. Soul is a spark of the Divine.

*

Beware!

.
Beware!
the poets and philosophers
and others
who talk to themselves.
Or is insanity just apprenticeship
to mastership?
.

Wisdom of Brothers

I have a brother down-under. We trade stories almost every day. I know it hardly seems possible that the two of us, with such dissimilar lifestyles would ever even touch base more than once or twice a year. Yet the depth of this morning’s conversation helped me see once more that our connection is deeper than kin, and more complex than the crossing of chromosomes in the evolution of race. Let me take you there.

We were both relaxed in our places, I on the recliner in my suburban home, and he in sandals, maybe barefoot. Yet it was as if we were together—met half-way on a tropical island—paradise of color and ancient sea breeze. Time did not call, but left us to the whim of every past event we shared in recollection. Slowly flowed the river and quick, like an egret’s pick for minnow-bits after waiting with evening’s shadow to claim the east bank. He told me once he watched one for hours, not knowing how patience could apply to his world of survival. Then, he said, the gangly bird, white and sure, turned and looked at me, looked me in the eyes. I became the egret. I was surrender. Home on the wind.

And there was the Museum of Mobridge. We viewed the displays of glass and steel, historical vignettes of lives we never knew—each somehow becoming part of us in the eternity of now. From the mezzanine, where we had tea and strudel, we watched the morning light on two levels change the forms from crimson, gold, and ships dancing to the beauty of maidens in the secret of our dreams. Caves of illusion re-lit with wisdom unwound and not worded—even by Rumi, Keats and Thoreau. It’s told in many forms by all.

We took many journeys. More than usual this morning—to heavens and hells. Comfort and protection in the brotherhood of wisdom dreaming. Better to drink with a friend than alone. And better if its water after long days of thirst. Oasis in the desert. Lights in the darkness renew. Danger only comes with fair warning, and fortune is not free. Soul equals Soul, they say. He does. And I . . . .

I’ve never met my brother outside my recliner or rack. I’m not even sure in what age he lives. There is this daydream world together. Nights too we journey. Its contemplation is an exercise of Soul.

A Moment in Eternity

.
Whether we see sacred space
in a temple
or a dollhouse
. . . and experience
. . . the freedom therein . . .
that moment
is eternity.
.