What becomes of a writer if she doesn’t transcribe her thoughts to page?
Or an artist whose brush never carries the vibrancy of her creativity to canvas?
What happens to a musician who has no time to sing… do her fingers forget how to play?
Have the innocent parts of ourselves forgotten how to play?
Has the view of Sat Chit Anand become nothing more than a wishful thought, and much less a truly sought-after reality?
The only real reality.
The only really real REALity.
When did our souls corrode to such a degree of rusty scarcity and fear? When did our skeptical minds take over the helm and decide to comply with status quo and what “they” choose for us?
When did we lose sight of Who we are?
And why on Earth… or beyond Her… would we EVER subscribe to the idea that spirituality is a commodity for those who have the privilege to pay for it… that it’s just one more item on the shelf of capitalistic consumerism?
When did yoga become a marketing scheme for separation and segregation… even daring to block its own founding culture?
When did we become so broken that we accepted ill-fit pieces of ourSelves as being the Whole of who we are?
When did you swallow the pill?
When did I?
How to regurgitate it now?
This is it. The only moment we have.
These moments in isolation have shown me where I’m running from mySelf.
The Bible says the Lord shall grant the desires of our hearts… and now, beneath the dusty infrastructure of self-loathing and shame, I see the gleaming hope of desire.