Protected in its cave, under its hood, resides a power, the centre through which we get fuelled, if we are to ascend on the path to the peaks.
Working all the time, that power never awakens until we recognise it. Working all the time, it is asleep until we lift the veil, for ourselves to marvel at its wonder. It is dormant relative to its potential until we awaken. We remain oblivious to it until we begin ascending the ladder to its glory.
We climb the pyramid. We have been at the base, excited by its pleasures, tranquil in its opium. But climb is what we are to do.
Did we choose to take the first step? Or were we chosen, for this round? Is the mind becoming aware so as to preside over the base? Or is the momentum of the potential nudging us up to the next step of the ladder? Are the two one?
Difficult is the journey. We unseal the gates to keep rising. And as the openings unleash more fuel, and give us glimpses of the precious peak, we come closer to fountains of potential, as well as pass the mermaids many a sailor has succumbed to their seductions. What is at stake is the journey itself. Guardians at the gates face us. And in turn we face our fear. But for us to remain on the journey, we are not to run away. With the tests in the journey come surprises of easiness; passing the gates, ends come unbidden.
Heavy is the weight of potential. Strong is the pull of the base, especially as its calls ring familiar, and there’s comfort in the familiar. After all, how many pilgrims have abandoned the call. And so, the walker past the narrow gate, on one hand, imagines the certainty of a blurry destination, of arriving at illuminated mansions, and on the other, sees the hut in which he can rest in shallow, illusionary, yet tantalising comfort, for a long time.
Bring me my flute and leave me to that little I can now realise….relinquish my thirst by fantasy, and justify with impossibility….and abandon the Truth; leave It to those naïve enough to see in themselves the strength to seek It… perhaps in the next round, but for this one, pour in the sweet delusions. (With a bow to Ibrahim Nagui).
Passing the gate, continuing on his path, he comes under the sunlight.
Desire takes over. But desire here transcends needs and wants. It transcends silencing the screaming child. Desire here is meaning to an artist who has been on a long journey. Desire here is quenching the thirst for love; is ascending to Love; is bringing into physical touch, taste, and feel, the pleasures of materiality as it emerges out of matter. Desire here is touching the core, is coming to the tiniest of manifestations (in the flesh) that mirrors some of the grandest in our gigantic realm. It is the spark uniting what is below with what is at the top of the ladder.
And here, at that expression in and of the flesh, it is giving and receiving, the result arises from the cause, the pleasures received unfolds from the pleasures given, the she and he in their earthliness connect with their highnesses.
An opening gives more way, more thrust, more trust. Desire paves the path beyond that narrow gate which, if understood, respected, ravished, and loved, would fuel the ascent on the ladder, to the power above.