I am Buddha with a womb.
Strip me to the skin and set me in the sun.
I will bathe, I will bask, I will bloom.

I have no need of a hermit’s cave.
I am my own conch shell.
Toss me in the sea.
Strand me on the beach.
And still I will sing.

Put me to your ear.
Can you hear me?
I am the wind and the waves.
I am wisdom, curling into the Golden Mean.
I am the flight of the bumblebee
Captured in calculus.

My union with Nature is complete.
I dance under Her canopy.
I float in Her tide pools.
I make snow angels in Her arctic.
She plays Her symphony in silence in my soul.

I accept that there is no order,
At least none that you can detect.
For you, with your telescopes and super-computers,
Are mayflies skimming the surface of puddle water,
Declaring yourselves masters of the universe.
You should see how the higher gods giggle.

The answers are not yours to discover.
They are Hers to bestow.
Present yourselves at Her altar
With true humility,
And you too may see
Eternity. 

Ever ask a bee who his God is?
If you did, he would say “We are.”
Ever ask him, “Yes, but who is in charge? ”
“Do you have a king? ”
“No, we have no need of one.”
“Do you have a queen? ”
“Yes, but she is busy giving birth! ”

“Do you have a keeper? ”
“Yes, but what has he to do with us? ”
“He is the maker of the box.”
“He is the taker of our honey.”
“We co-exist; we co-depend; we are symbiotic.”

“Then who leads you? ”
“Why, we do, of course.”
You see, bees know how to scatter and gather, scatter and gather.
In this expanding and contracting, they find the perfect form.
The universe is the same.
It expands like a rubber band only to contract into a black hole to ignite a new big bang.

You need to learn to do this with your mind.
Absolutely let go.
Let your thoughts, your every desire, your every question go free.
Send them out into the universe as if you were releasing homing pigeons.
They will swirl and circle and take off on the four winds.
And they will return.
With messages.

Let yourself, your soul, your atman scatter.
You have forced it into a form it cannot hold.
You have tried to define yourself.
How can you define the infinite, the chaotic, the expanding, the eternal?
Your capacity to define is finite, structured, boxed in, as short-lived as the brain these attempts congeal in.

Let go.
Accept chaos.
You are not the shepherd.
You are the bee keeper.
Allow your thoughts to buzz and dance and swarm and sting.
And you will reap the sweetest nectar of all.
The ecstasy of enlightenment.

I am as colorful as a chameleon.
I am as mercurial as clouds.
I am as acrobatic as an octopus,
Juggling time itself while spraying ink to distract you
From my true purpose:

Love!
In all its forms, shapes and colors.
I am nothing but love.
I sing from the trees.
I shine from the heavens.
I rise from the deepest depths of the ocean.

All for all of you.

It is you who bring me to life.
It is you who will my form out of chaos.
It is you who determine your own destinies.
In concert, in continuum, in saecula saeculorum.

It is to be with you that I come to life.
It is to breathe, to give birth, to stand by as loved ones fall
Before I finally succumb myself,
Once again,
That I rise,
Yet again.

It is my honor, my privilege, my reason for being to accompany you,
On the journey you yourselves have mapped out,
To the great unknown, known as the future,
Where all possibilities could never be made manifest.
That is the meaning of infinity, after all.

And so like an art teacher,
I set up my own easel in the middle of this mess that we call reality,
But which is really just a studio.
And I set to work on my own tiny canvas.
Yes, I know it stretches the length of a football field or two,
But what does size have to do with scale, anyway?

I mix my pigments, and stroke them boldly across the surface stretching out before me.
I have no fear of getting it wrong.
I have no understanding of the word “wrong”.
Nor of “beauty”.
Nor of “value”.
I only understand “process” “energy” “inspiration” “joy”!
I know that I can always blend new colors into a shade that does not suit me.
I know that if I walk away in frustration, I will return the next day in awe of what I could not see the day before.
I know that I always have the option of letting my work dry and painting over it completely,
Leaving future generations to examine it with X-rays and infrared light.
(It keeps them busy.)
I know that there is no deadline for the completion of my masterpiece,
Because I have no need for a public viewing,
At least within my lifetime.
In fact, I doubt that any of my work is ever meant to be appreciated within my lifetime.
That would go to my head.
That would lead me to believe that I had gotten it just right.
That I had created a lasting work meant to set the bar for other would-be artists.
I would believe myself to be a master.
When I know I am the eternal apprentice.
I will never get it “right” because there is no “right”.
I will never reach perfection, because that would be unnatural.
And in that you have an oxymoron.

And so I am content to play with my paint set.
Experimenting with new angles, new perspectives, new compositions, new styles.

Because I know that my composition not only reflects nature,
It brings it into being.

And that is an inspiration to All.

So pick up a paint brush and get to work.
You have a new world to create!
Your inner reality will react with All!
And that will change the world!