Too Much
L
It’s a beautiful thing when the self drops away, and life opens up. It’s almost too much. Have you ever been in love with someone or something, and sometimes it’s just too much? You feel like you might explode? Or like you’re falling into empty space, and you’re afraid, but it’s OK that you’re afraid, it’s beautiful that you’re afraid.
Sitting on our deck this morning, facing the mountains, and looking up at an uninterrupted California blue sky. The cooing of a mourning dove, the chirping of birds, and an airplane passing overhead. There is a big tree across the road that, for several months a year, appears to be barren and dead. Today, however, it is full of new leaves, and there is a mockingbird up there, doing his thing, back for another day of courting.
It is a beautiful morning, and you are empty, and you can say, without a doubt, that to be empty is to be in love. It is to know that there is nothing to know, and nothing to hold onto, and yet something in you knows that this emptiness is the fulfillment of your deepest desire. You are falling in love with life as it is, warts and all, and it’s almost too much.
I look forward to your column. Here's a little quote:
That is what allows the ease of its harmony to open so completely, without loss in any exchange, what keeps it flowing on day and night without cease, joining in everywhere as the springtime of each being. Connecting with each thisness, the rightness of whatever is here now, the life-giving season continually comes to arise in one’s own mind. This is what is called
Zhuangzi. Zhuangzi: The Complete Writings (p. 49). Hackett Publishing Company, Inc.. Kindle Edition.
Yes!