The Breath of the Eternal - Sedona 2019

“At whose behest does the mind think? Who bids the body live? Who makes the tongue speak?”

I sense the breath of the eternal in the sound of the high mountain winds blowing through the prayer flags atop Amitabaha Stupa in Sedona Arizona giving voice to the prayers of the wind.

The breath of the eternal; contemplate the eternal and become the eternal, but the alchemist requires a speck of gold to make gold. I wonder if that speck is the Holy part of the Holy Ghost?

My contemplation of the eternal changes with time—the wine and the wine glass are not the same—the postman only delivers the check, but doesn’t send it…

Along a rugged mountain trail near Monterrey Canyon Infinity stands on his one leg and plays his flute. His music sings through the mountains and the canyon for all to hear.  

You know, Infinity and the Infinite are not the same, the Ancient One reminds us of that. Infinity exists on the support of the Infinite, but the Infinite is independent of Infinity— the wine and the wine glass are not the same—Gurdjieff cautioned us, “Never mistake the one for the other!” Infinity stands on the rim of the canyon—his stance is firm, he does not waver—balance is all about alignment with the center of the earth—I wonder, with what center does the earth align?

Funny how the mind works—finds the connection between this moment and the Summer of Love. It was a time of innocence; Joplin, Hendrix, Otis, Ravi Shankar, all aligned with eternal timeless consciousness—but the wineglass is not the wine and innocence must die to be reborn as conscious innocence. Conscious innocence, I think Ravi had it then; his innocence was achieved through the discipline of his music, no accident that he was the closing act of the festival. Now time has claimed him as well; “Death is a camel that lies down at every door.”

There is a secret garden in Sedona. It’s hidden in plain sight. The music of Patrick Ki emanates from the garden as we pass by—naturally attracted to both music and gardens, my beloved and I step in. Patrick has such a nice feel for the music, and he understands his role; he enhances the atmosphere of the garden and the experience of its visitors—much like Infinity, though Patrick has two legs to stand on—but appearances are often deceiving.

The Infinite is independent of Infinity— the wine and the wine glass are not the same. Prayers flags fray and fall, but the wind, the breath of the eternal, continues to blow, as my beloved and I find our place among a handful of wayfarers drawn to the top of a  mesa to experience—each in their own way—the magic of a Sedona sunset.

Back home, I step out on the four by four that someone laid across the little stream in front of our house. It’s really more about attention than balance— if you keep your feet on the middle of the board—but, of course, the mind  always stays busy, likes to be in charge, and likes to play tricks. Rumi once said, “The mind is a great and a wondrous thing, that can lead you to the abode of the Beloved, but then, like shoes at a Holy place, must be removed and left at the door.”

I can still see the cyclists deftly navigating the trails around the rim of Boynton Canyon—trails sometimes as narrow as, but far more difficult, then the little four by four over the stream by my house.  I cannot imagine how they do it, as Kabir said, “If you have not experienced it, it is not (yet) true.”  But I did learn a lot about walking rugged trails on this trip—a lot about trust and letting the trail tell me where to place my next step. I think that’s how the cyclists do it…

    

                                                                                                            © copyright, Michael Kovitz, 2019