I think that ‘contemplation’ is almost a lost art form. A remnant of the past where people simply lived differently. Versus the sped up frames of this movie called Life, that we live in now. The digital times where bits and pieces are removed, with only the shell of truth remaining, so that in its viewing you can easily write your own script. The one that suits you like a second skin, remaining unwashed and reeking, because removing it would make you vulnerable, uncomfortable and alone in your own thoughts—and responsible for living your own life in a truly authentic and enriching way.
Contemplation brings us back to ourselves. An analog manner of traversing through this beautiful life we’ve been given, connected to the unending and variable electrical signal from infinite Source that connects us all. And that has the ability to unify us as it calls us home to our true selves, and divine nature.
I ran across this description of ‘analog’:
// “Your speakers are analog technology in all its nearly century-old glory. As the speakers get their signals from the cables, the drivers vibrate in a continual state of flux as the changing analog signals are fed to them. The drivers are presenting an analogy of what came from the original source, even if the source started off digital, such as a CD.” — Ron Goldberg //
Equating it to this physical life, I consider the original source to be the Infinite Source of all that exists—God, Creator, or whatever term you choose to use, or belief you choose to wrap around the concept. They all work their magic in different ways, feeding and fueling and fortifying us on the path forward.
The key is to be able to look at yourself in the mirror, to contemplate and live your life in the best way possible, and be able to always say, “I will take you, and I will love you, again”, no matter what happens.
This is one of my favorite poems. And it doesn’t have to be focused upon grief. You can plug in any word that applies.
“The thing is
to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you've held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.”
"The Thing Is" by Ellen Bass, from Mules of Love.
