Maybe it's the time.
A window within a day when some say that God rested, and when the human tries to do it too, at least for a short while.
Maybe it's the place.
Maybe it's the music.
Maybe it's the space.
Any space and place to rest and touch and be touched and open up to it all.
I could be now in a room, a special room. A room that flows across dimensions and timelines and where anything is possible. A place where I am teasing my human self with the kind of experience that twirls my insides and crawls naughty thoughts across my naked body. The body which shudders and submissively wakes up in emotions of remembrance and anticipation of things yet to come, or were supposed to come but never came.
Until now, until in this moments of intimacy.
Moments when I can feel how all of me is longing for the journey of orgasm as an expression of self love. As a temporary escape from the shackles of humanity into the brief rush of the highest wave that would carry me the furthest away from the love and pull of Gaia, only so I could crash again in her unconditional embrace.
A flying angel, but no less a fallen one, with wings that clipped themselves in the fire of longing for ascension.
But I am not here to be naughty, as all of us here are no more the kids sneaking around and clumsily hiding in plain sight the fireworks of sensuality coming over us from everywhere, boiling inside us and spilling outside of us with temporary release. All maybe happening within games we play and never really win and never really end. We are no more the ones held in detention, or under all sorts of moral chastities. Nothing to hold us down anymore, bound to abstract choices of morality and duality which would supersede our essence and our freedom.
Today, I wash away all of this dirty city and the mundane do's and don'ts and everybody else off my mind, off my body, off my everything. Right now I am showering off all the noise and tension held within the daily grind and grime of human drama and tasks and needs and patterns which stop far away of feeding and feeling the soul.
Today I dive and flow in the infinite ponds of music.
The music for which angels have embodied just to hear its pull and push and embrace and shouts and whispers of alchemy to all of the human senses.
The bass enters the stage and sings like a choir of sirens, which instead of waiting me to jump into the sea and fall into their spell, are boarding my ship like pirates hunting for the treasures I am not yet aware I carry.
And each bass note enters a core of me, with relentless vibrations that shake down all the mass consciousness glued tirelessly on me, myself and I, while all of me has been running along each day through the grind of it all. Down and away they fall, all of those limits, needs, wants, pettiness, numbness, stereotypes and patterns rising again and again from the beautiful but so unbalanced tango of brain, mind, body and soul.
We can choose the music that plays in remembrance that we are here to be sensual. That we are here to be real.
Yet even now the mind need its assurance that this choice it's not fake, that it rests its bid and odds on the real and right one. So it shouts back one last falling cry across this stream of letting go, which is putting it into sleep - Hey, waita justa minute... How do we know... how... real... ... looks............ like?
Maybe, just maybe, Real is the place where you open up to experience, and the experience opens up to you, and all of you goes on an unexpected journey of senses and experience. But is it all a self reinforcing loop, or is it more of a spiral into discovery?
Yet just before all would crumble down into analysis paralysis, the mind surrenders, in silent mantras of release. Who cares, just let it go, let it flow, let it now.
Thoughts die down, and the mind becomes ultimately aware of is how tired it is of trying to put a frame and a hold against this river of essence and beingness. It brutally strips all of its thoughts, as its last thought in front of its raw nakedness is that it's going right next door to Nirvana.
That's the closest match it knows for this place and space and destination, unknowingly that this time the destination is the journey itself.
In submission to it all, it does not even wait for anything anymore. It just stands, witness of stillness and of a creator in pure and sovereign beingness.
The music embraces and enraptures any and all and the last of the human senses, while the human surrenders. Surrenders himself with deep breaths of release and abandonment into the experience of now. The now where the music plays and where the bass takes me, all of me, in streams of tremolo, turning all the tensions into infinite flowing strings of vibrating sensations. It works like a symphony of magic hands massaging rocks of earthly tension and releasing my true self into ethereal waves of expression and celebration and joy.
Later on, the bass submits to the drums.
And the drums come pounding.
Hit, Boom, Blow!
Smash, ripple, ripple, ripple, flow!
The drums march through my all, sculpting hard pillars of sound to which I momentarily grab and unconsciously try to hold on to, while the bass keeps on melting me away relentlessly. Each beat seems to manifest a solid rock of reference, which only turns into invisible sand as the next beat comes in and leaves me puzzled how I cannot seem to get a grip on any of them. While I flow... or I fly... or I travel through it all, or all of it unravels through me.
All of this holding on is pointless though, as the river of flowing beats sweeps me away immediately towards another shore for me to flow upon, to stretch and melt into pure bliss.
Some have called it, and all of this, Nirvana. Nirvana....
Nirvana. Never. Opens. The. Door.
Nirvana never opens the door when it comes.
It just smashes through it all.
Smashes through all of the doors, walls, layers, shells and spells.
Hit, Boom, Blow!
Smash, ripple, ripple, ripple, flow!
And you might just lose any notion of space and spatiality and linear coordinates where your mind and ego and human self thought they needed to be confined into. Confined tight enough so they could relate, associate, differentiate and process. Confined where they could work their obsolete mechanics again and again, in a rat race of so called personal development. Confined where they would be preaching the law of neverending incremental steps, in itself just a twisted replica of the timeless fountains of creation and expression.
The last thing the mind remembers is how it tries to process if Nirvana is entering you, or is it erupting from somewhere deep inside you, or is it actually releasing you from all of your humanity of thoughts and senses, wide into larger and larger waves of your infinite body of consciousness.
And Nirvana... Nirvana is just Home. When all of you stands unleashed in a symphony of experience and expression, of sensuality and divinity, carving the rainbow of I Am That I Am upon your stone of human lifetimes.
Thank you, Boggie, for sharing with us.