PROLOGUE
There is a story to tell
but I am the only one here to tell it
and the only one to listen.
There is a picture to paint
but I am the only one here
with canvas and oil,
the only one who will see it.
There is a symphony to play
yet there is only one here
to draw the bow.
This one, the Alone One,
is the only one here to listen.
This is as it should be, however,
for it allows the picture to be painted,
the symphony sounded
and the story told as it truly is.
Then, if there seems an angry word
in the telling,
my Listening will never hear it.
If there seems a distorted scene,
The Seeing I am will understand it,
because one alone is here to listen
to the symphony on this page.
This one, the Only One,
Understands His melody!
but I am the only one here to tell it
and the only one to listen.
There is a picture to paint
but I am the only one here
with canvas and oil,
the only one who will see it.
There is a symphony to play
yet there is only one here
to draw the bow.
This one, the Alone One,
is the only one here to listen.
This is as it should be, however,
for it allows the picture to be painted,
the symphony sounded
and the story told as it truly is.
Then, if there seems an angry word
in the telling,
my Listening will never hear it.
If there seems a distorted scene,
The Seeing I am will understand it,
because one alone is here to listen
to the symphony on this page.
This one, the Only One,
Understands His melody!
✿•*¨`*•.༺♥༻ .•*¨`*•✿
THE HOLY MOUNTAIN
My son,
I said to the woodman,
there is a mountain in my kingdom
from which the universe
may be surveyed as it really is.
I will take you there
as my Father has taken me before.
From the high place
the gates of the Heart are flung open,
the scales drop from the eyes,
the land is seen in its wholeness
and the questions that were asked before
remain silent.
Look! Even now it is before you!
This instant it is here!
Tell me what you see, dear one;
tell me what you hear.
The woodman answered,
I see a high mountain with many plateaus
and a great multitude walking up many paths
that wind long distances toward the top.
On each path a herald is proclaiming
his way the only way,
and on the many plateaus
are many ministers shouting,
"Rest here! View this vista,
the most beautiful of them all!"
Yet there is no happiness there
They curse each other on the different paths
and stand on every plateau
in condemnation
of the higher plateaus.
I hear judgments of those
whose vision is not as wide,
and from the highest plateaus
come the sermons of those
who decry duality and deny it—
in the day they deny,
but in the night, as I,
they still cut wood in their jungle:
they still search the crevasses
for sustenance;
they still stagger through their thickets
and slash.
Tell me, Father.
Which path must I follow?
On which plateau may I rest?
My son,
I answered the woodman,
to climb o'er the ground
from plateau to plateau
is not the way to go.
There is no path on the mountain
that leads all the way to the top
nor a single place where a woodman
may let go his axe.
There is no plateau on any slope
where one may stop contending with opposites;
for to climb o'er the ground from goal to goal
creates the original twoness—
a climber and the goal.
Then how, Counselor?
the woodman asked.
How can I climb the mountain?
How may I reach the throne?
Listen softly,
I said to the woodman,
Listen gently with the heart.
There is no way there but to BE there.
This way soars above the ground,
above the landmarks, above the plateaus,
swiftly, silently, immediately
on wings of Love.
This is how I shall take you there, Beloved—
in an instant
in the twinkling of an eye
on the Wings of the Morning.
Indeed, the Way there is to be there.
Then need you not at each plateau
proclaim it the goal for all
nor whisper longer of those above
or admonish the ones below.
You see, Love is the Key to the mystery.
Love alone sounds the melody
heard at the immortal Height.
Love is the wing that lifts thee there
and there hands thee the scepter.
Love has beckoned Me, thy Comforter,
because you and I are One.
You and I are Love.
Immediately the measured moment ended
and we stood atop our timeless mountain.
My son,
I said to the woodman,
there is a mountain in my kingdom
from which the universe
may be surveyed as it really is.
I will take you there
as my Father has taken me before.
From the high place
the gates of the Heart are flung open,
the scales drop from the eyes,
the land is seen in its wholeness
and the questions that were asked before
remain silent.
Look! Even now it is before you!
This instant it is here!
Tell me what you see, dear one;
tell me what you hear.
The woodman answered,
I see a high mountain with many plateaus
and a great multitude walking up many paths
that wind long distances toward the top.
On each path a herald is proclaiming
his way the only way,
and on the many plateaus
are many ministers shouting,
"Rest here! View this vista,
the most beautiful of them all!"
Yet there is no happiness there
They curse each other on the different paths
and stand on every plateau
in condemnation
of the higher plateaus.
I hear judgments of those
whose vision is not as wide,
and from the highest plateaus
come the sermons of those
who decry duality and deny it—
in the day they deny,
but in the night, as I,
they still cut wood in their jungle:
they still search the crevasses
for sustenance;
they still stagger through their thickets
and slash.
Tell me, Father.
Which path must I follow?
On which plateau may I rest?
My son,
I answered the woodman,
to climb o'er the ground
from plateau to plateau
is not the way to go.
There is no path on the mountain
that leads all the way to the top
nor a single place where a woodman
may let go his axe.
There is no plateau on any slope
where one may stop contending with opposites;
for to climb o'er the ground from goal to goal
creates the original twoness—
a climber and the goal.
Then how, Counselor?
the woodman asked.
How can I climb the mountain?
How may I reach the throne?
Listen softly,
I said to the woodman,
Listen gently with the heart.
There is no way there but to BE there.
This way soars above the ground,
above the landmarks, above the plateaus,
swiftly, silently, immediately
on wings of Love.
This is how I shall take you there, Beloved—
in an instant
in the twinkling of an eye
on the Wings of the Morning.
Indeed, the Way there is to be there.
Then need you not at each plateau
proclaim it the goal for all
nor whisper longer of those above
or admonish the ones below.
You see, Love is the Key to the mystery.
Love alone sounds the melody
heard at the immortal Height.
Love is the wing that lifts thee there
and there hands thee the scepter.
Love has beckoned Me, thy Comforter,
because you and I are One.
You and I are Love.
Immediately the measured moment ended
and we stood atop our timeless mountain.
✿•*¨`*•.༺♥༻ .•*¨`*•✿
excerpt from
The Melody of the Woodcutter and the King
An Account Of An Awakening
by William Samuel (1924-1996)
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