Chuck Surface - The rose unseen

 THE ROSE UNSEEN

I find it difficult to discard,

Plants which are near to death,

Fading, whatever the cause may be,

For I, too, was once near death,

Saved only by the Beloved Gardener.

The legalists, the jurists of religion,

Would have tossed my Soul aside,

Onto the heap of the irredeemable,

Deeming further care a waste of Water,

My Being far too ravaged by Drought.

But a Loving Eye fell upon me,

And a Heart of Grace was moved,

To Embrace, with Merciful Hands,

The starving root and withered branch,

Of my near breathless Soul.

Twas the Beautiful One who moved me,

From the broken pot of my self,

And placed me into the Ground of Being,

In the Secret Garden of Her Heart,

Tending me there, with Living Waters.

These days, though that which is visible,

Appears to wilt and wither with age,

Within, beyond the touch of time,

A Rose, unseen, is ever in Bloom,

Surrounding me with Her Perfume.

I find it difficult to discard,

Those encountered along The Way,

In whom root and branch are suffering,

And hold them in Prayerful Affection,

For I, too, would be discarded…

Were it not for the Beloved Gardener.

https://www.gardenofthebeloved.com/index.html 

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Michael Markham - The "I am"

 

 The "I am" is the gravitational center around which all objectified thought turns. It is not a thought among thoughts but the still point that lets thoughts appear to move, the fixed star every mental orbit is measured against.
Nothing enters awareness unfiltered. Every perception, every idea, every fact bends toward this center, is caught in its field, and comes out reframed as mine, as known-by-me. The self is not a passive witness to information; it is a gravity well that curves all incoming light into its own shape.
And this center does not hold still. It feeds on what falls into it. Each experience it bends becomes part of its mass, thickening the field, deepening the orbit, so that the "I" of tomorrow is denser, more elaborate, more convinced of itself than the "I" of today, an ever-expanding self-referential program, endlessly compiling itself out of its own outputs.
So what you call the universe and what I call the universe are not the same universe at all. Each of us stands at the center of a private gravitational field, and everything we perceive is already bent by the time it reaches us. There is no neutral cosmos we both simply observe, only a youniverse, curved uniquely around each "I am," each of us mistaking our own gravity for the shape of reality itself

 

 

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