Every once in a while, the imaginary separate self snags on a trigger that life offers, and hauls me in, just like a hooked trout bucking on the end of the line. I’m having one of those days.

The snag has its own beauty, no doubt. It is made of awareness too. But the snag isn’t the deepest truth, and that’s hard for me to surrender at a moment like this.

Awareness, the nearest, the dearest friend (different than my best friend–that’s my husband!) welcomes all that shows up. Steady, at ease, never bewildered, it remains the ground–the essence–of all. That’s the deeper truth. I am unable to write the deepest truth, because that remains always and forever beyond words.

Nearest, dearest friend, lose the “me” and carry the rest home.

© Amrita Skye Blaine, 2012