Observing Reincarnation - Prose

Observing Reincarnation

Consider with me this morning

This moment
In your mind’s eye:

A still, misty mountain lake
We are there
You and I
Only as observers
Not even as bodies…
We are Aware of one another’s Presence

We are there together

Not sitting on the bank

For that implies

Bodies

Remember

We are there
Only as Observers.

There is a tree on the bank of this lake
A willow
It has been there for a very long time
It’s trunk is gnarled
Its roots clutch perilously
But with solid firmness to
The sweet Earth

That gives it sustenance.

This willow has a beautiful, full canopy of leaves

That hang over the waters of the still lake this morning
And the mists

Rise off the lake

With the coming sun.

Can you see this?

The sun is a perfect orb

We can actually look at it
The mist is so thick
As it rises towards the clearing sky

As the sun rises higher, so does the mist.

We, as observers, situate ourselves

Under the tree
Hovering over the water

As we have no bodies
(We are only observers)
We can look close up
At some of the particles of mist
That are ascending
Rising up towards the leaves
The leaves of the ancient willow
That hang over the water
Of our still mountain lake. 

You see me
And I see you
And we smile
At one another
Floating here
And then return our attention
To the mists.

We observe that
The particles of mist that once seemed identical

Are really very different

On a subatomic level

And this makes all the difference;
It makes each one
And individual portion
A small particle
Of the whole
The Whole Lake
That with the rising sun

Gives each particle its birth.  

You and I pick one

One tiny particle
A tiny Being of mist
That has just now
Been released
From the crystalline waters

By the encouraging warmth

Of the rising sun

We smile at one another again

As the observing parts of ourselves
Hover over the water

“It’s like watching a birth,” you say in amazement
“It is,” I agree with a reverent whisper.

The particle of mist rises
With constant speed
Not in a hurry
But progressing on this windless morning
Towards the leaves
Of the overhanging ancient willow.

With some grace
And some collision
The particle of mist we are watching
Stops on one leaf
One tiny, emerging vessel
Of one branch
Of the great tree.

It stays there
Resting comfortably
Home, for now.

You and I return our gaze

And ourselves
Back down to the water

We see other particles of mist that rise

Some go higher, into other leaves
Others rise still higher
And become part of the air itself

But we also see others that
With some grace
And some collision
Merge with
Our original particle of mist.

With wonder
We see that original particle

Appear to begin to grow.

The leaf

That is holding this communion

This gathering

This commune of individual mists

Begins to bow

Towards the lake

Under their weight.

“Did you hear that?”

You say to me in wonder.

“Was that laughter?”

I say in amazement.

It was!

It seems that the coagulated mists

Just moved

And as they did

They laughed

Like we remember laughing

On roller coasters

On snow

On water

In our bodies-

So we understand

That kind of joy.

Where are they going,

This little pool of coagulated mists
That now form a drop?

Approaching the edge of the leaf

(That bends with increasing attitude
Towards the water)
The drop laughs
With anticipation!

And...

Finally…

The Drop lets go!

As it falls through the air
It is another thing entirely.
It is no longer a commune of mists
It is now a Drop
Apart from the leaf
Apart from the water
Of the Great Pristine Lake.

Even as it falls,
Weighted through the air
Through the other rising mists
It is whole
With physical boundaries
A New Thing
Definable

Able, with others

To quench thirst

To nourish plants

To wash wounds

To reflect light

Like diamonds,
Laughing as it falls!

And as we watch
In awe

This process
We see
The lake open

And with a crown receive

The Mists

The Drop

Back home

To merge once again

With itself

The Great Whole.

Joy is in your eyes

And adventure

I see that yours are eyes
Of a three-year old child
At the bottom of a slide.

Simultaneously
You and the original particle-
The tiny particle of mist that we at first observed
Speak from your deepest, happiest, most joyous selves:

“Let’s do that again!”

--Eric Marley

July 2012