Come said the muse,
Sing me a song that no poet has chanted
Sing me the universal.
In this broad earth of ours,
Amid the measureless grossness and the slag,
Enclosed and safe within it,s central heart
Nestles the seed of perfection
By every life a share or more or less,
None born but it is born, conceal’d the seed is. – Walt Whitman
It seems that today in our modern world there is much to divert of us from the experience of being. There was a time when it was an everyday occurrence for most to contemplate the bigger picture and questions of existence. We are in truth inseparable from all that we perceive to be separate from us. In that moment of silent contemplation there is that awareness. We can realize the limitations of all that we have come to believe and have developed and created in our striving to influence and alter our environment as an aid to our sense of security and insurance of our existence.
John Daido Laurie writes that ” In the cold dark shelters of our primitive ancestors, lit only by the flickering of campfire, at days end there was a time for recollection and stillness that would help to fuel the next days events. Since the beginning of time the still point has served as the birthplace of all our activity.”