FootprintsintheWind.com

The veil that the two of you hold up in common may be of dust; did you miss that as well it may be of fire? Searing away dross—and it burns your fingers to poke?

:- Doug.

Meet the person where they are most alive. Go to this meeting empty and pregnant—carrying a child of rainbows.

:- Doug.

You may want to prepare the way for those coming next and next—I did so want.

:- Doug.

In goals is guile.

:- Doug.

Footprints in the Wind^sm # 2511

The sweetness of this planet, O!

Please pass it on.

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Unbelievable lightness of being dark—this I experienced in hospital.

:- Doug.

As we enter this hot chocolate we disappear—you, I, us. If only for an instant. At a time. We approach the narrowing as of an hourglass, little expecting it to open to a wider world on the other side—wider and brilliantly dark.

:- Doug.

In hospital I found myself slipping into a dark garment that felt comforting, as well as brilliant. This is my day. And it stays. And I am heartened.

:- Doug.

Time is effort.

:- Doug.

We should be willing to let the physical hot chocolate grow cold as the other hot chocolate sucks us into mystery, as we slip into its cone of presence. Trust this radical silence of voice and soul and essence. Trust the empty space and the longer now.

:- Doug.

Desire for knowledge, e.g. when I search the Web: that is called curiosity.

:- Doug.

Let friend be nothing for a long spell—a whole time together.

:- Doug.

You have an image of your friend—it is largely untrue or imagined—to find where, lose all images.

:- Doug.

Savor this mystery—our friend is our mystery

:- Doug.

Consider conversation-as-medicine.

:- Doug.

Consider conversation-as-meditation.

:- Doug.

One thing is sure: you will find other ways.

:- Doug.

Each is inside the other and neither knows which.

:- Doug.

Dark is when we fear losing ourselves in this conversation. But to lose oneself is to find our friend, and to lose ourselves, even our together, is to find something inestimable.

:- Doug.

Not knowing is a track of one.

:- Doug.

We are surprised when a dog hears us before we speak, when a person hears us before we speak, but each happens—probably to you, too. So why our surprise? Both the surprise at being heard, and your own speaking another’s mind are commonplaces. They are ways two pronounce us one.

:- Doug.

Maybe the other light is utter absence—sitting far away.

:- Doug.

What are the possible ways to be one?—Am I you or me?—Remind me now. Why is it so dark—on this other side of light? What is the question a dying woman asks about this other side of light—this other light?

:- Doug.