I wanted to share a poem that came to me.
There was once a brilliant creator. He loved to make castles from sand. It was pure contentment to sit there with limitless resources and manifest the beauty from nothing. The act of creating was enjoyable on so many levels. He loved the variety of what was made. Big castles. Small castles. Intricate castles. Simple castles. It was heavenly for him. And that wasn’t even the best part. What really brought him such joy was after the construction was finished, after the creativity flowed through him and brought brilliance out of nothing, after all could see with admiration the splendor of creation that now was,
after this, the brilliant creator got to destroy it.
He reveled in the first mighty blow that caused the sand structure to explode from the impact. It was exhilarating to follow the right hands blow with the left hand’s smash. The giddiness of then standing up and coming down on top of the creation and smashing it until it was no longer recognizable. Smash. Thud. Wack.
And then, once leveled, what is left to be done?
Should there be a time of mourning for this beautiful creation now gone from existence? Does the creator wallow in sorrow that he no longer has this form to cherish and love? Will this manifestor shrink back thinking that his creation days are over and past? That now it is too late for him? Too late for the beauty that was lost? Is the creator finished?
The beloved is smashed, but that creation was not real, only that which can not be smashed is real. That thing of beauty was made to fall apart. Manifestation came forth from the mighty tide of Love Itself and with the same in-flow comes the out-flow. The tide goes out and all that came with it goes as well. Creator is not done. There is always a new beginning. How so? Well creator has a secret. This secret is the secret to his abounding love for what he does. The secret is that the creation is not separate from the creator. The form’s life is the creators life. There is no castle without the life force of the creator. Without this life it is just piles of sand that fade into nothing.
The creation might be gone and different but the fabric of reality that it is built on remains. The creator remains. This backdrop remains as the creator tries again, not out of the need to fix, but from the joy to bring forth ever changing, every sparkling, every brilliant new expression of life. As he works you can see the life giving source stuff flowing from his every movement, his every pour.
As life pours forth and awareness increases it is sensed in the crashing down of form, and in the rising back up, and in the deteriorating down again. All the while life, the vibrating love fabric of existence sparkles and invigorates and draws and pursues and circles and envelopes.
There is no broken creation for this creator.
He is the creation.
He loves the creation.
All of it.
All of it.
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