Betting for the loving game of Creation, is a priority


Precipitously, in haste, judgements are made, convictions are handed down... and punishments are established. "Precipitously".

Like an unbridled desperation, the desire to achieve, to attain, to have, to possess, to culminate... becomes selfish fundamentalism that devours itself if it does not achieve its aims.

The species lives in a whirlwind of haste... And, as the saying goes -"haste-hurries"-, they remain in haste, and projects, ideas, proposals... are easily swept away by... by others who come along, as if time were the devourer of resources.

The bare minimum calmness cannot be found... It is lost between the cracks of haste... It slips away between the obsessions of demands...

It falls asleep in any corner...

And thus, the being is consumed like an ember... anxious!, anxious to end, to become ashes, and not to be an ardent trunk, latent, permanent, consistent warm!... and constantly... ardent, passionate and devoted!

In this whirlwind of airy volcanoes, of furious hurricanes that news after news, propaganda after propaganda harasses us, we harass ourselves! Because it is the currency of value, to achieve the highest profitability and the best resources in the least amount of time.

Is there room -in that whirlwind of winds, of hurricanes- is there room for... feeling lost, hopelessly pleased in the Universe, in Creation, in the contemplation of the restless petal of evanescent colour, but impossible to paint...?

Is there room for a quiet caress, to lose oneself in time…? And so, discover oneself in a welcoming environment, a haven of relaxation, of exceptionality!

They tell us, the experts -and there are so many of them, in all disciplines-... they tell us that outside of here, outside of this place of the Universe, chaos, collisions, explosions, voids, extractions... despair rages outside our limits!

We are told that we are a privilege, within this welter of forces and battles between stars, galaxies and comets.

If indeed it is so... the haven of this place of the Universe is the warm refuge of life.

Are we in the warm haven of life, within the Universe... more or less unknown...? Or, has the human species gestated this model of "wise men" who affirm that outside is chaos, disorder, drama... and, consequently, the species behaves that way? In which case, it is not the haven of Life's satisfaction.

Could it be then that we are reproducing this precipitous chaos? And could it be that Creation... has made a mistake with us? Or not: it has got it right, but... it has gestated an original event called "life", but with the same characteristics of destruction, of warfare, of confrontation, of precipitating...

The Creator Mystery, that embraces any theory, over any human wisdom and behaviour, calls us to make of living a pleasurable task. But not a task of defect, of burden, of abuse... but a task of use, of pleasurable surrender, becoming aware and making active memory... of those instants, moments, times... in which the being is bosom, a caress, a soul that is cherished and loved.

The complaint, the latent complaint of timelessness... is like a whirlwind leading to a drain.

It is the slavery of productivity, of personal profit, of the fulfilled objective.

Will it be, will it be necessary to create a design of Creative Mystery that frees us from the slavery of the performance of time...?

And it is quite true that, when the being goes to pray, there is something more than time. There is the conjunction of breaths: the personal micro breath of the need to experience the adventure of living, and the Great Breath... that pushes us, lifts us up, inspires us, makes us creative, enlightens us!

There is no reason that explains going to pray, listening... to listen with consent; "to listen with consent", which is to accept the word, to assume its meaning and to feel it as one's own! Because the word belongs to each being and to everyone at the same time.

The intense struggle to get to everything!, to have everything, to be omnipresent and omnipotent, is not only exhausting and ends up being demotivating, but also chases away the hope of a planned creativity, without achievements or goals or aims... But of a shared, dedicated... and recursive being, that knows how to prioritise responsibilities. And consequently, if it knows how to prioritise responsibilities, there is no loss for something that has not been done or for something that has not been achieved... Because, in this priority, the being gives itself, gives itself, commits itself to its environment, to its ideal, to its supply and demand... that consciously lives in daily life.

Perhaps that is why... whatever religiosity, spirituality, philosophy, mental, training, animism, that is felt!, that man as a species generates, makes priorities, priorities, priorities: "And thou shalt love the Eternal with all thy intention... passion... and disposition".

After this priority, come the social, cultural, daily coordinates, which... and this is not to say that they are of a lesser degree, neither are they "de-prioritised", no; they are small priorities that aremust be under the cover of the priority of priorities.

If the priority is to love, and in it I cultivate myself... I don't need to ask myself whether I can steal or not, whether I can kill or not.

Priority is the distillation of the being, of being a lover of the lived Creation, of the souled life! that spills over into all other activities, into all other positions.

When we are in it, when we are in it, when we are in it, inconveniences, divergences, disputes, prejudices and hasty outcomes... cease to occur. The position is modified. Because, in the priority... priority is given to conjunction, harmony, collaboration and empathy.

But it happens -it is true-... that this priority of preference usually remains in theory, and immediately the incisive reason of the saw enters -"the incisive reason of the saw comes in"- and says: "But in practice... but in practice...".

What are we in living: a practice...? Are we practitioners or poets?  

If we are poets, we give practice a light joyful tune… without it preoccupying all our attention, for the priority is on that Creative Mystery.

The actions are proposed without the halo of the verse that is seen, that is contemplated, that is unexpectedly inspired. And in this situation, only reason convinces us. It distances us from verse, from imagination, from fantasy... It prevents us from the latent song that gives permanent thanks.

Does not the seed appear... in a non-existent manner? As if it were inert. And isn't it certain, that a stem suddenly emerges? Isn't it evident that the leaf opens as a sign of thanks... and that the flower becomes an eternal youth that augurs permanent fruit? And we don't have time to see it: it surprises us. No hurry...

And it becomes a stem and it becomes a trunk... and it becomes a tree and it becomes a shade... and it becomes "permanent".

Is it not true that the swaying of the waves is always different, that the arrival on the shore has always a different kind of foam, reminiscent of curls of hair… celestial?

Is it not true that the swaying of the waves remains in its basin, and preserves      -unseen, mysteriously- within it a life of incredible, unfathomable variables, as if the stars had fallen and become squid, coloured fish, seaweed...?

And the swaying of LOVE becomes permanent. And three-quarter parts of our place of residence are permanently... -"permanently"- rocked by the Loving of Creative Love. And from that rocking basin, the tree is also rocked by the subtle or... vertiginous wind.

We are rocked without realising it, and it is time to notice it! "We are rocked without realising it, and it is time to notice it", to feel ourselves in the Creator's Refuge, to feel ourselves in a permanent LOVING DAWN and thus to prioritise Being... with the smile of the permanent new-born. "With the smile of the permanent new-born".

It does not need time, the tide, to rise and fall. It does not count on time, the seed, to sprout. It does not make the air temporary, but permanent... that awakens us to breathe.

It doesn't need a hasty time…, but the right pace. Why gasp when at rest? Why speed up when you are still seated? Why not settle in the given priority moment and make of it a Universe?... An unusual universe that has neither "before" nor "after", that doesn't think about how little it will last or how long it will be... but that knows how to be, knows how to culminate.

But, of course, when the proposal is voracious, profitable and productive, there is no time or place. The reign of haste becomes omnipotent. The rhythm of priorities vanishes.

That priority; that priority which in prayer is incarnated through the word, which reveals to us the origins and developments of our dwellings, of our stays, which we must take care not to contaminate.

Because Love is particularly sensitive... and can be contaminated with "substitutes"... with excipients... and make it seem as if a drug or a remedy has relegated it to second place by preservatives... in short, substitutes for the priority, which becomes sterile, which becomes inoperative. Because what should take care of it is being substituted. 

The Art of Loving, in the creative being and feeling, admits no competition; it admits no substitution or interference.

If allowed, they enter into permanent competition... and herald deterioration.

Betting for the loving game of Creation, with Mystery, without the subdued       -"without the subdued"- and subduing haste of "without-time"... is a priority.

If not, speed will consume you. You will be waste particles.

Loving is not a conquest. It is... recognition of ourselves in a Creation that sustains us, that rocks us, that encourages us! And this is a priority in our consciousness.

And it spills over into everything.

No competition is allowed.






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