The Confessional

Here I am again at the peripatetic confessional.

I come here when someone has harshed my mellow.

I come here to dream.

I come here when my dreams have departed and there is no place else to go.

I come here for emancipation.

I come here for any semblance of a lifeline.

I am here today to try to piece together a life that has fallen apart like some diaphanous jigsaw puzzle that has tempted gravity and the table’s edge once too often.

I sequester myself, trying to assimilate wisdom from above, and search for a new adhesive for the parts still intact. To me, the allure of this alfresco milieu is intense.

The confessional is imbued with an osmotic apparatus that is available to anyone. The mysterious, transcendental mechanism automatically begins when someone arrives. Immediately the tacit appurtenances of the surroundings begin to permeate. First, comes the breeze with its concomitant salutary odors. Next, the periodic melody brought by the ocean’s susurration of water voices infuses the olfactory void. The penultimate is an empyreal feeling of the infinite that the ocean portends, which coalesces all the senses.

The fact remains, however, that trying to gain access to a bank vault by randomly guessing its six number combination resembles exactly wandering on a beach to gain access to the infinite.

Finally, the nascent osmosis tries to attain life. The osmotic device tries to supplant my concentration of grief and turmoil by downloading to me its greater concentration of purity and wisdom.

Ah! Wisdom cometh, everything is solved; everyone is happy – not quite.

Wisdom cometh not, nothing is solved and no one is happier.

What is the problem?

Memories of past failures bring answers.

The wisdom of the universe is untrodden, but not totally inaccessible.

The wisdom was hindered because the ultimate Giver was approached with interpretations, my interpretations – of everything.

I started off ‘confessing’ why things are the way they are, the causes, the remedies needed – all from my perspective. I didn’t want answers – I wanted an ear, any ear to listen to what I already ‘knew’.

Later, I remembered that answers came in the past when I purged myself of what I ‘knew’. I then emptied myself of my determinations and self-expectations and became happy and content enough to realize, as Einstein once

said, “We don’t know one tenth of one percent about anything”. I became a true supplicant.

Relaxation came. The breeze, the soothing surf sounds and the sense of the infinite was captured in the moment. I took the time to become totally unwound. I felt that elusive, ultimate peace over take me. That magical, ananda-like dream world was here once again!

Glimpses of what my true dreams should be began appearing along with crystal clear answers to my most complex questions.

My reverie in that immaculate moment was – penetrated by a voice.

“Claire, honey, gather up your bucket, shovel and your yellow-ducky inner tube, it’s time to go. Maybe we can come back and see the sunset after your nap”, Daddy said, as he was reloading the cooler.

As I began my grand assemblage I kept having one recursive thought, “It must be cathartic to be a grownup.”

Published by Kumi

Liaison to the Infinite.

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