Want and value
(Heart and treasure)
Want attaches to value. Which, suddenly, yanks value into time—traps it in a strange exchange we refer to as “future”—all which occurs at various levels of our consciousness simultaneously. But there is also that which exists outside of want (outside of “what I want”) and therefore, outside of time: That which just is.
What do you want?
“Want” is to not have. To be insufficient. But if you, in this moment, are reading these words, then everything that you need for life is available to you right now. The fruit of every tree is yours. Names of beasts—heuristics galore. And acceptance of that which you don’t know. That’s it. There is nothing that you “want” for life (otherwise you would be dead). But we are consumed by desire. By that I mean our present moment—our present existence—the life we are experiencing as we walk to our cars in the cool of the evening is burnt away by desire—by want. By a fear of the future rather than an ease with it. It creates separation from what we experience. It is separation from God. It is disunion. Darkness and fear and want are all connected.
Before the future begins, right now, there is oneness. There is not “other.” There is no “I” and “she.” Of course when there is “I” and “she” that immediately places us on separate islands—which is aloneness. And it is not good for man to be alone. After I finish naming and categorizing and boxing; the last man standing is me. For my left brain, this is even the point. All of the “not me’s” define me. But, again, that means I am alone looking at a bunch of boxes. God says that separateness is not what makes you who you are. It makes you smaller and smaller. It makes you the loneliest island—the loneliest ship at sea. The pre-conscious ceremony in the cosmic garden (our original, our ancestral, home) is making it clear that without our knowledge, before we open our eyes, “she” did not come from “other”— from our naming and separating—“she” came from “me”—“she” is “me.” We are one. This is the entirety of humanity is it not? Or maybe you think the human race can have different starting points—different finish lines? Maybe you would rather believe parallel lines don’t converge in the distance? What do you know? Or wait— maybe you fell from the sky—marooned on an island—a hailstone from a separate strain—a separate Adam—a separate Eve—a separate ancestral home?
No. Look around you. This is flesh of my flesh and bone of my bones. We are one flesh. It is only in desire, in my wanting, in the fall, that there are many islands. Isaiah shouts to all the islands, “God is calling you home!” It is the difference between in, not of the world. One is to be “stranger in a strange land”; and one is to be “wherever your feet touch, it will be home.” One is to build yourself from hacking, taking, and glomming onto yourself what the world says about you—gives you; and one is to build the world from you. While you were asleep God took from you and created humanity. This is my flesh. I will leave my mother and my father and become one.