Imagined Borders

Imagined borders:

The imagined border of myself - that I end where my skin meets the world, being held within a mindscape of reality, separated from deep intimacy of life. Yet every border is a touch of made up sides, labels given to divide but always joined as true territory of existence. It's never not one thing only. My own imagined border, and this too is a touch of one thing - from earth giving of its dust and water for my body's creation, to air so constant in the lightness of its press that there is little thought offered to its presence. But deeper still this intimacy, because truly what I'm shown to be is mostly space, and in this I serve in noble capacity to hold, an embrace of the fragility of appearance, given tenderly in recognition that this too, my own self appearing now, is simply temporary form gathered from the infinite particles of the moment. Imagined border falls. 

Real intimacy, for me, is seeing both formless reality, my own vastness, along and without break or pause - my own intense humanness, reality in smaller form, vulnerable to the whims of life's fancy and my own believed faults and failures. It's not even a paradox. Once seen there is no doubt of it all belonging, that is not two thing but simply the seamless flow of one existence. There's nothing more to do from here but relax, and watch the borders fall. 

Peace,

Eric