The hidden wealth of secret places; the treasures of darkness . . .

PROLOGUE      

ANOTHER KIND OF MINING               

I THINK WE PASS through life mostly half blind; not seeing the loveliness in the things near us we walk empty and what we are looking for remains always future and beyond us.

True, we dig for what we know of inner treasure, but finding so little of it we think not to go further and mine for that which we seek, right where we are. For we walk through life in the deep ruts of a cart track, locked into a treadmill of thoughts which revolve round themselves endlessly and don’t escape to discover new things. Along this rooted path of thinking, we are on the same plane and scale as if we thought that visiting a real gemstone mine would provide us precious jewels handed out on a plate. Forgetting how hard and long and tedious is the work of excavating choice minerals and gems from the dark ore of a gigantic mine.

   We have become conditioned to things being instant and easy; but just as there is work in the retrieving of a miner’s bounty, so there is for us, though it be of an entirely different nature. For mining can be along other lines than in ‘rock,’ and the excavating of satisfying gems, from the rich ore of the things which are within our reach; even the living wisdom . . . the hidden gems . . . locked within the rich layers of the things we see every day, all so familiar to us we don’t even notice them.

   The profits of these two kinds of mining are essentially the same. Except one makes us rich on the outside and the other rich on the inside; and though the digging work in both seems so different, again, they are essentially the same. Except one will make our physical muscles strong and the other our personal ones: our inner spiritual muscles; those which shape us into the person whom we are.

   And as the work in a flash of illumination, making truth clear to you in the instant is more energizing and life-giving to your inner eyes than the flash of a beautiful gemstone to your outer eyes, so is inside mining more truly enriching than the outer kind.

   And the work: The opening up of your heart the deep mine inside you.

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from:  A CIRCLE OF SWIFT SONGS; A Circlet of Inner-Life Stories

Story 31.) Living on Another Plane of Life . . .

...from my new book:  A Circle of Swift Songs:

A Circlet of Inner Life Stories...  

A LONG, STEEP, UNSWEPT driveway with two hairpin bends in it, makes for a slow walk down it. It is slippery after rain; from long decayed leaves turned into earth. But because of walking slowly, I saw more. Near the bottom of the drive a sparrow suddenly flew up from beside me, carrying a thread-like strand of dry grass. I followed its flight. I saw it was making its nest in a tall rimu tree above the workshop at the end of the driveway. As I watched, the sparrow dropped the thread. I was fascinated: for he peered down, looking almost as if he were surprised and sad, at his loss. 

   My heart cried out to him, ‘We’re same! Oh, don’t be sad! Our ‘house,’ it will be built! We won’t stay perplexed!’ 

   The sun broke through the rain clouds: I knew there would soon be a new patch of serendipity blue to this heavenly walk here on earth that was all a gift. Unless our inner being, our house, by Life is built we labour in vain who build it. The sparrow flew down and began again; I continued my walk. 

   Everywhere I turned there was joy: for one after another all my difficulties and pain were being shown as pathways to the light. 

   Who would have thought that our problems could contain so great a treasure as could light for us a shining beacon in our dark, work for us a fountain of rejuvenation in our heart, and bring for us the gold of new life, all by revelation! Truly our problems are our gifts and poor is he who has not many in his life! 

   For it is only out of some necessity that an inner answering wisdom can come to us. No problem, no need for revelation. No dark, no need for light. When one light floods everything there is no need of any other: the stars shine only at night, their message not needed in daylight. 

   Where my entrenched thinking is, I think not to look for another way: Where I think I see, I see not, because I haven’t let go of what I think I have, for what I don’t know I haven’t. And so, hearing, I hear not, and neither do I understand! 

   Where was any joy in a patchwork quilt where all the patches were of one colour? Where is any joy in Autumn where there are no dying, falling leaves? There are no delights of stellar answers inside of me where there is no surrendered space for them in me!  I have no inner beauty where there has not been first some need of it! And truly, I do not know where I lack it!! So problems come to me as presents – present issues – to give me the means and the wherewithal to grow inside me the life I really desire! 

   Up above the sparrow sits on her eggs, but when they might hatch she doesn’t know. She cannot teach them when to hatch. So is, Life, caught, not taught! No one can teach me what I will not admit to needing; and no other teacher outside of me can know what it is I truly need and when I first need it. Life is spontaneous. So living in it is, too! 

   An inside tutor I have; one who is not afraid of me! For I do not like to learn the lessons I truly need - which can only be taught in the midst of me - because they don’t usually feel too good! People are basically lazy where inner growth is concerned. Therefore, problems are my best teachers: they are not afraid of offending me! They come rushing upon me, urging me onward, and pressing me in toward a new day - regardless of my bent feelings that I didn’t deserve them! For the gift, the present of their help, I need only to recognize their presence and not deny them heading for the easier option! 

   ‘Got a problem? That’s good!’ I would say to myself! ‘Oh, let me face it with confidence – upon another plane of life!’ 

   I will know a more joyful spring, for having had first a barren winter. It is death which works life! 

   All my bright buds of Day come from my long winter’s Night, and all their openings, in the fragile flowering of my tears; bringing with them the promise of a wonderful fruitfulness and a harvest just ahead of me. 

   In spring-time all the buds blossom: nature does nothing by halves!

                                      

   

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