I took the day off today. I didn't do anything at all. And even when I did something, I didn't do anything.
Where I found myself was on the roof, stretching, under the hot San Miguel sun, mucho dogs barking in the distance, marveling as I was about what was possible and what was actually happening right now -- both thoughts being thought at the exact same time -- the best of both worlds you might say, though methinks there are many more than just two worlds. More like millions, or trillions or a larger round number, approximating infinity.
Whatever that number is, one thing is for certain. On all of those worlds love reigns supreme. Albert Einstein knew it, he of the long nights alone with no one to understand what he was up to. Why else do you think he smiled the way he did, gone beyond the scientific need we all have to disagree every time anyone else sees things differently than we do, their restless, weary troops stationed at the edges of their own fictional kingdom and wondering when the orders will come -- and from whom -- to set them free.
Poised and ready they are, these sentinels of separation, buttons-shined golden, last cigarettes smoked, waiting for a clue. Which is why, I am guessing, you, oh nameless one, have sent your finest battalion of soldiers on horseback to every village, town and tavern to announce your grand proclamation:
"Peace, my brothers and sisters. Peace throughout the land and sky. Peace on Earth and anywhere else you can think of. The moment of disarmament is upon us. The time has come to lay down your arms and whatever it was that moved you to create them in the first place.
Yes, it is my great pleasure to declare that you are free -- always have been and always will be.
Free to be yourselves. Free to come and go. Free to create. Free to think and feel and sing and dance and forgive yourselves and everyone else for whatever it is -- or was -- you think shouldn't have been done or said or thought.
Free! You are free! And I, as if for the first time, declare your need to be embattled is officially over -- done, gone, finito, kaput -- there being nothing at all to defend or attack, especially since you already have everything you need or could ever hope to have. Poof! Bye-bye! Gone! Evaporated into skies whose only purpose is to absorb that which no longer serves you.
Yes, it is true, I have orders from the king -- the king of kings -- and if there is such a thing as a king of king of kings, then him, too. Or her.
"The orders?" you ask. "What, precisely, do you mean?"
You already know what they are, given to you, as they were, long before you even had a name.
The first has already been declared, but will be said again -- it being the one most commonly forgotten -- you have everything you need.
The second? There is nowhere to go and nothing to do to become anything more than you already are -- a "self," if you want to call it that, that is not only just peachy keen the way it is, but totally divine, sacred, holy and pure. Like a perfect sun burning from the inside out, never exhausting itself.
Yes! You are free! Free like the wind and the stars and the rain and the sky. Free to engage and enjoy the great bounty of the great giver, no matter what name you use to invoke the supreme. Free! You are free! Each step you take is also an arrival. And the only pilgrimage you need to make is the one from head to heart -- the great going beyond the sirens of your own self-invented distractions to return, again and again and again, to the still manger of your beautiful breath where you and the universe you perceive through whatever-colored glasses you wear to suit your mood is continually being born.
What else do you think is happening on this big, beautiful jewel of a world floating through space -- a world with just the perfect mix of conditions to allow for hummingbirds, volcanoes, moonlight, silence, wind, fire, children playing in puddles, ecstatic dervishes spinning in circles, homemade bread, cool breezes and you.
Mitch Ditkoff is on vacation in San Miguel de Allende, a mighty fine place, indeed. When he's not there, he's living in Woodstock, NY, also a mighty fine place. His third book of poetry, Full Moon at Sunrise, is available on Amazon.
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