The being is cloistered, in its flying process


Creation, in its infinite doing, is recreated in its manifestations... with that Kind and Compassionate Providence that surrounds us, that protects us, that inspires us, as if we were endless layers that wrap around each other, and it is done continuously.

To imagine, then, that each being is a wrapping of infinite turns, and that it is continually wrapping itself... in different planes. And, each wrap is also... is a message, it is a key to assume the Mystery and experience the signs we find, to give the testimony that corresponds to us.

The Prayerful Sense shows us this image... with the intention for us to abandon those conceptions, those structures anchored “in a place of one wrapping”. Those that make us say: "It's just that I am like that". Those that do not admit variables, changes, transformations, mutations and transmutations: everything that implies being on an eternal journey and in different positions, in a continuous way.

Which, obviously, requires an adaptation, complaisance, a dedication.

And it happens that, habitually, each one takes shelter... –it is not a refuge- in his personality, in..

"That´s how I am, that´s how I learned"… 

And you won´t learn any more...? 

"I see it that way".

And you won´t see any more...? 

"Because I've heard... " 

And you won´t listen any more...?

That rigidity without wrappings... is torture; for the one who is in it and for the environment –to which he hinders-. And "torture" because... imagine being a worm, that flying is in its project; imagine that the cocoon of silk is formed, and enters into that 'chrysalis' state of... transformation, transmutation, and that –as it happens- stays trapped there –as it is when a man wants to make silk.

But, applying it to the rigidity of the personality, it is a cruel life experience, to be already catalogued, codified... and impeded to fly.

There he will remain, in his 'chrysalis' moment. There he will serve, maybe –hopefully- as silk for a garment. There he will remain for recycling. There he will remain –most probably- with the feeling that something was missing: that he missed the flight, that the wings were missing, that he missed the colour of the breath, that he missed the feeling!... the breath that makes us fly, the transcendental was missing, the experience was lacking, that really is what constitutes the denomination of life.

It seems a lot, doesn’t it? 

The protection of fear, protected under the personality of "security". Oh!... 

Giving up fear, seems impossible. That consent to fear and that renunciation of flight seems to be inevitable. And even, it seems as an acquisition. "Above all, security."

And since when... –one should ask- since when does life –life!- has the slogan "security"? Since when?

If the concrete life does not know what it is!... or who it is... or why it is there! What kind of pernicious abduction leads the being to curl up in its layers and not dare to go out, to unfold itself!?

Oh! If the heart did not know how to squeeze to pump up, and expand itself to gather what it pumped, what would become of our heartbeat? We would not have a heartbeat! We would be a pond of water that would be a breeding ground for insects and other beings.

But –ay!- each beat, rhythmic with each breath, wraps us up again and again!... to give us the sense of flight; to give us the Creative sense of our doing, which arises from that Creative conception that we are.

When the shelter of the being resides in its "personality"... and this remains constant, one renounces to live. Each being stands out as "the protagonist", "the lighthouse", "the referential". It pretends to be immutable, with an unchangeable character. It is a shape that man has given to the Divine: as something that is there on his throne, and commands and gives orders. And, under that criterion, each one is configured, personalized and stands –with his armchair- as hardened, as shy, as adventurous, as... And there he remains! To serve... –what a pity!- as a reference... to whom?

My reference is the wind that makes me fly.

My reference is the breath that makes me dream.

My reference is the love that comes to me, and the one I can gestate.

And so, it is possible... to change. To see oneself new every day. To see oneself changing. To see oneself renewed! To see oneself enlightened.

Let's see the wrapping of each day. 

Let's see the texture of each lap. 

Let's see how it connects with the oldest.

Let's see how they widen, expand, fold and refold... like our breathing, like our heartbeat, like the contraction of a force or the relaxation of a liking.

And it turns out that, for that position the Prayerful Sense presents to us, it is not necessary to do anything special; you do not have to martyr yourself, you do not have to sacrifice... You have to let yourself go.

Surely everyone has seen a piece of paper carried by the wind; now it is higher, now it is grazing the ground, now it quiets down, now it jumps...

Thus: a blank paper that goes where the Creator Breath takes us, and he is writing his review every day; like a bottle with a message that, thrown into the sea, who knows where it will appear.

There are so many!... the conditions that the deified being has created to not leave his cocoon, to not leave his prison, that it seems a harm to him to leave the cell.

He believes that his condition is to be imprisoned.

He has influences in jail, of course, and there he feels, more than safe, foresighted: he foresees what is going to happen, because the others are like him. That one is more violent, the other is more reserved, that other is... But there are not going to be surprises.

Is that the domain of life? Is that the powerful, strong personality, similar to the divine one? Is perhaps the divine, powerful, strong? Does it have those qualities?

Oh! But the personality ends... -although it does not say it, but the Prayerful Sense wants to show it- ends by saying:

 "It's safer to be in jail. Look what's happening outside. Pouf! A car can run you over. Buff! They can criticize you. You will have to labour!... Ugh, it is so comfortable here:  three meals a day, little work... and knowing who is who.

It’s a risk to go out! In addition, the laws-laws and the authentic coordinates are those of jail, those that protect us. Outside is chaos. Outside are the creative, the artists, the beauty, and the innovation... Ugh!... I keep the prejudices of my own and I add those of others. And that my cellmate, or the one in the cell opposite, or the other one, advise me, not to join those prisoners of the other pavilion. And of course, do not request, at all, to leave or condition or escape... No.

Always keep the sacred rules and laws of the warden, which rewards the good ones and punishes the bad ones.

No slips! Because they can take you to isolation. And you can be criticized by everyone, vociferous as wolves."

But if you are brave -says the prayer- you will realize that these wolves do not bite; that they are rampant jealousies, that they are wandering justices, that they are souls in pains, with sorrows!, that they try to retain any flying relief.

The world judges you if you accept it as a judge; otherwise no, it could never do it.

How incredible! That the so-called "world", created by humanities, judges its intra-world, and the new world, with immobile, rusty, painful hangers...

And thus an immense! crust was created in the world, to avoid that any inner howl!... for the origin of "the Mystery", could, at least, sob. And it was a crust, and it's such a big crust!, that any message... bounces back; or if it manages to penetrate the crust, it quickly goes to condemn it, isolate it, execute it.

Above all, the survival of the crust!

Humanity no longer needs, neither gods, nor Mysteries, nor... No! It has been cloistered in its flying process. It has been rinsed and rinses daily with the food of fear.

And it is worth more the advice and the opinion of the one who feels unable to get out of his position –it’s worth more- than the very God who came and told him which is the way of emotion, of flight!

In the crust, one believes more in the rumour than in the origin of the rumour.

It is urgent... to heal.

The crust could have and has its moment -right?- but then the tissue regenerates and the crust falls off. And a new skin grows!, right? A new layer has been regenerated. A new wrap... has recovered us.

The different references that we contemplate in our being -without participating; our own nature is expressed- are models that can take us effortlessly; without having renounced... but the other way around: having reached new positions.

The bird does not remain with the shell on its head inside the nest. Little by little, the parents are going to take it to the abyss of the nest and they will push him to fly. And it will fly... without having learned.

The wind will take care of its wings.

Spring, with its winds, its rains... and the arrival of the swallows, announces new and innovative perspectives to us.

Creation, in its determination for life, must have a minimally encouraging response, on the part of the being, so that it feels really alive, and not captive! of its wrappings.




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