Fallen Ash

The words came to me last night, and I find it difficult to recall. I’ve lost access to that place — that window through which I saw the truth.

To force yourself upon something is to destroy it. To break it. I know that once I’ve “forgotten” all about it, it will pierce my mind like a lightning bolt, when I least expect it.

The words are gone but the experience need not be. I now find myself in a different time and a different place, but surely my relationship with time hasn’t changed, has it?

I can already feel my mind slowing down as I drift. Am I really here? I’m gone by the time the ink dries in permanence.

There seems to be a state which becomes accessible to me when I’ve satisfied a prerequisite level of awareness. One can reach this level of awareness by understanding the concept, or perhaps the truth, of “history in the making”.

It’s impossible to be “present” when one is trapped in their own mind. One becomes trapped in their own mind when one values what’s going on in there over everything else.

People fear losing what they have. And people do not have the moment. So what is there to fear?

But if one comes to the somber understanding that this very moment, before the thought of it could even hope to arise, has already become fallen ash . . .

If one comes to understand that, the moment is simultaneously lost as it’s perceived . . .

A fundamental shift in perception takes place.

A seriousness arises.

One begins to notice that, which otherwise would go unnoticed.

One begins to live within the legend, of their own life.

It has nothing to do with “gratitude” or “appreciation”, as such ideas are forced.

This state, or feeling: it can only be felt when one truly values it over everything else.

I can recall finding this state, largely by accident, several times over the past couple of years.

But the time I felt this the most, was when I knew it was going to be at least a year before I’d see my father again. And perhaps ever.

As I sat next to him, he seemed to be in a distracted state; on his phone, dealing with all manners of business and socialization.

I just sat there and watched.

I noticed his swollen, wind-cracked hands.

I noticed the way he thumbed through his iPhone.

I felt his presence: without judgement, without presupposition, out of the corner of my eye.

This must have lasted for 10 seconds at best. And he did not appear to notice me doing so.

And then all of the sudden: a tsunami of emotion overcame him, leaving me drenched.

He finally said what he needed to say, at the very last minute.

This in of itself is not a surprise, as it’s completely inline with human nature. I was motivated by the same; only my actions were different.

But I can’t help but feel like he experienced or felt my state of awareness subconsciously. In other words, I feel like his presence felt my presence, as it awakened to direct truth.

My father and I used to be very close, and it hasn’t been this way for some time now. Perhaps my unadulterated presence reminded him of how I viewed him as a child.

I suppose I’ll never really know.

But what I do know, is that this state of purity contains immense power.

Like experiencing things as a memory, as they happen in the now.