Who moves the tide in its sway...?
Who encourages... the wind...?
Or who is it that spills the dewdrop...?
Where do the lights come from... and the darkness, which seem to be of the same sign?
Who brings the coincidences?
In front of everything ordered... why does the unexpected happen?
How can we expect... the surprising?
Where do they go... is there a sanctuary for the feathers of birds? Can they be used to make a new flight?
Who decorates the colour of flowers? How do you create the elegance of a stamen? Or how do you build the jump of a frog?
Who designs the texture of... a spider's web?
Where does the Mystery that... speaks in silence reside?
What does, what does the human being do wandering, restricted in a lost place?
Who induces him to his thoughts?
Who... who commands the droughts... or the swampy rivers...
Is humanity frightened, from its exile in this place of the Universe...
He seems rather that he is confined to his erroneous concepts of knowledge.
He rather believes that he has built the earth that he treads on. He rather believes that he drilled volcanoes and created the mountains.
From the Mystery, they give consciousness to the beings of humanity, so that they may stimulate their imagination, increase their training, be faithful devotees of their natures, each one..., and that each one may promote himself in his capacities, which are the gifts that life has offered.
Who... who knows space? Is it a measured place? Yes; we can tame it here, and talk about meters, kilometres... And if we place ourselves there?
And if space is created and created without limits, and gives us infinity... would we need time? Has anyone isolated time...?
And so, in the world of limits -marked by humanity because it is in a limiting orb, apparently- light is the fastest, even though light constitutes a small percentage of the Universe.
Was light created to run, to precipitate... and to leave a trail of darkness...?
Prayerful questions are clarifying answers.
Yes, because they lead us to another dimension of space-time-velocity, without any of that existing.
So... –so-... is there anything that does exist?
And they are not doubts... like soap bubbles. They are questions with answers without reason, to enter another dimension.
What's the best sound? The wailing, broken growl of a cat's meow or... the song of the dolphin, which intrudes into the waters? Is it the waters that sing, or the dolphin?
Is there so much distance between Creation and us!, that we can neither understand nor respond to it? Where does it want to take us?
When the being prepares to pray without text, without a sketch, without preambles, without a plan...
A plan...? Is there a divine plan...? Does the Creator Mystery need a plan...?
But man flirts with his reasonable mystique. And he speaks of "divine plans" as if they were, first in existence, or as if they were within the grasp of an exalted consciousness.
Beyond words and divine procedures, beyond!... the Mysteries envelop that which is called "Everything", without knowing what Everything is.
The Divine, the intermediary of the Great Mystery, calls on us incessantly... so that humanity does not drown in its insolence, in its demands, in its mandates, in its duties, in its business, in its promises, in its square spaces... with corners and teeth.
Anxious!... anxious are those who feel longed by the Divine. Sometimes detached from everything human, and then they are abandoned to their speculations... of constructions -which are not even imaginative!- in respect to Creation. They come to wield a great shot... or they come to record the words of the Creator. And there they debate between particles and sub-particles... and old written legacies...
Oh!... Wasn't it enough with the sound that they had to write down to catch it?
It's similar to hijacking the air where a bird has to fly.
And while humanity is extolling itself with its achievements, its domains, its powers, its personal matters..., water, which is essential for this lifestyle, is passing indolently. It does not congratulate itself on its journey, nor does it celebrate its rains, nor does it make ceremonies at its fountains... It does not... light a candle in the middle of the lake.
And the invisible breathing of that prana -which is named... to dominate-, does not celebrate the air in its fluttering twists and turns. It looks like a caged feline, which does not find the way out and escape from this blue painting.
The prayerful claim... is the echo of what never sounded, of what was never said...
It is emanation... without origin!
Eternity does not originate.
Alas! How much humanity demands of Creation, that it should tell it and tell it what is good or bad! It seems a lie, when wisdom is proud to know everything. But deep down... it knows that it is vanity. And deeper down, it awaits the miracle of a surprising... yes, a surprising and mysterious action.
It beats, yes, it beats in the heart of every being... to be able to witness and live the miracle of abduction from the Eternal; to be abducted from this... "colour", to take us into the immensity of the Mystery.
The Miracle is expected -on different levels- permanently.
And the truth is that it is there!, but not to the liking of the human. That's why you don't taste it, smell it, taste it or touch it. There is too much pride to admit that there is another... what there really is: another perspective, another nature.
The Divine is immediate! What precedes it requires no action.
And so it is that the Prayerful Sense asks us:
Therefore, why cling to reason? Why... be intimidated by situations? Why underestimate or overestimate yourself? What is the point of dominating, controlling...? Is it not an insult... to the exceptionality of life?
From the incredibly mysterious vision, an instant called "life" is captured. Because the One Who Sees makes possible what is.
Because the One Who Sees makes possible what is.
It is possible -the Praying Sense expresses to us- to be with the consciousness that we are seen... and that is why we are.
Certainly, the slightest of our acts or thoughts... can be seen.
He who hides, does himself a disservice... because his uselessness becomes more evident.
He who envisions... and produces being, cannot be betrayed. Hence, one can prayerfully... exercise a transparent being; a visible being.
And therefore, a being under... -without it being submission!- under the transcendent vision. And so, any doing becomes... beautiful, mysterious, surprising, smiling.
In the tuning of visions, one goes...
One goes while... without remaining anywhere.
Like this...
***
