You do not know that in yourself you are death.
The shadow of its shadow to yourself,
struggling before your face
to exist there somewhere as life.
And yet, a hundred and a hundred times
you are betrayed
until you accept the one and only face,
the face of your death.
For only the faces of death
allow each other life and resurrection,
and not the shadows of foreign shadows
that only blind the eyes and the heart
until the day when you will know
what you do not know now.
You don’t know you are a unit of all the rules of life.
Is the entire interweaving of the world not an open zero,
an infinite free line for all?
But as long as it runs behind you,
you are its prisoner.
The path from all contents
does not demand anything from you,
you are the only source of demands
and convulsive clinging for something that is not.
When you realize this,
you, traveller, will rest
and never look back.
One-sided is the sacrifice of the One
who left your home
so that you could enter it,
and all your offerings echo his bells
calling for spring.
Will you bind all the bells
and claim the foreign ones for your own,
or will you allow the sound of angelic bells in you?
You are walking a fleeting path,
living in a foreign settlement,
and searching for yours eternal in a foreign land,
but your rent is expiring.
But the eternally yours
is in all of them you persecute,
instead of giving them home.
Did not the Lord show the way
and himself become the only king to the homeless
waiting for someone to give him back his home?
You are one eye with the eyes of entanglement,
until you sit in the eye of your eye
to open the other side of view
into the only world of eternal disentanglement.
The purpose of meaning is not in controlling anything and anyone,
but only the vortex of your own vortex
of someone in the middle of nowhere.
But outside of it joy, peace and light path
of travellers without a name of their own.
Do not look for a name
so that you don’t become nobody
like a week without days,
because all your own names will be thrown out
lightly like dots on a paper flower.
Only the name given to you
will sprout into the flower of eternity.
Sunday is coming,
but you carry Good Friday within you,
the only name of eternity.
Will you reject or accept it?
How will you see if you are not?
For in yourself,
you are the antimatter of a sphere, a circle, and a wave,
which only reflects your essence in front of you
in the sky and at the bottom of the sea
as a fixed image fading in time.
But when you accept your essence and rest in it,
a stream of matter that never passes
will flow for the first time.
And you will know that in this world
you have not seen, known or discovered anything.
…
Vsakdo med nami je gordijski vozel
zavozlan s seboj in z mečem v rokah,
vse dokler zre naprej.
In vsakdo med nami, če se ustavi,
je Božjih dlani in s spretnimi prsti
kot otroci v igri,
ki drug drugemu nevede razvezujejo
malho radosti.
…
Everything is as if it was a long time ago.
Like a movie made a long time ago,
which you live and in your dreams
revive from character to character.
But in this movie,
as long as you are in the character of someone,
only you are missing.
And when the whole world of this movie unfolds,
only you are left or no one.
The Spirit of Truth