The spirit danced in its conscious sleep, tossing and turning in one long dream, giving birth to the gods, who too were spun into the fabric of a false solidity. The gods moved the dreams, the dreams moved the gods - because they were one in the same. Soon, in the loose and serpentine illusion of time, ideas were born, creating the stars and the planets of an infinite heaven, and soon we too were born into them, and with our minds, and dreams within the dream we gave birth to all things: Night and day, blue and starry skies, moon and sun. We danced in its light, its gift of life, unaware that we too were but the dreams of a sleeping God.

It can be any day, any season. Often enough, it's outside. You're on your way somewhere. Anywhere. Then it hits you.

Your third eye stops fluttering, and in an instant the curtain that once lied between the divine and mundane is lifted, revealing the world suddenly and utterly beyond any descripton, alive.

Every fiber of the cosmos seems to be breathing. How else can one put it but in a metaphor? Life is in the rock. Life is in the blade of grass. Life is in the vibrant blossoming of spring. Life is in the sleeping forest of winter. The air. The sky, the infinite light of the sun - all parts of some intricate dance, and birthed from the white canvas of thusness. It is a playful mystery, one that is entirely revealed to you, snatching you up in its vision. An energy, a force seems to be present in all things, breaking down any preconceived boundaries from one object to another. It has no measure. The incessant rambling of the mind is silenced to a mere passing whisper - no different than the blades of grass dancing back and forth by the wind.Both the conscious and unconscious mind reaches out to touch the infinite, and it responds in an un-paralled manner.

So there you are, sitting, standing, walking stunned and awed. You can hardly do whatever you were just doing, because this is it. There is nothing more and nothing less. What is, is completely intangible, beyond thought, yet still including it. You have entered life abounding, only to realize you have never exited.

You wander on and have a seat on a bench, a log, something. You notice your breath and your heartbeat. Your organic nature is suddenly appreciated. It is as if nature has called you from sleep in a beautifully violent whisper. In nothing more than a passing breath, the world has seemed to change.

Integral Writers Salon is up and running. Should be interesting to watch this seedling grow.