Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Adam in Agawam

We empty into spirit; rivers empty to the sea. Here, on the barrier island called Plum Island, the Parker and Ipswich Rivers empty into the Atlantic.

Sandy Point is one of those places where you can see the natural impermanence of landscape. It’s been a year since I walked here and things are radically different.

The sands are always shifting here because of the swirling currents, but this time they’ve shifted so much I feel I’m in a different world.

It's the ever-changing impermanence of paradise. Nothing remains the same here. Not even Adam remains the same, not even Adam remains.

There’s absolutely nobody here. Nobody on the shore. Nobody on the water. In truth, I'm not here. Just this emptiness, this consciousness, this nothing Adam would call God.

And what is paradise but forms without names, without thought intervening, no ideas intervening, just the manifest as is.

Small clouds are passing by, wisps of clouds representing some kind of form that associates with something in my subconscious.

And Adam would come to say the river is mild and powder blue, and the sky is mild and turquoise blue, and the sand is mild and russet, and the grass is mild and emerald.

Adam would come to say this is the sacred inner arm of Sandy Point, in the place Masconomet called Agawam.

But Adam isn’t here.

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