Standing on one foot minding your Cup.

W. B. Yeats said he believed:

in what I must call the evocation of spirits, though I do not know what they are, in the power of creating magical illusions, in the visions of truth in the depths of the mind when the eyes are closed; and I believe in [several] doctrines, which have, as I think, been handed down from early times, and been the foundations of nearly all magical practices. [Two of these] doctrines are—

1) That the borders of our mind are ever shifting, and that many minds can flow into one another, as it were, and create or reveal a single mind, a single energy.

2) That the borders of our memories are as shifting, and that our memories are a part of one great memory, the memory of Nature herself.

Having read that I thought a little harder on a subject I’ve been coming across a lot lately: Compassion and Mercy. The Buddhist Goddess of these aspects is Tara, with 21 manifestations. 21 seems like a lot but is it enough?

Perhaps, as Yeats is saying, for every variation in mind and memory we might discover a different aspect of compassion. But they will only ever be aspects. It is the flame of compassion within that we want to fan, right?

If a butterfly can flap its wings across the world and the ground beneath our feet trembles then what is distance to us? We cannot capture space or time or even our self but we can feel the might of that butterfly. Then we could be afraid of butterflies…

Or I can know that I am that wing, the wind it is carried on, the sun that feeds its movement and the earth that holds it in place. I am a butterfly pinned to the wheel of life.

There are no ‘borders’ we cannot cross, only those we have not yet seen shift in the sands. I will only know compassion when I seek to cross them in all states, fearlessly and ferociously aware of encounters with butterflies.

I cannot have compassion any more than I could hold the stars up. Kuan Yin, the Chinese Goddess of Mercy, vowed:

‘A guard would I be to them who have no protection, a guide to the voyager, a ship, a well, a spring, a bridge for the seeker of the Other Shore.’

You see, “in every corner of the world she manifests her countless forms.”

Perhaps, then, I can borrow the eyes of mercy, offer the hand of courage I’ve known, stand beside sorrow equal to our greatest joys or simply be the silence that we all need, sometimes? Perhaps I’ll kindle that flame without words, in the darkest hour of the darkest night. Some flowers bloom at night, you know?

I’ve heard people speak of the ‘milk of human kindness,’ and I think we’ve all drunk it. I mean, if we’d never had a sip then the cup would not tempt us.

I reckon that when you hold the cup then I taste it. It is a holy grail, an endless box of Tim Tams, a perfect wish.

Nobody owns these things, rather we share them amongst our selves. And that small piece of the puzzle helps me to feel sure that that wish is everywhere, and in all things. Maybe especially in those things which pain me most.

I will try not to disturb that wish where I find it so that even where there seems to be no hope it might still bloom. Balance might come to my aid; while I may not be very careful, I can try to be care full, I suppose.