Native

There is no end to those who would instruct you on the matters of your own heart. The idea of an individual who has something or knows something you do not but need is nothing new, and the more desperate one becomes for an answer to a riddle, a salve to a wound, or a solution to a problem, the more alluring is the seduction of a sage. But a sage is not a sage who can tell you what to believe or how to think. Who on this earth has the keys to the kingdom of your heart but you? This, too, is nothing new, nor even an insight, as such in-sight is common to all, and even common sense, though commonly ignored for fear of what it means, namely, letting go, of all the conjectures offered by others, to actually stop looking, here, there, and everywhere, to finally shut your eyes, as Plotinus once said, and change to and wake another way of seeing, which everyone has but few use. The paradox of this teaching of course is that it erases the teacher. It also places the onus of responsibility on you and no other. This can cause fear and trembling, or, worse yet, an outward incessant searching for something, always just over the horizon. Wonderfully, however, once time is taken to acclimate to your indigenous wisdom, and your own native way of seeing, gradually, the world begins to appear anew, as if cleansed just after a spring rain, fresh and surreal, freer of the filters of others, now, each engagement organic and wild, every element an invitation, and each encounter with another an alchemy, an unforeseen opportunity for communion.