pains end

pain, the universal, the essence of our existence we are told, the misery of attachments. the attachment to attachments. all is undone when we see the unending necessity of the play and the passion that is the seed of all we hold dear, the fruits of our desires. for what could be beyond that, in the next realm of no attachments, the recluse, the aesthetic, the penitent, none of these is the truth. that which is, is that which we are. the being beyond the vital, the mental, the whole experience that never ends and never devours that which is its source.we tremble with our feelings, what could ever replace that, trembling with divine acceptance, filled with the perfect inspiration that is not man made.responsibilities only for the providence of the spirit, that all things celestial are what we are here for, that everything in our lives knows that is what our purpose is and we are supported every step of the path, unending, always pefectly and always without question.