Kabir Kadre
Kabir Kadre

No new tale to tell.

Kabir kadre|2 years, 1 month ago

I’ve been listening to an old favorite song recently, No New Tale to Tell, by Love and Rockets, and the chorus echoes through my head in the quiet of the morning.

I just arrived at my desk a moment ago, finding an old book I’ve yet to read waiting for me as a reminder, I turned to the online bookstore to check the prices on a second copy. Caroline’s son, Elijah, whom I just met last week is fascinated with ancient cultures and civilizations; the book on my desk is a rare and sophisticated telling of the culture of the Tibetan region from the first century BC through the fifth century A.D.

Balking at the price, I forgot for an instant my intention to “Write First,” and started to move towards the email inbox – mid moment I recalled and opened these pages instead.

It was in that gesture I felt the stillness and the emptiness… No new tale to tell… Came chiming through my mind’s ear…

By the time I reach the desk in the morning, something of note has always transpired – at the very least I have had the good fortune that someone kind and generous has arrived with the intent to retrieve me from bed. Undoubtedly there has been conversation, and smiles, possibly some “adventure” having to do with the difficulties of a paralyzed body, there has been movement and focus, perhaps a podcast, and days like today, even a little creativity.

Nonetheless, as I arrive to the calm of house and the cool morning air waiting in the sunroom, it is the absence of form that seems to foreground and when, then, I look to the page to offer some reflection or some share, the first thing I see is that quiet stillness, and emptiness… No new tale to tell.

In the timeless vastness that is eternity, or God, or the cosmos resting in its mysterious container of emptiness, what words could matter? What effort have meaning? As poverty and fear, environmental destruction and pollution, habitat encroachment, perhaps even mass extinction, political dysfunction, global pandemic boil across the surface of this little rock drifting for a moment through space, what fleeting form could serve any true purpose, validating and justifying the effort it takes to bring it about?

Of course all that postulates existence, and matter, and matter, tiny frames of reference emergent from the human psyche. When I surrender the dualistic idea of an existence that arises and passes away, or even persists in contrast to its own imagined absence, ideas of effort and meaning, even words themselves as distinct in any way, fall like leaves from the trees in autumn.

Left then is just some sacred sense of gratitude and love, a boundless and inexhaustible generosity that moves eons and universes without care or concern for time and space. Words then, are love; silence and stillness is love, echoes are love, the timeless tale told once and infinite times is love.

Caroline is cooking love in the kitchen, some radio show or podcast quietly accompanying her movements. Pans and utensils rattle in the background. I am a simple moment, filled with 48 years of patient unfolding, I look from within these eyes, this little mind, these gestures to craft love from the love that I am that it may fill the love that is with ever more of itself, in fullness and the grace of life, awake for all eternity and the instant of realization.

Sunday again, the world rambles on through trial and tribulation. I’ve left the news off this morning, no need to recount the drama I know has persisted and will continue. My ritual of weekly review, reading, and correspondence is on the docket, and it’s Mother’s Day.

Yesterday I found myself spontaneously signing into a two hour webinar with Joe Brewer, a friend of friends whom I had yet to really appreciate. It spun my Saturday off its axis and I never did return to that formally recognizable “productive behavior,” but I did find again that calm and clear message cutting through our global fog, that message of synergy, cooperation, resonance, a coming together and the binding of a collective will, intent, and effort.

Through those mists a man from the Canary Islands, Italian I think, recognized the ancient imagery of my user avatar in the conference and reached out asking to connect. A few moments later and a videoconference portal was opened spanning nearly 1/3 of the globe and there was this gentleman asking to be heard for his leadership in what he is calling a “ninja effort” to create some guidance for our species to navigate out of its dire course.

Connection has been the theme this week, meetings with strangers percolating and precipitating perhaps some substance of form that may lend itself to the message of hope and invitation that is MettaCare. I’ll be reaching out in the week ahead to bring those binding elements together.

One part view from the nucleus of care, one part community practice and culture, one part wide but geographically regional invocation to bring the wisdom of many voices and practice to share, something here is forming, perhaps it is love…


I’ve not been actively promoting our crowdfunding effort of late, opting instead to focus on the underlying value it intends to offer. I hope that in the next few weeks I will have cohered that statement of invitation mentioned above and will then return my attention to the necessary effort to finance the good and kind works that make all of this possible. In the meantime, if you are so moved, contributions large and small of finance and broadcast are more than welcome. 🙂

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God gets to know things, we just get to ask questions…