Wednesday, June 25, 2014

William Samuel - The Holy Mountain


      There is a story to tell
      but I am the only one here to tell it
      and the only one to listen.
      There is a picture to paint
      but I am the only one here
      with canvas and oil,
      the only one who will see it.
      There is a symphony to play
      yet there is only one here
      to draw the bow.
      This one, the Alone One,
      is the only one here to listen.
      This is as it should be, however,
      for it allows the picture to be painted,
      the symphony sounded
      and the story told as it truly is.
      Then, if there seems an angry word
      in the telling,
      my Listening will never hear it.
      If there seems a distorted scene,
      The Seeing I am will understand it,
      because one alone is here to listen
      to the symphony on this page.
      This one, the Only One,
      Understands His melody! 

 ✿•*¨`*•.༺♥༻ .•*¨`*•✿


      My son,
I said to the woodman,
      there is a mountain in my kingdom
      from which the universe
      may be surveyed as it really is.
      I will take you there
      as my Father has taken me before.
      From the high place
      the gates of the Heart are flung open,
      the scales drop from the eyes,
      the land is seen in its wholeness
      and the questions that were asked before
      remain silent.
      Look! Even now it is before you!
      This instant it is here!
      Tell me what you see, dear one;
      tell me what you hear.

The woodman answered,
      I see a high mountain with many plateaus
      and a great multitude walking up many paths
      that wind long distances toward the top.
      On each path a herald is proclaiming
      his way the only way,
      and on the many plateaus
      are many ministers shouting,
            "Rest here! View this vista,
            the most beautiful of them all!"

      Yet there is no happiness there
      They curse each other on the different paths
      and stand on every plateau
      in condemnation
      of the higher plateaus.
      I hear judgments of those
      whose vision is not as wide,
      and from the highest plateaus
      come the sermons of those
      who decry duality and deny it—
      in the day they deny,
      but in the night, as I,
      they still cut wood in their jungle:
      they still search the crevasses
      for sustenance;
      they still stagger through their thickets
      and slash.

      Tell me, Father.
      Which path must I follow?
      On which plateau may I rest?

      My son,
I answered the woodman,
      to climb o'er the ground
      from plateau to plateau
      is not the way to go.
      There is no path on the mountain
      that leads all the way to the top
      nor a single place where a woodman
      may let go his axe.
      There is no plateau on any slope
      where one may stop contending with opposites;
      for to climb o'er the ground from goal to goal
      creates the original twoness—
      a climber and the goal.

      Then how, Counselor?
the woodman asked.
      How can I climb the mountain?
      How may I reach the throne?

      Listen softly,
I said to the woodman,
      Listen gently with the heart.
      There is no way there but to BE there.
      This way soars above the ground,
      above the landmarks, above the plateaus,
      swiftly, silently, immediately
      on wings of Love.
      This is how I shall take you there, Beloved—
      in an instant
      in the twinkling of an eye
      on the Wings of the Morning.
      Indeed, the Way there is to be there.
      Then need you not at each plateau
      proclaim it the goal for all
      nor whisper longer of those above
      or admonish the ones below.

      You see, Love is the Key to the mystery.
      Love alone sounds the melody
      heard at the immortal Height.
      Love is the wing that lifts thee there
      and there hands thee the scepter.
      Love has beckoned Me, thy Comforter,
      because you and I are One.
      You and I are Love.

Immediately the measured moment ended
and we stood atop our timeless mountain. 

✿•*¨`*•.༺♥༻ .•*¨`*•✿

excerpt from

The Melody of the Woodcutter and the King
An Account Of An Awakening
by William Samuel (1924-1996)

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