Thursday, March 17, 2016

Chuck Surface - Perhaps They Are Right



When I chat with my ”ism" friends,
Buddhism, Hinduism, this ism, that ism,
They are quick to place my experience,
In the context of their beliefs.

They explain what has happened,
What it all means, and why,
Where I am on the Path to “enlightenment”,
Where I have to go…

And what I must do to get there.

They’re certain and assured in all of this,
For the "truth" has been laid out,
And in their minds, unarguably so,
By the founder of their ism…

And those “enlightened” ones who followed after.

Buddhism in all it’s many forms,
The vast ocean of Hindu philosophy,
The Abrahamic, book-based isms,
And contemporary “nonduality”.

Certain and assertive,
They speak with the authority of “lineage”,
Longstanding, tried and true,
And in their minds…”

“Truth".

For Sankara said thus,
Buddha said thus,
Paul said thus,
Someone or other said thus.

And... perhaps they are right.

Seldom speaking from experience,
Most often my ism friends simply pour,
My experience into the mold,
Inherited from their ism.

Their intentions are kind,
Seeking to help one sadly misdirected,
Bound in delusion and falsity,
In desperate need of guidance.

And... perhaps they are right.

I've no "idea" what happened that day,
When "I" and Creation Vanished,
When all duality ceased, Absolutely,
Leaving nothing whatsoever,
Of knower and known,
Experience and experiencer,
Perceiver and perceived,
Subject and object,
But only...

Unalloyed Ecstasy,
Experienced by no one,
No where,
At no time.

And I've truly no "idea" what this Presence is,
The ever-present Sublimity that remained,
When the world and "I" reappeared,
Shining thereafter, in the Locus of The Heart…

A touch of dualities Dissolution,
A touch of the Formless Ecstasy,
Inherent in that Dissolution,
As heat is to fire.

The world and “I” vanished,
Heaven remained,
The world and "I" reappeared,
And thereafter, the Heart Shone,
Like a Sun of Benediction,
Bubbled over, like a Wellspring of Grace...

The secular became sacred,
Samsara and Nirvana,
Heaven and Earth,
Formlessness and Form...

All became indistinguishable.

I've no "idea" at all "about" any of this,
No concepts, theories, or conjecture,
No assumptions made, or conclusions drawn,
Into which I can pour this Ineffable Sublimity.

And so, perhaps my ism friends are right.

For unlike me, they “know”,
And are breathless to tell me,
The what, why, and wherefore,
From the "truth" as they "know" it.

And... perhaps they are right.

They place this Dissolution of duality,
This Blissful aspect of ongoing experience,
In a "hierarchy" of "spiritual evolution",
From the "truth" as they "know" it.

And... perhaps they are right.

They explain, with such certain authority,
How I am sadly in bondage,
Enamoured of the “Bliss body”,
Addicted to ephemeral experience.

And... perhaps they are right.
I do not know the "Self", they declare,
For there is no Ecstasy there,
No qualities or attributes of any kind,
In the "Absolute".

And… perhaps they are right.

They point to the use of words,
Like “Lover” and “Beloved”,
As sophomoric emotionality,
A immature desire for love and healing.

And… perhaps they are right.

It’s all just kundalini, they say,
All chakra nonsense,
So much yogic hoo-hah,
To be dismissed as “unreal”.

They urge me to continue "further",
Striving to attain the "Ultimate",
Which they are happy to describe,
From the "truth" as they "know" it.

And… perhaps they are right.

In the words of each I find,
Varied teachings of "truth",
Varied descriptions of "reality",
Varied unarguable "absolutes".

All there is, is Brahman, one declares,
No, all there is, is Emptiness, cries another,
No, all there is, is God, say the Diests,
No, none of these are true, say the agnostics.

All so full of certainty,
So fierce when questioned,
So dogmatic, while claiming openness,
So righteous in seeking to help.

And... perhaps they are right.

But when Fullness, Completion, and Bliss,
Filled moment-to-moment Experience,
And the felt sense of "self" vanished,
All movement stopped, to and from.

All seeking for "more" vanished,
All “grasping after” ceased,
And Bliss, Immovable, Impenetrable,
Filled, at last, this weary Heart.

In Fullness, where am I to put more,
In Completion, what is there to attain,
Intoxicated, the Heart's Desire Fulfilled…
Why would I seek a bottle.

But still… perhaps they are right.





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