Saturday, April 2, 2016

William Samuels - Allness of now-consciousness



 "There are no words we can read that will convince us of the allness of this now-consciousness,"  "there is no one to whom we may listen or talk who can do more than persuade us intellectually. We know - and we know, we know - only when we find it and feel it in our heart."

"Reader, this will happen for you much sooner than you expect. Your "awakening" is inevitable, irresistible and certain, because the fact is - as you shall see and have been told many times - you are not sleeping to be awakened now. Despite the appearances on the world's stage, you are already all you could ever hope to become."

"The nearly unanimous pronouncements of classical theology and education to the contrary," you are not a prodigal acting the profligate and wandering in the pigsties of a far country. The Identity you are this instant is Hamony's Now-Awareness being aware. Our heritage, effortless and divine, is to acknowledge this fact."

"Right now, bring yourself from an overconcern with things within Awareness to Awareness itself. Here you will find that all bodies, all images, and everything Awareness includes, are aspects of your own Identity! Here you will find that you are happiness, completeness and joy itself."

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Friday, April 1, 2016

Jean Klein - In not-knowing



The timeless non-state 
cannot be achieved 
because the mind 
cannot evolve 
towards it. 
The mind 
can only 
bring you 
to the threshold. 

Awakening comes 
unexpectedly 
when you do not wait 
for it, 
when you live 
in not-knowing. 

Only then are you available.


 

Adyashanti - The great internal space



What opens inside you when you’re willing to entertain the possibility that things may be different than you thought they were is what I call the “great internal space”: a place where you come to know that you don’t know.

This is really the entry point into the end of suffering: when you become conscious of the fact that you don’t really know. I mean that you don’t really know anything—that you don’t really understand the world, you don’t really understand each other, you don’t really understand yourself.

This is such an obvious thing when we really take a moment and look around. When we look at the world that human beings have created and how we relate to each other, it’s so obvious that we don’t really know anything at all.

This is one of the things that I saw when I was a little child: This adult world has an insane quality to it. Everybody’s going around pretending like they really know things, pretending like they know what’s real and what’s not, pretending they know what’s right, pretending they know who’s wrong, but actually nobody really knows. But this is something we’re afraid of. We don’t really want to admit that nobody really knows.

Again, we can see that there’s a great unwillingness in most of us to be disturbed in this way. But if you’ve suffered enough—and I imagine that you have suffered plenty—then maybe you are willing to be disturbed. Maybe your suffering has created a longing for this great internal space.

- Adyashanti, Falling into Grace





 

Wednesday, March 30, 2016

Ana Ram Callan - One




When His love flowers through,

I am hopeless but to be His lover

arms fondling every tress

of his creation – the lid
of garbage cans is Him,
plastic flowers I have to kiss,
helpless to resist His
Heaven-scented beauty,
tongue, heart, lips
licking tendril clouds
used-up leaves, mislaid
rings for keys, all of it
is He, He whispers
through the reeds,
In every single thing,
find me. And I do,
stroking, rocking,
holding lost parts
of his body, fear
and loss and greed,
bullets, blame,
disease, all of it
His holy kingdom,
of which I am a vassal
and a fool, stupid
with love for Him,
smitten with the dream
of His entire Being.

Saint Kabir - bright like a million suns





Flautist Upahar performs the poetry of Saint Kabir, translated by Rabindranath Tagore,
 in Aum Amma's Cave, Mount Arunachala, Tiruvannamalai, Tamil Nadu, India.

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Joan Ruvinsky - Pathless path



  Pathless Path?

Many traditions have a "pathless path"--some even capitalize the p’s. The phrase turns up in Catholicism, Buddhism, Zen and otherwise, in Hinduism and in other capitalized –isms. On Google, that archive of 21st century collective wisdom and folly, I found numerous book titles, a CD track in a new music genre called Vedic Metal, as well as an interview with a professional climbing guide and pilot which explores the meaning of "adventure." It seems this trackless domain is, in fact, quite well-populated, there being no dearth of paths through pathlessness.

In a nutshell, like the farmer said to the lost tourist, "You can’t get there from here." Clearly, if there is a path, it must lead somewhere. If it leads somewhere, there must be a destination other than here. On the other hand, if the territory is pathless, then there is no destination. So where is there to go from here?

Here is where the adventure begins, the adventure of not knowing, of not going, but of simply standing still. Even here is not the destination, but it is a start. And if there is a start, there must be an end. Who knows how long it would take to get from the start to the end? But if standing still is what’s happening, then there is no way to get to the end, no matter how long it does or does not take. So standing still for a long time isn’t it either, since the time it takes to get from here to here is zero. So much for here and now. Having eliminated even here and now, what remains is the pathless path, this timeless moment, unfathomable.



Tuesday, March 29, 2016

'A'ishah al-Ba'uniyah - The tavern of Joy



  ‘A’ishah al-Bācūnīyah (d. 923/1517) was one of the greatest women scholars in Islamic history.  A mystic and prolific poet and writer, ‘A’ishah  composed more works in Arabic than any other woman prior to the 20th  century.  Often, she expressed her great devotion to God and His prophet  Muhammad, and spoke of love and longing on the mystical quest for union. 
She also alluded to her extensive education and mystical training, and her  own particular life experiences, which are often reflected in her verse.  Her  many writings were read and copied by later generations of admirers who  preserved her substantial literary and mystical legacies.
Though many of  her works are lost today, several still exist in manuscript including her poetic collection Fayḍ al-Faḍl wa-Jam’ al-Shaml: “The Emanation of Grace  and the Gathering Union.”
The selection of poems from this volume, edited and translated into English here for the first time, recount A’ishah al-Bācūnīyah’s remarkable story of devotion and mystical illumination.
 
        The sun and moon appeared on the horizon of my spirit,
            and the heart beheld what eyes could not see,
        And sheer beauty revealed itself in guises
            to insight’s clear vision.


These are the opening verses to a poem by the Muslim mystic ‘A’ishah al-Bācūnīyah, in which she speaks of her love for God and union with Him.   Living a life of devotion, meditation, and prayer, A’ishah experienced moments of ecstasy marked by a sense of timeless unity and illumination: 
  I behold beauty with eyes lined by His light, and His splendor was the eyes’ sight.  My love’s beauty is my vision, His presence my gardens,   and their fruit is His love talk devoted to me.  Here, 'Ā’ishah likens her mystical state to a life of everlasting happiness  in the gardens of Paradise where God will reveal Himself to those who  are saved.
There, too, faithful believers will drink the purest wine, and  ‘A’ishah often compares God’s love to an intoxicating wine that causes her  to forget herself in rapture: 

        This is the tavern of joy where the glasses are full,
            aglow like the sun and the moon.
        These choice cups are a portion of what comes to me
            as their quiet intimacy takes hold.
        This is the wine of leisure, and I received from it
             perfect fulfillment from an endless source,
        A wine taking me to the fountain of bliss,
             as I attained peace without anxiety or fear. 

 
‘A’ishah’s mystical experiences enabled her to pass away from a life of selfishness in order to see the divine within her heart and so live an enlightened life of love: 

        My mind, my spirit, my faith-- all of me
            sees clearly without a veil or screen.
        So I received the greatest joy and wish,
            and grace to me is limitless!


As ‘A’ishah’s spiritual life progressed, she became a Sufi master in her own  right, and she composed a guidebook to lead others on the mystic path.  Following a centuries old Sufi tradition, ‘A’ishah advises the seeker to repent  of selfish ways and turn to a sincere life of love for God and all of His creation.
Essential to this transformation is meditation on human limitations  and God’s limitless love.  In her poems and other writings, ‘A’ishah often  recounts her own states and stages on this quest for union with the hope that  others, too, might receive an emanation of grace.


“I see no one but my love,
when I’m here or when I’m gone.
I see him always with me, for he’s my destiny!”


‘A’ishah al-Bāʿūnīyah was one of the greatest women mystics in Islamic history. A Sufi master and an Arab poet, Ā’ishah wrote of her great devotion to God and His prophet Muhammad, and spoke of love and longing on her mystical quest for union. Though many of her works are lost today, several still exist in manuscript including her poetic collection Fayḍ al-Faḍl wa-Jam’ al-Shaml: The Emanation of Grace and the Gathering Union. The selection of poems from this volume, edited and translated into English here for the first time, recount her remarkable story of devotion and mystical illumination. 
— Th. Emil Homerin, Professor of Religion, Department of  Religion & Classics at the University of Rochester;  Instructor of Islam, classical Arabic literature and mysticism

This beautiful collection of poetry fills an important gap in Sufi Studies. Although there have been many Sufi women poets, it was difficult before the modern period to hear their own voices because their poems were transmitted by men. ‘A’ishah al-Bā 'ūnīyah was a rare exception.  Her words of lyric beauty and piety will resonate across the centuries.  This work will become a major contribution to the study of women’s spirituality in Islam.”
— Dr. Vincent J. Cornell, Ph.D., Asa Griggs Candler Professor of
Middle East and Islamic Studies Chair, Department of Middle Eastern and South Asian Studies, Emory University

This remarkable book presents for the first time the poetry of the eminent woman Sufi, ‘A’ishah al-Ba`uniyah, in an eloquent new English translation. Homerin’s achievement is both the discovery of a major mystical author and the convincing rendition of a powerful literary voice.
-Carl W. Ernst, William R. Kenan, Jr., Distinguished Professor, The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill


source text:Here
 

Living Love: The Mystical Writings of 'A'ishah al-Ba'uniyah
 PDF

Nancy Neithercut - And Love wrote poems

 

Tripling lightly adorned in sorrows embrace
shadowed caverns hovered in a backwards glance
neither fore nor hindsight offered a moments respite from a lifetime of wandering wondering where light sang
sweetly like drifting moonlight o'er sands of memory
not caught not lost
nor island bound

glittering nets stranded in dawns mists
forgotten by winds that had no need to arise or shine or
fall
through themselves
lost in daylight
found without hands
or mind

And where did the poem he sought carry its beauty

And tattered sails blushing in evening Windsong
no hands at the helm no passenger within
no direction to be found or lost in evenness
endless blue up above fathomless below
kissing in an embrace that flung oceans on shore of seamless reflections where no harbor or place to rest lost a heartbeat
unfound in a bucket of midnight listing to no sides or shoulder
where tears were not here nor there yet wetness everywhere
and no where

the key was never hidden
it simply never was
in a pool of echoes
starlight shimmered
dancing through rippling moon song

a night hawk flew

and love wrote poems in the darkness as she mourned all that she had been ........ the constant effort to find the essence of what she felt but could not capture ........
and an indescribable magic had filled her emptied her
left without hope or fear of life or death or love.........
and unknown symphonies never written or heard yet always playing painting her love song with unutterable words a pulse a heartbeat a vibration of overtones without a center.............
never written never sung never woven nor undone........
the skinless touch of this that never was and always is
without time nor place filling everywhere and nowhere
echoed dreamscapes rippling over shadows reflected in moonlight's glance
neither backwards nor sideways nor front and center
nor inside nor outside neither secret nor unhidden
whirling twirling soaring streaming rushing roaring flowing feeling deeply yet not moving nor caught
a impenetrable darkness crushed all the light and blossomed into infinite petals of lovliness the softness of unfindable taste and sound of seamless brilliance without gap or edge or feet to wander,,,,,,,,,,,, silently singing brushing butterfly kisses as unwritten pages containing everything and nothing fly and disappear into vast spaciousness where they had never left
a skinless touch ........

as what is going on is ambiguous
sometimes words that leave the mind hanging.........in a love song......... pierce us deeply for no reason for every reason
and all stories lost in the hush of love's embrace
words can take you to the edge............ but what is there between the breath and the song
between a tear and the wetness
where is the inbetween of inbetween
between you and me
and not even nothing is left
to say
yet we sing
we are the song............. as it sings itself
..... just.
....... like
.............this
how could anyone feel so deeply love so much hurt so much without bursting?
how could these feelings how could this precious humannnes be owned?
where did she end and the sky begin?
she reached out her arms to gather the stars and the night swallowed her
and who woulda thunk that what we wanted so much was really nothing at all

ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh............... so amazingly realer than real intimate yet impersonal
an endless sigh falls through itself
the hush of sublime emptiness falling in love
and origami hearts sail on a sea of dreams

and where was love's sideways glance
where was the heart he thought he had held in an empty glass
waiting...........
for a kiss that would illuminate
and pierce what could not be kissed

starlight shimmered on the rim
dancing on the infinite divide
between here and no where

no need of words
or song
to sing of this love
that holds you in its own embrace

and empty handful of tears
disappearing
a bouquet of unutterable beauty
it is your gift

to you

it was a feather'd glance that stole his heart
he could not resist his shadow dancing
he found his will an empty letter cast with all his dreams into the sun
where love lay bleeding
his heart adrift
paceless arrows never shot yet pierced
his dream of never forever collapsed into a wasteland

yet the sunset still beckoned
filling empty sails
with wakeless dreams
of loves glimmering shadow

And in the hush of early early a wind sweeps across the night time dream and caresses her whispering kiss into a song where love appears like magic to bask in each other's glow.



Monday, March 28, 2016

Nancy Neithercut - This Magicians Tale




ah the vibration of this and that arising from the thought stream,,, you are the scintillating,,,,,,,,,,,, the interface between the manifested world and the pseudo reality of separate things and events

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Sunday, March 27, 2016

Hafiz - This is not a courtroom anymore!



This is not a courtroom anymore!

The time of judging who’s drunk or sober,
who’s right or wrong,
who’s closer to God or farther away,
all that’s over.

This caravan is led instead by a great Delight,
the simple joy that sits with us now, that is the grace.

Hafiz, it may be that you’ve just poured a toast
that will wash love clean of all its pictures.



 

Hafiz - Tthe real Band.



Noise
Is a cruel ruler

Who is always imposing
Curfews,

While
Stillness and quiet
Break open the vintage
Bottles,

Awake the real
Band.