Ibn Ata’ Illah - How can you imagine ?

How can you imagine that something else veils Him
when He is the One who is manifest by everything?
How can you imagine that something else veils Him
when He is the One who is made manifest in everything?
How can you imagine that something else veils Him
when He is the One who is manifest to everything?
How can you imagine that something else veils Him
when He was the One who was Manifest before there was anything?
How can you imagine that something else veils Him
when He is more manifest than anything?
How can you imagine that something else veils Him
when He is the One with whom there is nothing else?
How can you imagine that something else veils Him
when He is the One who is nearer to you than anything?
How can you imagine that something else veils Him
when if it had not been for Him, there would not have been anything?

A marvel!
See how existence becomes manifest in non-existence!
How the in-time holds firm alongside Him whose attribute is eternal!

  from Ibn ‘Ata’ Illah the Book of Wisdom/Kwaja Abdullah Ansari Intimate Conversations, Translated by Victor Danner / Translated by Wheeler M. Thackston

A Sacred Riddle

Suddenly,
Like a shot,
Pitch black,
Silent as a tomb,
I am upright in bed.

I hear the Voice.
It speaks my name.

There is a calling to it,
As if to say,
Yes, lad, I’m talking to you,
So, wake up, sit up, and listen.

I’m listening.

It Speaks:
“If I Am Infinite, who are you?”

Silence again.
The darkness returns.
Just me, sitting there,
In bed.

Wait a second.
Did I say, returns?
Yes, there had been Light, too.
I hadn’t noticed until now,
Remembering, writing it down.

Instantly,
The familiar doubts arise.
Had I really seen a light?
Heard words?
There’s no such thing as lights,
Much less discarnate words.
Am I nuts?
Must have been a dream.

I feel the sheet between my fingers.
Across the room, the clock glows
Four eleven.
Around the corner,
The refrigerator hums,
Endlessly defrosting. Energy saver my foot.
This is no dream.

At my desk,
Flashlight in hand,
I write,
“If I Am Infinite, who are you?”

Upper case letters.
Had I heard them,
Or guessed them?
Never mind, what’s written
Is written.

Uh-oh, here they come again,
Mr. and Mrs. Doubt.
We’re back!
If there had been a voice,
Not to mention a Voice,
Why didn’t the four-legged one,
Asleep in her bed beside mine,
Awaken, and bark?

Point taken.
But what if,
The Voice
Is her Master’s voice, too?
No stranger, no bark.
Elementary, my dear Watson.

“If I Am Infinite, who are you?”

Think about it.
If there is you and me,
And one of us is infinite,
How can there be “you and me”?

If one of us is infinite,
There can’t be any one else.
There is no and in infinite,
No and and no else.
Just the infinite one.

Infinite isn’t some thing
And not another.
Infinite is infinite.
There, there are no others.
You name it,
Infinite is.

Take your pen,
A scrap of paper,
And draw, let’s say, a circle.
Label it “Infinite Being.”
Now, on the same scrap of paper,
Draw an other.
Any other.

Go on. Don’t just sit there.

Can’t be done, can it?
Infinite Being, being infinite,
Leaves no place to draw
Anything
Else!

”If I Am Infinite, who are you?”

Oh, sure, if pressed
I can answer that. Like —
You are, let’s say, God, and
I am, let’s say, me.
You create me, and
I worship You.
What’s the big deal.

But if
You Are Infinite
And if (big if)
I understand rightly what infinite is
Consider it from every angle
Contemplate its every implication
Imagine every possibility
Decipher every meaning
Up, down, back, forth,
I see
There’s no where left
For me.

I need space,
Like any tree,
In which to be.
A little time, too,
Would be nice.

But if
You Are Infinite
You’re already occupying
All the space
All the time
There is.
Leaving not so much as a microsite
For me.

And yet,
Clearly, I am here.
I touch my dog, and can feel her,
I touch this paper,
The desk, the chair,
And feel them.
Touching proves me.
Tango, ergo sum.

But if, once again,
You Are Infinite,
Then …
Who’s touching
Who’s feeling
Who’s Sum?

“If I Am Infinite, who are you?”

It’s a nasty riddle
You lay upon me
This dark and blessed morn.

Once asked, it must be solved.
But once solved,
There is no thing left.
A salt doll strolls into the ocean,
Never to emerge again.

The sun rises.
I release the pen.
The four-legged one, now awake,
Tail wagging,
“Let’s go out.”

Okay, I wonder,
If You Are Infinite,
Who’s my dog.

 

The Zoo Fence

Ulla AllU - One Voice!

art Parablev

 There are many speakers, only ONE voice.
Appearing separate and with a choice.

In the hall of mirrors the ONE stand,
Giving reflections of more than ONE brand.

Mistaken itself with more is Existences constant chore,
Yet, always ONE at the core.

In form through continuity,
Boundless divinity, formless in infinity,

Never born, never to die, Existence freely fly.

When in the stillness there are no pieces and chess.
Only ONEness in recess.

Embracing nothingness in its fold,
No formless or form to hold.

 http://www.beyondpoetry.com/

Mark McCloskey - Avoiding the Void

   Our problem may be very simple in life; we find that we must keep doing, thinking, going, listening, running, talking or else what shall we be? We love to be filled with noise, images, words, thoughts, memories, fantasies, sensations, people, pleasures and good feelings. When these things are not, we feel bored, alone, scared and quite possibly angry and confused. The brain needs input almost continuously. When there is a lack of input into these amazing computer-like brains our thoughts can fill in. We believe that these thoughts about self, about ego (the "I") are the reality and that there is nothing more. We know of this space in between the thoughts, the words, the actions, but it seems we pay it no heed or we do not want to look there. But what is it about this silent space inside that we do not wish to face, that we try to keep covered by any means.

   I would offer that in this silence is who we are. That means not only every memory of every moment of our lives, many of which we can not face a second time because they are too painful. But it also means our true being-ness is right there, able to be experienced in the stillness of a moment free from everything, from every thought.

If you have not figured it out yet, this silent awareness, this Pure Silence is always there in you despite the exterior noise, the thoughts, the memories and to recognize it all you need do is stop for one second all the exterior and interior garbage and relax into that stillness at the core of your being. This is that which has been called God itself! This is who you are, your True Self! This is the Nothingness which contains everything! And yet we seek to avoid this at all costs. We are always avoiding this void by hook and by crook. We need to fabricate, manipulate and do.
 

   All peace, all order, all sanity, all goodness, truth and love is right here in you in the Pure Silence that is beyond intellect, beyond will, beyond understanding. Just stop and listen with your soul. Everything is here. Everything is you.
 

You are that which is is-ness itself.

 Pure Silence 

Jeff Foster - Love's deeper commitment

art Rassouli

Let’s not commit to a future together. The future is so unknown, and we are so fluid, and tired of pretending that we know.
Our thoughts and feelings are ever-changing, uncontrollable, like a wild ocean of love.
Our desires wax and wane; our dreams are born and die in every moment.
Let’s not commit to a form of love. The forms are always shifting, like the tides.
We do not need security here. We are not seeking comfort, but Truth.
Let’s make a deeper commitment; one that cannot be broken or lost.
To presence. To meeting in the here-and-now.
To bringing all of ourselves. To knowing, and letting ourselves be known.
To telling the truth, today; knowing that our truth may change tomorrow.
To bowing before each other, even if our hearts are broken and tender.
No promises, no guarantees.
Loving takes courage! Yes!
For love is a field, not a form. Let us commit to the field, remember the field in every moment of our precious days on this Earth.
In ten years’ time, we may still be together. We may have children. We may live together, or live apart.
We may never see each other again. This may be our last day.
If we are honest, we really do not know; not knowing is our Home.
We may be friends, or lovers, or strangers, or family, or we may remain undefined, beyond narrative, our love unable to be captured in words.
Here at the edge of the known, on the line that once divided sanity from madness, and doubt from certainty, we play, we dance, we drink tea, we touch each other, we cry, we laugh, we meet.
We sacrifice comfort and predictability. But what we gain is astonishing: This tremendous sense of being alive. No longer numb to the mysteries of love, the mysteries of our bodies.
A little raw, perhaps. A little shaky. Maybe a little disoriented, but perhaps this is the price of being totally free.
Maybe an old part of us still seeks Mummy or Daddy, that Magic Person who will never leave, always be there, take away the loneliness repressed in our guts. Loving that frightened part too; bowing to that part too, but no longer being controlled by it.
And they will ask:
What about your future?
What happens if you have children?
How the hell do you define yourselves?
Why are you afraid of commitment?
Why do you run from security? Comfort? Future?
They will say you are crazy, or you don’t understand love, or you are lost, or you are unloving and selfish, and you will smile, and understand their fear, for their fear was once yours, and you cannot abandon your path now.
And nobody has to walk with you. Ever.
At some point, only Truth will satisfy. A living Truth, renewing itself each and every moment, the wild Truth of the open heart.
When Love and Truth are One, when the Commitment is deeply rooted in the breath, we can finally face each other without resentment, and explode into the most melancholy sunsets, held in the most profound joy.
Walking alone, together, alone.

 http://www.lifewithoutacentre.com/

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Wu Hsin - Endless possibilities

What is one trying to change?
The past is finished; it cannot be improved.
The future is yet unformed; one cannot alter what has no form.
The present cannot be grasped
because in the instant one attempts to do so,
it has slipped into the past.
However, when the present remains unseized, untouched,
this-that-is willingly reveals itself, exposing its endless possibilities. 

Papaji - Why get into trouble?

    Why get into trouble? It’s enough.
    Everything is Here: Happiness, Beauty, Love.
    Whatever you call it, it is full of everything!
    Whatever you think, so it becomes because it is 

Consciousness and everything is possible in Consciousness. 

You have created all these manifestations, all these waves in the ocean. 

You are so capable and so vast, so full, so complete, so conscious. 

You can create all of this so why suffer?

    Emptiness is never affected by appearances in Emptiness.

    The ocean does not suffer when a wave rises.

    It does not suffer when a wave falls.

    Let the waves dance and let them enjoy.

    Just stay Here and see only Love and Beauty and Happiness.

    This is the Ultimate Understanding.

    It does not need any thinking or any process or any meditations.
    You are Limitless, Fathomless, Vastness: who will disturb this Vastness?
    Where will you run out so that you are no longer Here?
    Just stay as you are, do not start from anywhere and do not go anywhere, 

and do not activate a thought. 

Han Shan - Cold Mountain

Some might laugh at my poems but no matter --
they’re fine just as they are, and fun besides!

They need no commentary, no studious explanation,
not even any signature.

Who even cares if they're read or not --
certainly not me!

The pine just sprouts needles,
the wind just blows.

I have no literary pretense, no wordy ambition,
but still, these poems can offer a taste of light.

If you would read my poems,
prepare yourself well: be pure of mind.

Open your tight-fisted heart; flatter none
but honesty with your authentic voice.

From the bag of Self, unpack selfishness;
refolding what remains, your Buddha-body.

This is your first assignment. Do it now,
and quickly. I speak the law of what's true.


In our hearts, I'm not the same as you --
if in your heart you should become like me,
then you can reach the core of it too.

I choose to bray at the cock-eyed moon,
to dance through mountain clouds at dawn.

Why bury my hands in my sleeves,
place a lock on my tongue, tie legs in knots
and sit like a stone?

My hair flows and cascades!

Among the winding creeks and towering crags
there lives a happy hermit of a man.

In daylight he wanders freely 'round the mountain,
intoxicated by the mere existence of anything.

At night he sleeps wherever he pleases,
at home in any cave or pine needle nest.

Let all the springs and summers pass themselves,
selfless peace and serenity wrap around him
like a robe of comfy light.

What a great and indescribable pleasure -
Real Freedom!

Suchness sometimes means just sitting,
relaxing, in a cool autumn stream.

On Tien-Tai Mountain I make my home,
clouds and fog keep the tourists away.

This very life is a magic picnic
laden with oodles of bliss!

Tzon Tze said:

`The good death you are having
makes the earth and sky your coffin.'


The Unborn is prior to this world --
it has no form, health or disease.

It's the master of all things,
following nothing, at rest in all.

Climbing Cold Mountain --
the path forward never seems to end.

In the long stream there are many stones;
on either shore the grass is the same.

White clouds silently drape the hillside,
the peaks are obscured in the morning mists.

Building my hut was easy enough -- just borrowed
some light from essence of moonshine.

Wild deer make an excellent audience!

A man beyond both existence and non-existence,
I thoroughly enjoy this beautiful life!

Birth and death are just like water and ice.
Water becomes ice and ice turns to water.

There is nothing otherwise.

Han Shan-Tze,
Ever Thus!

Living alone --
no birth, no death!

I stand on the peak, lit by bright sunshine,
gazing out at the clear blue sky.

Crane and friendly clouds fly by, beckoning me
to pick flowers down by the lovely riverbank!

We play till dusk, watch wind rising, waves rippling,
water birds lifted on wings of flight.

Afloat in this boat my mind expands --
no place to hide, essence of space!

Now the old year is gone, the spring has come.
Flowers smile at the stream, cliffs dance
playfully in clouds and mist!

Butterflies seem so glad, while
fish and birds are sporting like mad!

Our friendship is endless, I am so happy
I can no longer sleep!

How sublime is this nature --
creation with no creature therein!

The Tao is like a stream from nowhere,
yet there is water in every mouth!

I gaze far off at Cold Mountain's summit,
alone and aloft above the crowding peaks.

Pines and bamboo sing in the swaying winds,
sea tides wash beneath the shining moon.

I gaze at the mountain's green borders below
and ponder philosophy with the puff-ball clouds.

In the wilderness mountains and forests are fine, but
I yearn for my companion to delight in this Way.

Many claim that Han Shan was the incarnation of the Bodhisattva Manjusri. People say a lot of things, but Han Shan paid little mind to the opinions of dreamers and interpretations of myth-makers, choosing instead to play among the peaks and white clouds of his beloved Cold Mountain, and leave the world behind.

Nisargadatta Maharaj - Misunderstanding

The person is merely the result of a misunderstanding. In reality, there is no such thing. Feelings, thoughts and actions race before the watcher in endless succession, leaving traces in the brain and creating an illusion of continuity. A reflection of the watcher in the mind creates the sense of ‘I’ and the person acquires an apparently independent existence. In reality there is no person, only the watcher identifying himself with the ‘I’ and the ‘mine’. The teacher tells the watcher: you are not this, there is nothing of yours in this, except the little point of 'I am’, which is the bridge between the watcher and his dream. 'I am this, I am that’ is dream, while pure 'I am’ has the stamp of reality on it. You have tasted so many things – all came to naught. Only the sense 'I am’ persisted – unchanged. Stay with the changeless among the changeful, until you are able to go beyond. 

Rose Burrows - The Peace Within

art Rassouli

There ‘s a secret sacred place deep in my Heart
Where peace abides
Where serenity, tranquillity and contentment reign
And wisdom, courage and strength abound
I need not deserve this peace
Nor must I earn it
It is my divine inheritance
imprinted in this  heart of mine
I need not take a special pose
or breathe a certain way
I simply close my eyes, relax and be aware
In quietness I let go all people, places and things
I let go the hurdles and commotion in my head
I sit as a beholder and focus on my Heart
The cares and woes soon drift away
I am calm, uplifted, supported and fearless
Unfettered, fulfilled, refreshed and whole
This is my safe haven, my sanctuary my inspiration
The choice is mine
To battle the storm
Or turn within
From whence all blessings flow

 The pearl of great price

 

Naomi Stone - Early morning

Good morning...

Perhaps those of you 

who read my streaming writing

are beginning to know how sacred 

this time is for me....

early morning..

my own renewal time..

The silence is truly a balm...... 

the silken touch

from spiritual hands....

that touch 

the vulnerabilities 

that come from being human....

the soft presence 

that could be described

a thousand ways...

a time for

balancing......centering.........

opening the sheltering space

which is touched only by the purity 

of divine silence...

a soulful presence beyond our words..

yet...there is no mistaking

that

it is a living presence

the up close and personal embrace

of belovedness..

There is a way of letting the words fall 

into uncreated space

like drifting

soft silence

an anointing energy

a song 

of meaning 

for my heart alone

We spin and weave our story

from the creative spaces

within ourselves

where

we feel the blessing and the glory

of the Light 

that

illuminates the revelation

of this present moment

that touches

the secrets of a vibrant life

in the midst of all

the illusions

a song

only the Beloved

can sing

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New Mother New Earth Night Songs

I am not seen but am the seer.
I am not heard but I am the hearer.
I am not thought of but am the thinker, never known but the knower.
I am your self, your inner director, your immortal one.
I am always and never all the time.
~ Brihadaranyaka Upanishad.

 

Longchenpa on Dzogchen view

Longchenpa clarifies the Dzogchen view:

"Because Awareness (Rigpa) has no finite essence, and because suchness and deliberate activity are mutually exclusive, and because Awareness is already timelessly and spontaneously present, nothing need be done concerning levels of realization on which to train, spiritual paths to traverse, mandalas to visualize, empowerments to be bestowed, paths to cultivate in meditation, samaya to uphold, enlightened activities to accomplish, and so forth. This is because there is no need to accomplish anew what is already timelessly and spontaneously accomplished. If there were such need, it would be inappropriate to use the conventional designation "spontaneously present and uncompounded." And it would follow that dharmakaya was subject to destruction, because it would be compounded, and this because it would be created by causes and conditions." (practices etc.) Longchenpa, Choying Dzod, A Treasure Trove of Scriptural Transmission, page 120, first paragraph. Padma Publications.

Page 190: first main paragraph:

Longchenpa writes: "Since all phenomena are timelessly free, nothing need be done to free them anew through realization."

Next paragraph: "Even the thought that freedom comes about through direct introduction is deluded. One strives to free this essence from whatever binds it, but nothing need be done to free it, for unobstructed Awareness, which has never existed as anything whatsoever, does not entail any duality of something to be realized and someone to realize it. There is equalness because nothing is improved by realization or worsened by it's absence, so there is no need for any adventitious realization. And because there never has existed anything to realize- for the ultimate nature of phenomena is beyond ordinary consciousness- to speak of realization on even the relative level is nothing but deluded. What can be shown at this point is the transcendence of view and meditation, in which nothing need be done regarding realization, nothing need be directly introduced, and no state of meditation need be cultivated. So there is the expression 'it is irrelevant whether or not one has realization'."

Page 191: middle paragraph

"In this case what makes perfect sense in the Ati approach is the superior realization whereby one directly experiences the unobstructed state in it's nakedness, without relying on anything whatsoever. Since one does not experience separation from the essence of Awareness even for an instant, to say that is realized or perceived is merely to use a conventional expression."

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Chuck Surface - Understanding and Experience

Intellectual understanding, however diamond-like, will only push "you" shallowly beneath the waves. And that pushing, born of the mind having reached a “conclusion”, will need to be continued; remembering, reminding one's self, and re-concluding, again and again, of the "idea", the concept, that "All there is, is Consciousness." So many have planted a flag here, just beneath the waves, on the far frontiers of Heaven.

There "you" will drift, having seen through, intellectually, the falsity of identification with the wave you had taken yourself to be, identification, still present, now having simply shifted, in intellectual understanding alone, to the Ocean. You will have completed the “physics class” of contemporary nonduality.

You will have thought yourself, reasoned yourself, and come to a conclusion that you are free. You will know that you are not an object-perceiver-experiencer-person, but will continue to feel as if you are, in ways vast, varied, and supremely subtle.  Initially the psycho-intellectual shift will give cause for celebration, for it is not inconsequential. But in time... you will wonder why that which you had taken to be Wine, tastes like tepid water. The “thirst” of the mind will have been satisfied, but the Heart’s longing for the Drunkenness of Fullness, Completion, and Bliss will remain unsatisfied.

You will not know the Taste, the Fragrance, the Experience of Absolute Nonduality; the Embrace of The Beloved; the vanishing, in experience, not concept, of space, time, objects, and yourself. Nor will you know, in open-eyed existence in the Dream of space and time, the Experience of Dissolution and Bliss that only comes when not only the mind is Liberated, but the Heart, and the somatic aspect of the manifest Being is Illumined. 

The Kingdom of Heaven is Within. And you cannot read, hear, watch, or think your way to the Experience of it.  However powerfully evocative, these will only bring you to the frontiers. You cannot come to the Experience by locating it on a map, reading a description, however profound and articulate, or looking at photos, however beautiful.
 
You must dive deep...  behind...  before all that appears, including the felt sense of yourself as the investigator, the enquirer, the one seeking to experience Pure Awareness. For Heaven, Pure Awareness, is only experienced when all that appears ceases, including the experiencer-perceiver, leaving only That to which, from which, within which, and most confoundingly as which, all appears.

     Back... back...
     Before... before...

     Before thinking,
     And the felt sense of yourself as the thinker.

     Before language, words, and mental images,
     And the meanings and emotions they carry.

     Before perceptions and sensations,
     And the felt sense of the their perceiver-experiencer.

     Back... back...
     Before... before...

The outward wandering Wave of Attention must be fiercely committed to discovering its Source, The Ocean within, from which it arises and to which it returns; Fierce enough not to stop at intellectual understanding; Fierce enough to go beyond, behind, before knowing and understanding; Fierce enough to move in Feeling Enquiry to the point of its own Vanishing in The Great Mystery that lays  before, beyond, behind all duality, Absolutely.

     The Kingdom of Heaven is Within.
     Go there.
     And don’t stop at understanding,
     Continue on, until Experience alone exists...

     Free, at last, of the experiencer.

     Dip the salt doll self,
     Again and again and again,
     Into the Ocean of Pure Awareness,
     Until only a handful of saltwater emerges.

     Understanding will lead you to the Shore,
     Where thinking must give way to Feeling,
     Where concept must give way to Experience,
     Of Existence as Pure Awareness...

     Heaven.

http://www.gardenofthebeloved.com/

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Jeff Foster - the One who survives

You are awake.

You feel infinite depths of loneliness and despair,
no longer your own, but all of humanity’s. 

You are now moved by the smallest of things. 

A word. A sound. A breath.

Your heart has cracked open and cannot be closed.

 

They may call you 'selfish'
but they have no idea
what the self actually is.
They have not yet plunged
into its fathomless depths.

 

Sometimes we have to hit rock bottom
to know ourselves
as the One who survives.

Sometimes it is the fall
that wakes us. 

 Both photos Enzo Perrazziello

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Rumi - Subtle degrees

subtle degrees
of domination and servitude
are what you know as love

but love is different
it arrives complete
just there
like the moon in the window

like the sun
of neither east nor west
nor of anyplace

when that sun arrives
east and west arrive

desire only that
of which you have no hope
seek only that
of which you have no clue

love is the sea of not-being
and there intellect drowns

this is not the Oxus River
or some little creek
this is the shoreless sea;
here swimming ends
always in drowning

a journey to the sea
is horses and fodder
and contrivance
but at land’s end
the footsteps vanish

you lift up your robe
so as not to wet the hem;
come! drown in this sea
a thousand times

the moon passes over the
ocean of non-being

droplets of spray tear loose
and fall back
on the cresting waves

a million galaxies
are a little scum
on that shoreless sea


-- Version by Daniel Liebert
(no ode number given)
“The Rumi Collection”
Threshold Books, 1998

Amata Natasha Goldie ~ Love’s Ecstacy ~

You are my core, my essence,
Yet I cannot hear your heartbeat,
You are my song, my hearts’ calling,
Yet, I cannot feel your soft breath,
You are my deepest yearning, my intoxication,
Yet, distance tortures us, into submission,

And now, Beloved,
We are together,
Our hands move as rapid whispers,
In the forbidden forest of Loves’ desire,

O divine ache,
You leave me unfeathered,
The memory of your scent,
Traces a path of tenderness to my soul,

O sweet lover,
Come to me, in pure nakedness,
And leave the world at my feet,
This longing can only be complete,
When our worlds meet,
As one virtuoso, one symphony

To sing Loves’ ecstasy

© Amata Natasha Goldie – All rights reserved

 

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Chuck Surface - What If

What if you knew little of the walled villages,
Of religion, of belief, of faith, and philosophy,
And then experienced, one day,
What seemed, when considered after the fact,
A loss of consciousness,
The vanishing of Everything from Awareness,
Including yourself as the one aware. and yet…

Awareness continued?

And what if the nature of that Awareness,
Pure and unsullied by space, time, and objects,
In which even you, the experiencer, had vanished,
Was so Ineffably Sublime that words did not exist,
To express its Ecstasy, its Rapture, its Perfection,
The Fulfillment of your Heart's Desire,
Fullness, Completion, Bliss, and…

Love?

And what if you found yourself, thereafter,
Imbued always with the touch of that Heaven,
Felt as a Radiance in the Locus of your Heart,
Sometimes the ambient background of experience,
Sometimes flooding the foreground, acutely,
Ever available to the mind's Attention,
Ever available to the Heart's Remembrance…

A Wellspring of Grace?

And what if you then entered the spiritual marketplace,
In search of someone, anyone, to explain the Mystery,
Wandering the rows of stalls, past the shouting sellers,
Each declaring the “Truth”, and decrying the others,
Until your eyes and ears could bear it no longer,
And your Heart, bruised, pleaded with you to leave,
The pedantry, the arguments, the profaning of Love…

And return to the Simple Experience?

The simple Experience, not yet debased by the mind,
Beyond knowledge and understanding,
Not poured into the mold of another's interpretation,
Not bound by prescription, proscription, and dogma,
Not requiring you to do this, and refrain from that,
Without cause, without condition, ever present,
A touch of Heaven ever Shining…

Grace, Unimaginable.

And what if, in time, that Presence in your Heart,
Like a Wellspring of Transmutation, within,
Diminished the terrible pain of your self,
Leaving intact all that you had taken yourself to be,
But stealing from your experience, the felt sense of “you”,
That very felt sense that had vanished that fateful day,
So long ago, in time, when time and all things Vanished…

And only The Mystery remained?

And what if, now free of the need for knowledge,
You returned to the spiritual marketplace,
Moved now only by Curiosity, Wonder, and Love,
And found yourself Dancing through the stalls,
Stealing this jewel from here, that jewel from there,
Until, your satchel full to overflowing,
You Blessed them all, and returned again…

To the Simple Experience?

And what if you then were moved by Delight,
To declare in poetic verse,
“Ah… this Most Beautiful Presence,
This Shining Radiance within,
This Exquisite Rapture,
This Fulfillment of all desire,
The Divine Thief that has stolen ‘me’…

I will call it God,
I will call it Brahman,
I will call it The Beloved,
I will call it The Holy Spirit,
I will call it Emptiness,
I will call it The Inner Light,
I will call it The Unnameable…

I will call it Love.”

And what if you were told,
To your surprise and amazement,
By some among the Friends you made,
That the ember in their Hearts,
Ignited, to their Delight and Inspiration,
In moments of Relationship with you,
Shining ever more Brightly, over time…

Until they found themselves, in time,
Imbued always with the touch of that Heaven,
Felt as a Radiance in the Locus of their Heart,
Sometimes the ambient background of experience,
Sometimes flooding the foreground, acutely,
Ever available to their mind's Attention,
Ever available to their Heart's Remembrance?

I will call that… a reason to live.

And what if these Illumined Friends were told,
To their surprise and amazement,
By some among the Friends they made,
That the ember in their Hearts,
Ignited, to their Delight and Inspiration,
In moments of Relationship with them,
Shining ever more Brightly, over time…

Until they found themselves, in time,
Imbued always with the touch of that Heaven,
Felt as a Radiance in the Locus of your Heart,
Sometimes the ambient background of experience,
Sometimes flooding the foreground, acutely,
Ever available to their mind's Attention,
Ever available to their Heart's Remembrance?

I will call that… the Transmission of The Flame.

And what if you found, in the course of your life,
No finality in the milestones come to along The Way,
No flag to be planted, no summit declared,
And that however Profound and Transmuting,
More should not be made of them,
Than should be made,
Each being merely a juncture arrived at…

On a Journey of…
Endless Enlightening.

 

 

 

www.GardenOfTheBeloved.com  

www.facebook.com/InTheGardenOfTheBeloved

 

Hafiz - Now is the time (2)

art Mahmood Farshchian

 Now is the time to know
That all that you do is sacred.

Now, why not consider
A lasting truce with yourself and God.

Now is the time to understand
That all your ideas of right and wrong
Were just a child's training wheels
To be laid aside
When you finally live
With veracity
And love.

Hafiz is a divine envoy
Whom the Beloved
Has written a holy message upon.

My dear, please tell me,
Why do you still
Throw sticks at your heart
And God?

What is it in that sweet voice inside
That incites you to fear?

Now is the time for the world to know
That every thought and action is sacred.

This is the time
For you to compute the impossibility
That there is anything
But Grace.

Now is the season to know
That everything you do
Is sacred.

  -Hafiz, from The Gift by Daniel Ladinsky

 

Federico Moramarco - One Hundred and Eighty Degrees

Have you considered the possibility
that everything you believe is wrong,
not merely off a bit, but totally wrong,
nothing like things as they really are?

If you’ve done this, you know how durably fragile
those phantoms we hold in our heads are,
those wisps of thought that people die and kill for,
betray lovers for, give up lifelong friendships for.

If you’ve not done this, you probably don’t understand this poem,
or think it’s not even a poem, but a bit of opaque nonsense,
occupying too much of your day’s time,
so you probably should stop reading it here, now.

But if you’ve arrived at this line,
maybe, just maybe, you’re open to that possibility,
the possibility of being absolutely completely wrong,
about everything that matters.

How different the world seems then:
everyone who was your enemy is your friend,
everything you hated, you now love,
and everything you love slips through your fingers like sand.

 

Jiddu Krishnamurti - The Great Silence

photo Fred Mount

 Way down in the valley were the dull lights of a small village; 

it was dark and the path was stony and rough. 

The waving lines of the hills against the starlit sky were deeply embedded in darkness 

and a coyote was howling somewhere nearby. 

The path had lost its familiarity and a small scented breeze was coming up the valley. 

To be alone in that solitude was to hear the voice of intense silence and its great beauty. 

Some animal was making noise among the bushes, frightened of attracting attention. 

It was quite dark by now and the world of that valley became deep in its silence. 

The night air had special smells, a blend of all the bushes that grow on the dry hills, 

that strong smell of bushes that know the hot sun. 

The rains had stopped many months ago; 

it wouldn’t rain again for a very long time and the path was dry, dusty and rough. 

The great silence with its vast space held the night 

and every movement of thought became still. 

The mind itself was the immeasurable space and in that deep quietness 

there was not a thing that thought had built. 

To be absolutely nothing is to be beyond measure. 

The path went down a steep incline and a small stream 

was saying many things, delighted with its own voice. 

It crossed the path several times and the two were playing a game together. 

The stars were very close and some were looking down from the hill tops. 

Still the lights of the village were a long way off 

and the stars were disappearing over the high hills. 

Be alone, without word and thought, but only watching and listening. 

The great silence showed that without it, 

existence loses its profound meaning and its beauty.

 From Krishnamurti’s Journal, page 124

Yu Xuanji - The house of the Immortals

I’ve come to the house of the Immortals:
In every corner, wildflowers bloom.
In the front garden, trees
Offer their branches for drying clothes;
Where I eat, a wine glass can float
In the springwater’s chill.
From the portico, a hidden path
Leads to the bamboo’s darkened groves.
Cool in a summer dress, I choose
From among the heaped piles of books.
Reciting poems in the moonlight, riding a painted boat…
Every place the wind carries me is home.

—Yu Xuanji. Taken from Women in Praise of the Sacred: 43 Centuries of Spiritual Poetry by Women (New York: Harper Collins, 1994)