Dan Scharlack - Memory

art Emine Tokmakkaya

  When finally I realized that I’d forgotten 

I could not recall what it was I’d left behind. 

How do we start to search for something 

when we’re not sure what it is we’re looking for? 

I don’t know the answer to that, 

But, in my case, I remember the walking. 

I remember walking through sleepless nights, 

down boulevards, avenues, and alleys, 

up stairwells stained with urine and smoke, 

and through mountain passes dusted with twilight. 

I remember walking through fog, and snow, and oceans, 

through concert halls, laundromats, and churches, 

through fantasies, dreams, and songs, 

my feet floating six inches off of the ground. 

Over family members, friends, and lovers, 

seeking pleasures whose lease was too short to bear their cost. 

Through caves, waterfalls, and subway tunnels 

whose stone walls hummed with the glow of fluorescent bulbs. 

But I could not remember what it was I’d forgotten. 

And I felt the soreness in my legs 

the dizziness in my head 

and the unlocatable, undefinable, 

unrelenting longing in my heart 

But I could not remember what it was I’d forgotten. 

And I cursed my head, 

And I cursed my heart, 

And I cursed my legs and feet, 

As I realized they were leading me 

in the same damn circles over and over and over again 

And I could not remember what it was I’d forgotten. 

But my feet knew better than I did. 

Because these circles were a spiral 

that moved further and further and further in on itself.

At the center of the spiral 

all of the circles collapsed, 

the arches of my feet collapsed, 

my legs under my hips collapsed, 

my torso, arms, head, body, heart, mind, and will, collapsed. 

I never remembered what it was I’d forgotten, 

At the center of the spiral 

the one who was trying to remember 

and what was forgotten 

collapsed 

into a 

single 

point. 

And finally the walking stopped. 

Then, 

though there was no longer any separation, 

between me and what I’d forgotten, 

and for no reason I can understand, 

Somehow, the thing that I’d forgotten 

came and picked me up off of the ground. 

And though I will never know the name of the thing that held me 

I can tell you exactly how it feels to be lifted
And what it’s like to walk for the very first time.

- Dan Scharlack 2012

http://dan.scharlack.com/ 

 

Mystic Meandering ~ The Kiss of The Mystery

There is an intimacy in deep Silence
that is indefinable, inexplicable, inexpressible
and hauntingly sublime...

A fluidity of

~ s p a c i o u s n e s s ~

A movement of Awareness,

a w a r e ~ i n g...

Everything is open

Pure 

BE ~ ing ~ ness

There is depth and breadth,
yet no boundary.

There is substance and fullness
yet - Emptiness...

It is a subtle, rhythmic

intimacy
of
the Unheard

embracing,
surrounding, and filling
every crack and crevice of existence...
Unwinding the contractions
of
body and mind.

There is a "sanity" in this Silence
that bestows a soundness of heart through Grace
that is beyond mere mental comprehension ~
beyond cognition...

Finding the deeper Rhythm within
one loses a sense of "self"
and becomes
The Silence ~

Breathing ItSelf...

"knowing" it is

The Breath of the Infinite

The Whisper of Love

The Kiss of The Mystery

*

Mystic Meandering
June 2016

 

 

http://mysticmeandering.blogspot.gr/ 

Anamika - Being present

There is no distance to This
and what we are.

This does not fit any framework
and does not care which words are used
as words cannot catch It.

It is simply the direct perception,
the immediacy,
the knowing, seeing, touching, perceiving
of all that appears.

And that means all,
that means also all of the hangups,
contractions,
irritations.

It means simply This.
Already the case.
Already existence in all its glory
and ordinariness.

The amazing sunset,
the beautiful smile,
and the dirty toilet,
or being squeezed in the bus
during rush-hour on the way home.

The amazing insights and revelations
and the surging up of emotional turmoil
as it resurfaces in the relaxation of this
new found freedom.

Can we be present to it all?

Can we be relaxed enough to take these
sometimes agonizing feelings and let them play out?
Simply feel them and let them tell their story?

Or do we need to nullify them ( again ).
Distance ourselves and hide them
behind a curtain of lofty concepts?

Create a duality where none exists?

Do we dare to simply be present
without creating another story?

The seeing, feeling, perceiving, experiencing
of all that appears. 

 Potshots

Miriam Louisa - Please take these offerings

Now in my eighth decade, and delighting in life regardless of its curved balls, I feel to share some of the observations that have delivered me to this joy. It’s the best I can offer; may your mind and heart be able to receive.

Life hurts.
But what you are never feels pain.

Everything changes.
But what you are remains unchanged, eternally.

You’re flat and exhausted and depressed.
But what you are is forever poised as equanimity.

You’re broke, stressed, squeezed dry, homeless and hungry.
But what you are is unaffected and impartial.

You’re smashed by disappointment, betrayal, abandonment.
But what you are is ever calm, accepting and unbroken.

You’re afflicted by physical and mental aberrations, abnormalities, imbalances.
But what you are never suffers for one second.

So what you are is clearly something with which you need to become very familiar. And it’s e-a-s-y to do so. You don’t need a formal introduction. You don’t need a manual or a map or a guide book. You don’t need to change your religion or your beliefs (although changes may well occur as a result). You don’t need a 12-step plan or a meditation practice.

What you are is more obvious and closer than the tip of your nose. It’s the one experience you can never escape, 24/7.

What would you call that? Your aliveness? Your awareness? Your presence? All these words come close, but none are ultimately true or exact. Why?

Because they aren’t yours. Or mine. Or anyone’s. Drop the personal pronoun, and there you are – radiant all-knowing alive presence. The Light of Knowingness, self-luminous, always-on, never-needing fuel or flint…

And that is what you are – free, fulfilled and flourishing as all you conceive, perceive and experience. All of it.

How wondrous that this is possible – that this primordial awareness is huge enough to hold the entirety of creation, excluding nothing – yet be unaffected and unmoved by any expression of its handmaiden, consciousness.

It is truly The Beloved, the Godhead of the saints and sages and poets.

And it is what you are.

Read the entire post HERE

https://thisunlitlight.com/ 

Rumi - Awake and aware

When the rose is gone and the garden faded
you will no longer hear the nightingale's song.

The Beloved is all; the lover just a veil.
The Beloved is living; the lover a dead thing.

If love withholds its strengthening care,
the lover is left like a bird without care,
the lover is left like a bird without wings.

How will I be awake and aware
if the light of the Beloved is absent?

Love wills that this word be brought forth.

 

Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi, The Masnawi I, 23-31