Saturday, May 6, 2017

Taya Malakian - Sky Dancer

 She who is all of space,
dances through me.
I have let myself become
as open to the air
as a tattered prayer flag
so that she can move in me
without impediments.
The winds are roused
as I write this,
confirming this great
Wisdom Being’s
desire to dance through
the curtain of illusion
and free us from our fears.
With the biggest love in her
vast heart
she tears through each of
us in an instant
what takes the winds
years to destroy.

Thursday, May 4, 2017

Mooji - Reflect upon this

You are One.
You are the singular being.
And, therefore, you cannot see you.
What you can see are only the projections that appear in your mind
—and some of those projections you take to be yourself.

While growing up we try out being all sorts of things,
so many different versions of ourselves
and all of these garments of identity have left
because none of them was you.

But you cannot leave you, even if you think you can and have.
You can leave the idea you have of you,
but your Self, you can never NOT be.
You may dream you are something or someone else,
you can momentarily appear to be something you are not,
but you cannot un-be what you are.

And you are the one watching all of these dreams and appearances.
The amount of interest or no-interest will determine
the impact your seeing will have on you, if any impact at all.
And if your seeing has a tremendous impact on you,
that ‘you’ is still not the ultimate Truth—not your essential Being.

Contemplate this. Reflect upon this until you meet your heart’s joy.


Tuesday, May 2, 2017

Lal Ded - The Temple is but stone

“The idol is but stone
The Temple is but stone,
From top to bottom, all is but stone
Whom will you worship, O stubborn Pandit?”

“It covers your shame,
Saves you from cold,
Its food and drink, mere water and grass
Who counselled you, O Brahmin,
To slaughter a living sheep as a sacrifice
Unto a lifeless stone?”

“O fool, right action does not lie
In fasting and other ceremonial rites
O fool right action does not lie
In providing for bodily comfort and ease
In contemplation of the self alone is right action and right council for you."

“The pilgrim sanyasin goes from shrine to shrine,
Seeking to meet Him
Who abides within herself.
Knowing the truth, O soul, be not misled;
It is distance that makes the turf look green”

“Some leave their home, some the hermitage
But the restless mind knows no rest.
Then watch your breath day and night,
And stay where you are”

“I have worn out my plate and tongue reading the holy books,
But I have not learnt the practices that would please my lord.
I have worn thin fingers and thumb telling my rosary beads,
But I have not been able to dispel duality from my mind.”

“The thoughtless read the holy books
As parrots in their cages recite “Ram, Ram”
Their reading is like churning water,
Fruitless effort, ridiculous conceit.”

 Plenty more on  Lalleshwari (1320-1392)

Monday, May 1, 2017

Gateless Gatecrashers - Ilona Ciunaite & Elena Nezhinsky

Ready, vigilant and alive, you are there—at the Gate.

Then comes the guide who had crossed before. She takes your hand
or  slaps  your  face,  depending  on  what  you  need,  and  guides  you
through the Gate.

You  turn  back,  and  see  that  there  is  no  Gate,  there  is  no  crossing,
there is no you.

And there never was.


 Crossing the Gateless Gate—Are You Ready?

by Elena Nezhinsky

When I was at The Gate, I had no patience left for any more search.

I was burning for truth.

That night somebody guided me to see that for all this time, for years
and  years,  who  was  searching  for  whatever  goal,  holding  whatever  intention, was an imaginary self.
Years in silent retreats, sitting day after day, staring inside, purifying the mind.
Needed at the time, but not anymore.

The  search  that  drove  half  of  my  life  was  suddenly  suffocating  me.
 I was  ready  to  cross,  to  step  through,  but  I  didn’t  know  where  this path  led. 
In  various  spiritual  books  I  read  about  some  kind  of  veil of  illusion  and  The  Gateless  Gate. 
I  heard  this  koan  many  times—had  no  idea  what  it  meant—
until  I  felt  like  I  was  standing  there—at The Gate.

You feel it in your bones—standing there with your entire being.

Something really powerful is going on—not even sure what—like burning from inside out with a wish for Truth.
It feels ready. This is the time.
I must cross. I must rip off this illusion.
What the illusion is, not even sure  yet,  just  intellectually  maybe,  if  you  have  read  or  heard  about  it before.
But there is a strong feeling, as if you are about to step and fall into an abyss—the abyss of the unknown.

What  was  before  was  thoroughly  explored. 
It  may  have  been  comfortable, good, great, happy, not so good,
disappointing, boring, painful—anything—but at least it’s familiar.

Fear comes, in some cases even terror.

It feels that death is here—the death of the old life.
The death of the illusion.

Hesitation comes.

Then the decision: turn back to the familiar or forward into the unknown?

The decision comes.

Ready, vigilant and alive, you are there—at the Gate.

Then comes the guide who had crossed before. She takes your hand or
slaps your face, depending on what you need, and guides you through the Gate.

You turn back, and see that there is no Gate, there is no crossing,
there is no you.

And there never was.


 continue reading:

Sunday, April 30, 2017

Irving Karchmar - Dust to Dust

No grave for me, no cold ground,
buried for eternity

Burn me, burn me, burn me
with Your love

Until I am ashes and ground bones
dust to dust for my Beloved

Throw me to the winds of heaven
Cast me on the green-blue sea

Bury me in the flower beds
and the roots of trees

In the gardens of springtime
beside the Old Windmill

Scatter me on that path
where the Sufis dwell

So that I may be at last
dust beneath the Master’s feet


Pir Elias Amidon ~ This

Closer than words that form in my mind,
closer than tongue that says them,
closer than now where everything happens,
you, my beloved, are this.

I call you gracious but that is a word,
I call you God but that’s an idea,
I call you you but that is a fiction,
you, my beloved, are this.

You blast supernovas and spin every atom
and blink every eye in the world,
you lift every wing and kiss every lover,
you, my beloved, are this.

I turn to myself and ask what I am,
I ask what feels what I feel,
you don’t say a word but tell me with light,
you, my beloved, are this.