Manly P. Hall - All in One

 

Jens Rusch - Portrait of Manly Palmer Hall

Sound is but a shadow thrilling for a moment through the ether to sink again into the fond embrace of silence. Which, then, is greater—the ripple or the mighty ocean with its many eaves and eddies? Creation existing for a second, then gone forever, or space limitless, supreme?

Life is the passing of a breath, fitful, uncertain; the tossing of a pebble into the pool—a splash, a ripple, then stillness unbroken as before.

Time is a dream. Asleep it lies until Creation forms suns and stars, whose passing flight gives day and night and murders out duration.

I dwell in space. With broadness is my mansion measured, endless are my domains, boundless the Spirit that inhabits them. I alone am free, unfettered, limitless.

Creation bows a slave to those steel bands of law that are Creation's base. If ye would freedom seek, search not in all this plan. It is with Me. I am Freedom, yet search Me not. For none can share my liberation till I choose to call form back to formlessness from whence it came.

I am an Emperor ruling only space. I am a Priest giving absolution to myself. I am a Warrior gone forth to fight my shadow—form. I am a Lover, yearning to clasp my bride— Creation—in these arms that close on space alone. I am a Thief, stealing possession

that men may value Me the more. I am a Murdered who in selfishness slays all that I may again possess them. I am a Jealous One, fearing for the souls of those that live within the broadness of my presence.

I bow to that ebb and flow that knows no master and serve with perfect sight the plan that exists only when I give it recognition and bid it be.

I answer prayer. I am he who prays. I curse, and cursed am I. If any strike, I aim the blow and also I receive it. I am God, Man, Nature, Beast, and Demon— all in one.

When men barter, I am the thing they buy. I am the coin with which all debts are paid. I am the Earth, the Water and the Air. Flame flickers out my light and Spirit dwells alone in Me.

The ground you walk upon—I am that earth. The air you breathe—it is my breath which giveth life. I am the food nourishing myself again in you.

Every word my name; every form my body; every eye seeing for Me; every sense telling me of myself; every thought expounding to Me a portion of my mystery sublime.

I tremble in awe before that Majesty which is myself and bow before my own reality. Enter the stillness of thy Heart and pray for Me, for I, the Infinite, have need of prayer.

http://www.manlyphall.org/





 

Jinendra Swami - Awareness: My Inner Guru

Would you like to take pilgrimage to Self ?
If yes
Then just walk with me as 'I '
  holding the hands of my guru -- the Awareness 
  as we journey through the three worlds 
  waking world, dream world and sleep world

I go to sleep each night and dream
The process of dream reveals my waking reality
In dream I am aware
* Things just happen
* I do nothing consciously
* I do experience enjoyment and suffering                
      through my acts, emotions, and feelings

On awakening I am aware 
I experience freedom from all my acts,
   emotions and feelings in dream
I see the 'aimlessness' of everything                                  
  that happens in my dream
All my dream experiences                                        
  ceases to have any value to me
In dream, I may be a millionaire  or a pauper  
  and experience accidents, or may even die at times  
But on awakening I Realize
I am unharmed, and find myself the same
'That' which is aware in dream 
     is also the same 'that' is aware in waking  
I am 'that' which is  'Witnessing'
      all that happens in waking or dream
As we journey further
Let's see why the 'Witnesser' in sleep
  has no significance for 'everything in waking life'?
I observe that the 'person' or the 'ego'
  cease to exist (not present) in sleep
Is it not the silence of the 'ego'
  that lets the 'Witnesser' take charge once more -?
May be that's why sleep is so blissful
  that I don't mind loosing my Identity of  'person'

Let's journey further
As I awake
The 'ego' once again takes charge
The 'person' with name, form, and its memory of joys            
  and sorrows makes me play silly games of life
But at night , merely by closing my eyes
I bring an end to this temporary 'person'

With clarity I See, that for the 'Witnesser'
My existence in dream state  
  has no significance in waking state
My existence in waking state
  has no significance in sleep state
This 'Witnesser' remains
Free and unaffected in all three worlds
  the waking world, dream world, and sleep world

In this journey I reach a point
When there is nothing to witness
Then the 'Witnesser' too dissolves  
There is just this Self -- The Silence
This Silence is Pure Awareness -- the Atman

Now I live in 'Waking Meditation'
There is no difference in solitude or active life
In this state of Let-Go, the 'doer' itself is Silent
So Who is there to decide?
Now the 'Witnesser' is unaffected by any action
  be it working, eating, sleeping, or doing nothing

Now I know
  --  I experience my body because of ego (mind)
  --  My mind is in my consciousness
  --  The ever changing consciousness
       is in the ever present Awareness
Awareness
   in relationship with the World is  the  'Witnesser'
Awareness  when there is nothing to witness
   is the constant, unchangeable, ever present 'Self '

Is this the end of my pilgrimage to Self ?

My journey has not ended but just begun
Trust your own 'Guru' and journey to your Self 

'O sleeping man'
Awaken from your 'awakened sleep'
  to discover your Reality -- the Truth!! 

http://centerforsustainablehappiness.com/ 

 

Jiddu Krishnamurti - Song of the Beloved

art Mahmoud Farshchian

 

Oh! Listen,
I will sing to thee the song of my Beloved.

Where the soft green slopes of the still mountains
Meet the blue shimmering waters of the noisy sea,
Where the bubbling brook shouts in ecstasy,
Where the still pools reflect the calm heavens,
There thou wilt meet with my Beloved.

In the vale where the cloud hangs in loneliness
Searching the mountain for rest,
In the still smoke climbing heavenwards,
In the hamlet toward the setting sun,
In the thin wreaths of the fast disappearing clouds,
There thou wilt meet with my Beloved.

Among the dancing tops of the tall cypress,
Among the gnarled trees of great age,
Among the frightened bushes that cling to the earth,
Among the long creepers that hang lazily,
There thou wilt meet with my Beloved.

In the ploughed fields where noisy birds are feeding,
On the shaded path that winds along the full, motionless river,
Beside the banks where the waters lap,
Amidst the tall poplars that play ceaselessly with the winds,
In the dead tree of last summer’s lightning,
There thou wilt meet with my Beloved.

In the still blue skies,
Where heaven and earth meet
In the breathless air,
In the morn burdened with incense,
Among the rich shadows of a noon-day,
Among the long shadows of an evening,
Amidst the gay and radiant clouds of the setting sun,
On the path on the waters at the close of the day,
There thou wilt meet with my Beloved.

In the shadows of the stars,
In the deep tranquility of dark nights,
In the reflection of the moon on still waters,
In the great silence before the dawn,
Among the whispering of waking trees,
In the cry of the bird at morn,
Amidst the wakening of shadows,
Amidst the sunlit tops of the far mountains,
In the sleepy face of the world,
There thou wilt meet with my Beloved.

Keep still, O dancing waters,
And listen to the voice of my Beloved.

In the happy laughter of children
Thou canst hear Him.
The music of the flute
Is His voice.
The startled cry of a lonely bird
Moves thy heart to tears,
For thou hearest His voice.
The roar of the age-old sea
Awakens the memories
That have been lulled to sleep
By His voice.
The soft breeze that stirs
The tree-tops lazily
Brings to thee the sound
Of His voice.

The thunder among the mountains
fills thy soul
With the strength
Of His voice.
In the roar of a vast city,
through the voices of the night,
The cry of sorrow,
The shout of joy,
Through the ugliness of anger,
Comes the voice of my Beloved.

In the distant blue isles,
On the soft dewdrop,
On the breaking wave,
On the sheen of waters,
On the wing of the flying bird,
On the tender leaf of the spring,
Thou wilt see the face of my Beloved.

In the sacred temple,
In the halls of dancing,
On the holy face of the sannyasi,
In the lurches of the drunkard,
With the harlot and with the chaste,
Thou wilt meet with my Beloved.

On the fields of flowers,
In the towns of squalor and dirt,
With the pure and the unholy,
In the flower that hides divinity,
There is my well-Beloved.

Oh! the sea
Has entered my heart,
In a day,
I am living an hundred summers.
O, friend,
I behold my face in thee,
The face of my well-Beloved.

This is the song of my love.