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I have a program in my computer called - God.

Its where I put my hearts intelligence

when I leave my minding thoughts.

Sometimes the brain matter oozes out,

like when you tread on dog shit,

and it oozes out from under the foot

too heavily trod upon.

Mostly though, and I say this,

as a ghost of this self centering,

it is just teaching for myself entering into a love space.

 

Imagine you are a shoal of sardines.

Not one sardine but many.

Imagine you are also a hunting pack of dolphins

corralling those sardines together and picking them off one by one.

So you are this One in many.

So now imagine there was ever someone

who could ask the question - Where is your Buddha nature?

Now imagine how the sardines and dolphins would reply.

If they could. If they had clever mouths to speak.

If they were so clever to respond

with the oozing of their brains.

What would they say?

But thank God they only have mouths to open.

Mu, as the cow said to the cattle prod.

 

 

love

 

eric

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I am a frog swimming happily

in the clear water of a pond.

And I am the grass-snake

that silently feeds itself on the frog.>>>>>>>>>

And so it is.

Yet if the snake is too slow to eat

what suffering is there for both.

Read this to day, and it is true always.

Love you Robert and may your mind be always be swallowed by your heart.

hugs

eric

, ErcAshfrd@a... wrote:

>What would they say?

Don't say that I will depart tomorrow--

even today I am still arriving.

Look deeply: every second I am arriving

to be a bud on a Spring branch,

to be a tiny bird, with still-fragile wings,

learning to sing in my new nest,

to be a caterpillar in a heart of a flower,

to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone.

I still arrive, in order to laugh and to cry,

to fear and to hope.

The rhythm of my heart is the birth and death

of all that is alive.

I am a mayfly metamorphosing

on the surface of the river.

And I am the bird

that swoops down to swallow the mayfly.

I am a frog swimming happily

in the clear water of a pond.

And I am the grass-snake

that silently feeds itself on the frog.

I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones,

my legs as thin as bamboo sticks.

And I am the arms merchant,

selling deadly weapons to Uganda.

I am the twelve-year old girl,

refugee on a small boat,

who throws herself into the ocean

after being raped by a sea pirate.

And I am the pirate,

my heart not yet capable

of seeing and loving.

I am a member of the politburo,

with plenty of power in my hands.

And I am the man who has to pay

his "debt of blood" to my people

dying slowly in a forced-labor camp.

My joy is like Spring, so warm

it makes flowers bloom all over the Earth.

My pain is like a river of tears,

so vast it fills the four oceans.

Please call me by my true names,

so I can hear all my cries and laughter at once,

so I can see that my joy and pain are one.

Please call me by my true names,

so I can wake up

and the door of my heart

could be left open,

the door of compassion.

~Thich Nhat Hanh

LoveAlways,

b

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All paths go somewhere. No path goes nowhere. Paths, places, sights,

perceptions, and indeed all experiences arise from and exist in and

subside back into the Space of Awareness. Like waves rising are not

different than the ocean, all things arising from Awareness are of

the nature of Awareness. Awareness does not come and go but is always

Present. It is Home. Home is where the Heart Is. Jnanis know the Heart

to be the Finality of Eternal Being. A true devotee relishes in the

Truth of Self-Knowledge, spontaneously arising from within into It

Self. Welcome all to a.

Your use of is subject to

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, ErcAshfrd@a... wrote:

 

>What would they say?

 

 

 

Don't say that I will depart tomorrow--

even today I am still arriving.

 

Look deeply: every second I am arriving

to be a bud on a Spring branch,

to be a tiny bird, with still-fragile wings,

learning to sing in my new nest,

to be a caterpillar in a heart of a flower,

to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone.

 

I still arrive, in order to laugh and to cry,

to fear and to hope.

The rhythm of my heart is the birth and death

of all that is alive.

 

I am a mayfly metamorphosing

on the surface of the river.

And I am the bird

that swoops down to swallow the mayfly.

 

I am a frog swimming happily

in the clear water of a pond.

And I am the grass-snake

that silently feeds itself on the frog.

 

I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones,

my legs as thin as bamboo sticks.

And I am the arms merchant,

selling deadly weapons to Uganda.

 

I am the twelve-year old girl,

refugee on a small boat,

who throws herself into the ocean

after being raped by a sea pirate.

And I am the pirate,

my heart not yet capable

of seeing and loving.

 

I am a member of the politburo,

with plenty of power in my hands.

And I am the man who has to pay

his "debt of blood" to my people

dying slowly in a forced-labor camp.

 

My joy is like Spring, so warm

it makes flowers bloom all over the Earth.

My pain is like a river of tears,

so vast it fills the four oceans.

 

Please call me by my true names,

so I can hear all my cries and laughter at once,

so I can see that my joy and pain are one.

 

Please call me by my true names,

so I can wake up

and the door of my heart

could be left open,

the door of compassion.

 

~Thich Nhat Hanh

 

 

LoveAlways,

 

b

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, ErcAshfrd@a... wrote:

 

>may your mind be always be swallowed by your heart.

 

 

I cannot speak

to You in any tongue

but One!

It is the tongue

burnt to a crisp by

the lovely Fire that

swept through my mind,

reducing it to fragrant

ash.

 

My throat -

my throat is filled with

my heart!

Where my heart was,

my Lover dances gaily,

laughing that sly

melodious little laugh

that turns my

legs to mush.

 

She knows what She

Has done

Yes

the keen precision of

Her Surgery has so

deftly severed every

artery but one –

it is the one that

connects the galaxies

by the cord of Communion,

an un-caused Canal

filled with the surging

Bliss of Being Itself,

of the Fragrance of Her,

the Feeling of Her,

Her Touch, Glance,

Lips, Hips

Yes

the Silk of Night

Burgundy

Velvet

flowing flowering

blending

bending into blossoming

reaching into Itself

flooding me into Her

Who is mySelf

Transfigured on the

Mount of Her

the Passion Play of

Love's Alchemy

Calling,

Answering

Only

"I Love You!

I Love You!

My Beloved

Heart

Yes

Come to me now:

we are fitted to

This Loving

fully

as we so fully

fit into ourSelf!"

 

Wrapped in This Embrace

stars whirling through us

whole histories of sunstreams

curling quietly like necklaces

the Holy Beads

She placed around my neck

so I would remember Her --

as if I could ever forget --

Laughing Beads of Her Rapture

Singing the Gayatri Mantra

the Great Song of Remembrance

Yes

the Song of Beloved

OneHeart

Free

Presence

Present

Perfect

Peace

Perfect Yes

This

Beloved

Yes

 

 

LoveAlways,

 

b

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