Our Evening Stroll

[Guest guest]

Our Evening Stroll

 

 

 

We wandered sadhu-like in appearance

right along the middle of the street,

the middle-path one might say, the middle way.

We both felt only fair to middlin' but not too bad,

so when that nightsky simmered by with boiling stars,

we were just a metamorphosis in the making,

a beautiful breathless being Being Breathed to Bright Light,

just being Heart-breakingly Beautiful as this endless sobhet,

ever-speaking in, of, and as the Beloved One.

 

Finding our way to the Lamp-post of Not-Two,

we paid obeisance to the Sixteen Buddhas, Ever-being

River-born along Blissfully as the Alhambraic line of Avadhuts.

The fountain was before us, though eight blocks further down,

the street was Alhambra Boulevard, but it said Estudillo or Castro,

the lamp-post showed two Bodhidharmas Bowing before us,

but there were sixteen Golden Buddhas sitting on the rim

of a basket-ball hoop hung up for the neighborhood kids.

There were sacred mantras chanted by the jasmine,

and there were marvelous mandalas carved in particle board.

i practically fell to my knees at the Grace descending everywhere.

i nearly lost consciousness at the Heart ascending ever-inward.

Beloved nearly brought the House down

when He shot the hoop with us as the Happy Heart-Joy

being bounced around the universe and landing in that circled rim.

 

i circle mySelf, as Rumi said i would when i met You.

i circle You and see only Sweet Ramana Smiling back at me.

How can this ever be possible or even believable?

Who can say? Who could ever say how such a thing could happen.

Sometimes Beloved, these Buddhas and Bhagavan bear down on me,

and i do not even know who You are, or what Your name is.

i get lost in the Light of Your Presence, and Beloved,

i begin to beat as your Heart, i See You as my Self,

and there is no way i can ever say this right, so i say this -

 

OneHeart is the road we are, without a name.

OneHeart is the Silence that offers these Buddhas to all.

OneHeart is the True Home we share,

OneHeart is this Love, This LOVE.

This Love IS OneHeart.

 

One shot across this moment -

Now, Here, Beautiful Beloved God has scored every point.

It is pointless to posture as God,

Love is the only real Position -

Heart, Body, Mind, Soul,

Love follows ItSelf around as these things.

Kiss me now Beloved!

i've said enough tonight, ABOUT It!

 

 

 

Now, a word from our Sponsor:

 

 

"You are awareness. Awareness is another name for you. Since

you are awareness there is no need to attain or cultivate it. All

that you have to do is to give up being aware of other things, that

is of the not-self. If one gives up being aware of them then pure

awareness alone remains, and that is the Self."

 

 

We initially found a particular lamp post down the block to be

a Radiation Station for the Effulgence of the Sacred.

We worshipped there for some time before recognizing

the near-by portable net-less basket ball hoop provided a

Perfect Mandala of Divine Embrace.

The Dialogue proceeded from here, as it does, to nowhere

in particular, as it will, when all the speaking is about only one,

spoken by that one, this, as it is. As it has been with us

since we began this Zikr before the universe began.

As it is now.

 

Then we came to the plastic chairs,

arranged on a front lawn

under the dim street light,

shaded by mature trees who

sing one song,

the chairs

a Perfect Gift from Beloved to Itself,

gathered in Satsang with the night,

Prajnaparamita Sutra train sounds

circling our Heart,

OneHeart,

Dharma Chairs,

Nobody there.

Yes, here

neither.

 

You found the rock.

 

We have no idea how it got there.

 

There are no exceptions to this,

but it is hard to communicate in words

without just saying just this.

 

You always find the right rock.

We have spoken of such things.

The Marriage of Bhakti and Jnana –

such an obvious couple, in their underwear,

walking down the middle of the street

in the middle of the night, ecstatically

touching, praising, laughing, communing

with dogs, cats, lamp posts, basket ball hoops,

rocks, all Beloved, only Beloved Loving

Itself as this, what we are, and it is a

pleasant, warm breeze blowing, and

there are rumors of wars, sabers

are being sharpened by the same one who

will feel the thrust, even though

we have already surrendered, but this

submission never ends, it is the way we

please each other to death.

 

We write about such things, but

when we raise our eyes to each other,

we remember that what is looking out of these

eyes is the same that looks out of Ramana's,

Saddam's, Street Lamps, Chairs, and Rocks.

Awareness, not far.

Not far at all.

 

That this is somehow irresistibly erotic

for us is probably little-understood, but

could be an indication of going sane, or

why we increasingly more often say:

 

"Jai Beloved –

God Is Gracious!"

 

 

LoveAlways,

Mazie & b