Low-ridin' with the Nis High-fivin' Fana

[Guest guest]

Low-ridin' with the Nis High-Fivin' Fana

 

 

Nisargadatta stares at me from underneath the foxgrass.

The One Who Sees sits on a teleporter to the past.

Looking down I look into time and smile like Buddha might'a.

 

One scene opens and I am a Catholic nun washing stone walls.

"Spiritus sanctus vivificans vita, movens omnia...*"

All night I hear my Sister coughing deeply. It wasn't grotto dust,

Baby.

 

Another opens and I am covered in blood, covered in Allah, all

in the name of Christ.

Winding around and down a circular staircase, encased in heavy mail,

into the Heart I go, heavy-laden with myself.

 

Christiandom and the crusades were never more than what they are.

And they really weren't anything.

You know. Appearances are born from perception.

Apperception significantly reduces divisibility.

 

Panoramic swing and the scene changes to a frozen land.

Scents of things I recall with some inner organ

presenting something familiar -

Fish oil, reindeer fur, and foxgrass,

wafted across the Arctic Sea

from some Cosmic rendezvous with time and space

to make this moment now, then, and then, Now.

Now why is that so alluring to the memory gatherering machinery?

 

Riding on fast boats to sunshine

and moonshine

and starshine

and God,

We've been lifting off of the God-idea for Reality-Is.

Not lifting for the belief of leaving this place to awaken.

The fire is fast approaching critical color and frequency

right here.

The Fire-tip dances and merrily marvels itself in Mystery.

The arati ceremony is over.

The arati fire is ash on Shiva's and Nis's bare-bones,

Skinned-down offering of What Is.

 

What It Is I do not know.

 

"I can't give you the truth. I can't give you anything."**

 

Knowing that, I can relax into this moment.

Not wanting,

Not waiting,

Not wondering,

Not wandering,

Not waxing or waning,

Not wailing or whispering,

Not saying neti-neti again,

Not needing to for this is That.

And That is everything that neti tries to deny.

This! This!

This Is That, As It Is Now.

 

Nisargadattaji nips into me and tastes

His Heart nectar dissolve Blissfully.

This That we are Lights the world's throat with a Glow

So soft and subtle It's the Strong-hold of God

Straining to Sing the Only Song we can really, truly hear.

REALLY Hear…

 

Silence.

 

Silence in Sobhet with ItSelf as It sits in and as This,

Sits still, motionless, still singing,

singing to no one –

 

"Et sic est fulgens ac laudabilis vita, suscitans et resuscitans

omnia.**"

 

 

* "The Holy spirit, life that gives life and moves all things…"

** ~Adyashanti

***"This is the Radiant and Admirable Life, Awakening all things."

 

 

LoveAlways,

 

Mazie