ShivAllahSita sutra 48

[Guest guest]

Ripe buds hang from the hedgerows and turn to golden Buddha’s.Spring

comes earlyand is full of praise for your patience.We all get true

visionin a glass lightly.I lift this cup of you to my lipsand

everything turns to prayer…

~Eric Ashford

 

I dive down into the depth of the ocean of forms,

hoping to gain the perfect pearl of the formless.No more sailing from harbour to harbour

with my weather-beaten boat.

The days are long passed whenmy sport was to be tossed on waves.And

now I am eager to die into the deathless.Into the audience hall of

the fathomless abyss

where swells up this harp of my life.I shall tune it to the notes of

for ever,and, when it has sobbed out its last utterance,

lay down my silent harp

at the feet of the silent.~Rabindranath Tagore

 

There is no greater mystery than this -

that being the Reality ourselves,

we seek to gain Reality.

We think that there is something

binding our Reality

and that it must be destroyed

before the Reality is gained.

It is ridiculous.

A day will dawn

when you will yourself laugh

at your effort.

That which is on the day of laughter

is also now.

~Sri Ramana

 

I take you very personally.I take you as this flowering,this arriving

of being into my soul minding.And care for you in personas a painting

of what you will disclose for me.As a portrait of this happening.I see

you most particularly.I place my eye in you,and lift your reflection

to the sun.I star gaze in the heart of you.As this meeting of

imagesthis conjunction of appearancein the flight of becoming.I

encounter you most singularly.I appropriate you into my living.As a

singularity of exception.A point of perfection in difference.I gather

you into my experienceand unfold my sight in you.I consume you in the

morsel of this moment,and mate you to me.I find you most especially.I

apply you most seemly to myself.I marry your uniqueness to me.Your

otherness is the wine of my vision.I occupy your dream form and taste

you there.I graft your peculiarity to my awareness,and trace my soul

upon you.I approach you in the heart of you. I take you most

personally.I open the bud of you in me.For what you are is my

anticipation.My mystery unveiling to me.I behold you in a solitary

wonder.Found in the feeling of you.I observe you in the

extraordinary.The transition and transpiring of you.I love you in

your anomaly.I drink of you most intimately.I take you very

personally.

~Eric Ashford

 

Being Is Freedom.Desire is desire, love is love,

hatred is hatred, anger is anger,

sadness is sadness, rage is rage,

and bliss is bliss.

What of it?There is no mystery here.

If you truly accept the totality of what is,

then where is the need to improve yourself.But you should improve

yourself, if you feel you have to.

Don't go against your natural feeling.

It just creates additional conflicts.In the long run, forget about overcoming your conditioning.

That itself is another type of conditioning.

Just layer upon layer upon layers of conditioning constitute our identity.

You may as well become an enormous and huge Chocolate Cake at a wedding!

You will have fewer layers to contend with and you will taste better

to your friends!There is no end to this nonsense about

self-improvement

and if you have the energy to pursue,

it will continue in one form or another.Forget permanent and impermanent.

Forget freedom and bondage.

Forget Samsara and Moksha.

Remain as you are.

That is actually the only thing anyone can do really well.

You don’t need lessons!If you know in your bones that there is absolutely nothing you can do,

you will See that there is absolutely nothing you need to do!To See Is To Be.

To Be is to See.These are Not Two!If you love Truth enough, you will

see that You are the Truth!You and Truth.These are not Two!If you

Love Truth enough, you will see that You are Love!You and Love.These

are not Two!Keep it in sightYou will be all right!Be Seeing You (:-).

~Harsha

 

Nicely put, Harsha.There is no distance

Between myself and who I am.With self-improvement,

there is distance I make between myselfand who I want to be.Releasing

the image that I want to be,and how the world should be,there is only

"This" – as is.And "This" is no object, has no objects.There is always

some distance

between myself and any object,

or myself and another.Between myself and "This"

is no distance at all.

And "This" is all that is.~Dan B.

 

With the pincers of truth I have pluckedFrom the dark corners of my

heartThe thorn of many judgments.I sit in my own splendor.Wealth or

pleasure,Duty or discrimination,Duality or nonduality,What are they

to me?What is yesterday,Tomorrow,Or today?What is space,Or eternity?I

sit in my own radiance.What is the Self,Or the not-Self?What is

thinking,Or not thinking?What is good or evil?I sit in my own

splendor.I sit in my own radiance,And I have no

fear.Waking,Dreaming,Sleeping,What are they to me?Or even

ecstasy?What is far or near,Outside or inside,Gross or subtle?I sit

in my own splendor.Dissolving the mind,Or the highest meditation,The

world and all its works,Life or death,What are they to me?I sit in my

own radiance.Why talk of wisdom,The three ends of life,Or oneness?Why

talk of these!Now I live in my heart. ~Ashtavakra Gita

 

I would have loved having Fathered You.Really bothered You.

Fingered for that PearlDown Your bivalve Molluskularity...

yeah, that's a Word.Every time I start it up again,

this Chant, this very sincerely,

very dearly spoken Prayer for Wordage,

real words that actually mean something worth

repeating over and over,That's when I become a wild-eyed,

bellowing Beast,

a bloody Sacrifice.That's the old, proverbial pick-didilly-ickle we get in,

a path called "Somebody has to die for this to really work."Think

Jesus Think Moses Think Ali Think Rama Think God.If after having

Understood why and how I Fathered You,Really, truly bothered You,

and you're still left standing,wagging and lolling Your Blue Tongue

like a warning,if even then, at this Flicker of the Light

Going Off/On, Off/On,You still need a bellowing beast to be beheaded,Leave the shore,

leave the forest

and walk out into the Sea,Listen to Your Ocean Roar

returning across that distance,That Chime, that Frozen Bell,

that Echo of Banging into Nowhere,and That Thing, that jazzy little thing,

It's just all, all, all Laughing.

~Mazie

 

Listen -Listen more carefully to what is around youRight now.

In my worldThere are the bells from the clanksOf the morning milk drums,

And a wagon wheel outside my windowJust hit a bump

Which turned into an ecstatic chorusOf the Beloved's Name.

There is the Prayer CallRising up like the sunOut of the mouths of a thousand birds.

There is an astonishing vastnessOf movement and Life

Emanating sound and lightFrom my folded hands

And my even quieter simple being and heart.

My dear,Is it true that your mindIs sometimes like a batteringRam

Running all through the city,Shouting so madly inside and out

About the ten thousand thingsThat do not matter?

Hafiz, too,For many years beat his head in youth

And thought himself at a great distance,Far from an armisticeWith God.

But that is why this scarred old pilgrimHas now become such a sweet

rare vintageWho weeps and sings for you.

O listen -Listen more carefullyTo what is inside of you right now.

In my worldAll that remains is the wondrous call toDance and prayer

Rising up like a thousand sunsOut of the mouth of aSingle bird.

~Hafiz by Daniel Ladinsky

 

they live in the cellaryou've seen the light in the cellarthrough the

cracks in the floorboardsyou've seen movementthrought the cracks in

the floorboardsafter you lock your doorsand go awaythey unlock

themyou come homeyour computerand the things you've savedall your

lifeare goneyou sit in an empty homeyou see movement in the

lightcoming through the cracksin the floorboardsthey're coming

upstairsthey have three hornsone protruding from each templeand one

in the center of the foreheadyou want to strike onehardfor all

they've done to youbut he hugs you sensitivelyand looks into your

eyeswith a mocking sadnessthey go back to the cellarall you can dois

go shoppingand yell at themto keep the doors lockedwhen you go

away~Jerry Katz

 

Jnana and Bhakti are like two sweets made out of the same sugar,

of which you can choose whichever you like.

Giving up 'mine' is Bhakti; giving up 'I' is Jnana.

The former gives up all his possessions;

the latter gives up the very possessor of the possessions.

Bhakti is turning the mind towards God.

Self-enquiry, the path of Jnana,

turns the mind to its own inner essence, which is the Self.

In Self-enquiry the subject sets out in search of himself.

He who seeks must exist.

This existence is itself the Self.

In Bhakti one is disgusted with one's individual self

and feels one's nothingness or unimportance and

fixes one's mind on the Higher Power.

When the mind at last becomes fully aware of the Higher Power

it is awed by it and absorbed into it.

This is total surrender of the ego.

The man no longer is;

God alone is.

~Dr. T. N. Krishnaswami

 

The Heart is Always Here, Present as One’s Own Self.

But because of the mind ‘s tendency to wander,

it misses the closest immediacy. So Now and then,

the Heart manifests in the field of the mind clearly

and meets it on its own ground, gently pulling it towards It Self

by all available means. Sri Ramana is the Heart manifested outwardly.

Knowing Him Truly, one does not wander else where.

This is why when a devotee like Muruganar is asked

whether taking Bhagavan as the Guru and following Atma Vichar

(Self-Inquiry) is enough, his eyes fill up with tears and he chokes up.

"Enough! Enough! Of course, it is enough."

Bhagavan would have said even Atma Vichar is enough!

Atma Vichar can only occur by Grace.

~Harsha

 

A basket-maker from Tabrizkept Shams on a long rope woven off the One

-OneHeart in the form of Ruknaddin Sanjabi!So simple then to

understand this hymn:"Morning breeze, bring newsof beauty. Slowly,

please.Let the fresh fragrance stay."We live disconnected from

Love,disconcerted with Love's Laughter fallinglike a breeze across

our skin-stipplesstanding up and tasting Sky-Love.Taste the Sky,

taste no "I" Luv!Nothing small, except our Smallnesswhen necessary

for doing smallheartstep-things,is ever about our family business.We

are all about an Immensity,a Generosity of Majesty,A Majesty of

Magnificence,A magnificent Marvel of Maya!We are onto God,and He's

not going anywhere,Any where without moi,inside the Nowhere, Nowhere,

Inside Rumester’s Majesty again,without breaking open inside this

Glass-hearted house.Spilling is all I ever asked for.Filling is all I

ever cried for.Now it's all about Spill-Filling,Fill-Spilling, oh

Friend!Feel my WineSpills speaking only tenderness!Sometimes, when

the Friend really,R E A L L Ywants to break our hearts,He will answer

our prayers,exactly like we asked for them,exactly as we saw our

selves receiving them.But the catch is always hidden inside the

blessing!Hidden within this getting something,of thinking we're

getting somethingfor very little of our Nothing,we forget that

nothing is ever free.We forget the price of kissing is "Your

Life."The prayer for me is to cease needing to pray,but rather

this:To become Prayer ItSelf in every dazzled atom,in every sizzled

synapsesinging along the Lightstringsstrung up to point the direction

for the Soul.It always points Inward.The pointer being that the point

is,that there is no point to anythingthat is being said here.

He’s Sweet Murmured Nectar,flowing into the Heart of

Hearts.Straight-up Spiritus Soul.But with a million twisting

turningsrevolvings, resolutions, revolutionarytranscendence into

Bliss.Blessenations of His Emmanationsof Essence, of Being.I

seemingly seem to appear to be a honey-tongued Liar!Schtick then

turning like a flower towards the Sun,which way and what is she

babbling on about?This is not what it appears to be.This is not any

form of an answer to anyone.This bit is just a card-shuffler's

showroom!Blackjack!Wanna bet if it was the Houseor the table-sitting

crowdthat hit the 21?Ka-Ching!And Walla Walla Bing Bang!

Grace king-pins the crowd every time.~Mazie

 

Maharshi has a strange power to awaken love for himself

in the hearts of all; this devotion uplifts his pupils, incalculably

raising the level of their lives, enabling them to touch the purest

form of this power-energy that is perhaps the creator of the universe.

Love and devotion fo the Saint have none of the ugly qualities of an

ordinary love, like jealousy, possessiveness, exclusiveness, falling

under the spell of outer appearances, uncertainty and delusiveness,

and last, but not least, the pain of separation from the object of love.

Here the love-devotion for the Master does not ask for anything in return.

It asks only for the grace of utterly giving oneself to him, to enter into

unity with the perfect and all-pervading object.

One who realizes the true greatness of the Sage understands, that he

must discard his personality and henceforth make it no more the basis

of his exeistence. He has to transcend the boundaries of the

mental-emotional self, if he wants to achieve union with the object

of his love, and these words mean something utterly different from

the sense usually attributed to them. He can know the real beauty

of the Master only by entering the kingdom of the Master's Self.

That which we see of him on the physical plane is a mere shadow

of him as he really is. But those who have been in his presence

know how powerful is even this reflection

~Mouni Sadhu

 

Join Me In The Pure Atmosphere

I slip in and out of the Sea at night with this

Amazed soul I have.

I am like a magnificent, magic ocean turtle

Who sets aside his vast wings of

Blue effulgence

When I crawl upon your shores

To leave my divine seed of verse.

Let me remain cryptic tonight

All the way till dawn

As I orbit God

In this holy, ecstatic mood.

Grab hold of the corners

Of my luminous, tender shell

And I will whirl for you,

For I am covered with eminent crystals

That I have gathered from the infinite depths

Of love.

Follow my tracks in the sand that lead

Beyond thought and space,

For I can see deep down

That you are really a golden bird

That needs to

Dance

With your spirit enraptured and ascending

On the currents of Light –

On the currents of His

Breath.

Join me with your hands, wings, hoofs or fins

In my sublime applause.

Join me in the pure atmosphere of gratitude

For life.

I slip in and out of the Moon each night

With a gracious ease

With this brilliant heart I have.

The Beautiful Friend, the Exquisite One,

Sometimes steps from His Invisible Body

And walks upon our shore

So that we might see and know

His Radiant Tender Shell –

His eminent crowns

That are the three worlds.

O grab hold of the hem of His skirt

As He spins this Universe on an emerald

Dance floor!

Cling to the Transcendent Elements in His glance

As the Beloved forever whirls

His Love.

Hafiz

Slips in and out of God at night

Tied to his own amazed

Soul.

~Hafiz

 

Love, Here we go again.Begin. Begin to say this thing again.Snapping

fingers, Light crackles,Flashing eyes, cracks a line right through

the Sky.I fall into the jaggedness, the utter raggedness of my

Sky,and my own body garment begins to bleed into Blue

streams.Streaming out and shaking the stick of i at the Moon,shouting

some ridiculous Love epithet into space and earth,the stick snaps in

two, breaking into a splintered thing.little broken twig there. A

broken stick.Eyes still flowing from everywhere, they fall upon the

torn,lightning scattered pine tree lying there, so silent,

staring.little broken twig there. A broken stick.I am become God's

walking stick,my head a crystal, ornamental handle, twisting

right,then left, breaking the Sky's imbalanced Blue from falling.The

feet under my legs, holding the earth still.The giant, ancient pine

tree lying still. Staring mutely.Saying, Broken stick. Tiny twig

Here. I lie down beside the tree.Saying, "Broken stick. Tiny twig

Here, lying next to You.The next beginning is Here, listen Love:The

broken Shams-i goat-deer is gone today.His other brother is not

leaping so high today.But everywhere along this meadow trail,tea-cup

tiny pines are traveling somewhere on still-soft

feet.Umbilically-bound with the tenderest green steminto the

earth-mother still giving birth to it!Still suckling its tiny green

stem to Light and Mother.It might be a feathered God SeedHead

sprouting up in Me!This earth and sky and deer goats and seeds and

me, and You.We all are running around looking for Shams' forest

glen.There is a Gladness in this confusion of everything.Tiny

hoofbeats of flowers and great horse-beings are rushing,sounding a

tremendous Memory of when I was always running towards You.Each one

begins to grow into forests of thoughtsrecalling, recovering the

night at Cliff House, crying to the Sea.All this Beauty breaking

forth inside my Heart,the utter Poignancy, the Tender kindness of

Love and Death,It breaks apart every last rounded orb, rounded mooned

moving.I move to Love's center, I moves to the Center of the

OneHeart.This Roundness is growing rounder, and Now,I flow out to the

edges of God, smoothingHis Love-Filled Face to a Golden Moment of

Bliss.I think it might be that this is all God's Bliss, this Love.

Maya's string

 

We're all kites at Maya's picnic.

~Mitzvah

 

Each soars in the clouds, seemingly the "master" of its own

airspace.But the kites are connected from their heartsto Her hands,

and She directs them deftlyto wherever She will have them.The play of

the air around these kitesmakes it interesting, but even thishas

succumbed to Her allure.

~Jody R.

 

tonight i dance for amoonshine daisynaked weepingsmiling crazyadrift

on a silentriver of nowserene as the heart ofRamana's cowripplesno

centerno place to leavenowhere to entermirror of soulrevealed in a

glanceacross the sky floorof this liquid danceall are welcometo share

with methis simple mindlessmysteryHer softest kissbetween my eyesa

well-timed Giftfrom timeless skiesthis world, unveileddivinitya

moondance ininfinityclouds dissolved nowonly thisimmaculate lightin

still sure blissand i am dancingdancing dancingnever movingonly

dancing"To which Ixnay rejoined:"We have noidentity trulyno past no

futureI called to youyeslike the Heart pulls inward tothe

completeness of HomeI stand beside you nowmy cheek resting in yourswe

smile:AhhBeloved!!!in that smile isperched a birdwithin whose wingsa

trillion galaxies revolvein joyous perfectionthe mere appearance

ofanything at allis our perpetual delightthese words I useonly point

to theexquisitely uniquebeauty of each of usjust as we arejust as

wealways areGreat Spacewithin which all bloomsblossomsand returnswe

aredreamersyeswe sleepwe have onlymomentsleft of hidingour time does

not exist herewe are falling awayfalling into something elsesomething

we have always beenperhaps this isthe miracle:that even nowI

simplycan'tstopsmiling"

~b

 

It's up to you to open a portal in your life that gives you

conscious access to the Unmanifested. Get in touch with

the energy field of the inner body , be intensely present ,

disidentify from the mind , surrender to what is ; these are all

portals you can use - but you only need to use one.

Surely love must also be one of those portals ?

No , it isn't . As soon as one of the portals is open , love is

present in you as the "feeling-realization" of oneness.

Love isn't a portal ;it's what comes through the portal into this world.

As long as you are completely trapped in your form identity ,

there can be no love. Your task is not to search for love

but to find a portal through which love can enter.

~Eckhart Tolle

 

Is the world created for happiness or misery?Sri Ramana

Maharshi:Creation is neither good nor bad; it is as it is. It is the

human mind which puts all sorts of constructions on it, seeing things

from its own angle and interpreting them to suit its own interests. A

woman is just a woman, but one mind calls her '`mother'' another

'`sister'' and still another '`aunt' and so on. Men love women, hate

snakes, and are indifferent to the grass and stones by the roadside.

These value-judgements are the cause of all the misery in the world.

Creation is like a peepul tree; birds come and eat its fruit, or take

shelter under its branches, men cool themselves in its shade, but some

may hang themselves on it. Yet the tree continues to lead its quiet

life, unconcerned with and unaware of all the uses it is put to.It is

the human mind that creates its own difficulties and then cries for

help. Is God so partial as to give peace to one person and sorrow to

another? In creation there is room for everything, but man refuses to

see the good, the healthy and the beautiful. Instead, he goes on

whining, like the hungry man who sits besides the tasty dish and who,

instead of stretching out his hand to satisfy his hunger, goes on

lamenting, `Whose fault is it, God's or man's?'It is true that we are

not bound and that the real Self has no bondage. It is true that you

will eventually go back to your source. But meanwhile, if you commit

sins, as you call them, you will have to face the consequences of

such sins. You cannot escape them. If a man beats you, then, can you

say, '`I am free, I am not bound by these beatings and I don't feel

any pain. Let him beat on'? If you can feel like that, you can go on

doing what you like. What is the use of merely saying with your lips

`I am free'?

~Sri Ramana

 

Ah, that wine of ecstasy must have filled your cup recently... When

When my head is spinning full filled with the blazing lights of

eternity And the Divine whispers my name softly I believe for a

blissful moment That I am endless with no beginning I see the

universe as perfect and profound Every butterfly wing raptured rhythm

Each fragrence and flavor on festive breezes I believe in Mahavir,

Buddha, Mohammet, & Jesus And hear the loving voice of God in every

sound... And when I awake and dance that divine dance I realize that

few can follow the Blissful Bossanova And that for millions the music

is never heard And their steps a jumble of painful falls and failures

And survival for most is a losing game of chance... Beyond my bliss

and self absorbtion...beyond the cerulean sky There exists a world

where children starve Where women are abused, where gentle souls weep

When vengeful violence visits the victims And torture and warfare take

wing and fly... Then when spring is but a half green dream of smoke

While other paths are strewn with misguided momentary joy And there

is more to life than just a fever dream I walk the path of the middle

way, embrace Mahayana And soothe my soul with the words that Gautama

spoke... I take the path of least resistance...but I make my stand I

seek the unknowing cloud of divine bliss And drink from the tall

glass of ecstasy, but a bit And reserve most for guests and thirsty

souls Who have been racked on the wheel of life I learn that true

attainment requires I understand That for the true spiritual traveler

on the road No day is done if no deed has not passed complete To right

a wrong, to sing that song that soothes And one has helped to end

misery and sorrow And done one's part to help the Lotus unfold... I

have danced my dance, sung my song Now is the time to act, to heal

and teach To cast out devils, to pass the cup divine Our lives have

meaning if others take our gift We each contained the answers all

along...

Namaste. Zenbob

 

Sonome was a well-known poetess

and a profound student of Buddhism.

She once wrote to Zen master Unko:

"To seek neither reality nor falsehood

is the root source of the Great Way.

Everyone knows this, so even if I seem immodest for saying so,

I do not think this is anything special.

As goings-on in the source of one mind,

the willows are green,

the flowers are red.

Just being as it is,

I pass the time reciting verse and composing poetry.

If this is useless chatter,

then the scriptures are also useless chatter.

I dislike anything that stinks of religion,

and my daily practice is invocation, poetry, and song.

If I go to paradise, that's fine;

if I fall into hell, that's auspicious."*By myself I remembernot to

seek mind;the green lamp has already illuminedmy lone lamp

heart.Whether in clamor or silence,I have a clear mirror:it

thoroughly discernspure hearts among humans.It is not something

existing,that anyone can see and know,nor does it not exist:such is

the lamp of truth.*When Sonome was about to pass on,

she bade farewell to the world with this poem:*The sky of the autumn

moonand the warmth of spring:Is it a dream? Is it real?Hail to the

Buddha of Infinite Light!*~"Zen Antics," Thomas Cleary

~from Gill E.

 

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