I Am Battlefield Grounds

[Guest guest]

I am battlefield grounds, Kurukshetra, Afghanistan, Rome.

I am Bernadette’s grotta,

the Madonna and Ramana

wrapped up in Bliss unfolding

in every inch of Arunachala

and Cold Mountain.

I am a slaughterhouse floor drenched in blood and death.I am America

blasted and blown to total oblivion.

I am Hippocrates

staunching wounds,

sipping Light

from the Heart of Life,

slipping Manjusri His blade

to smear ghee and ash across time,

severing space from nothing.

I am a village of mothers sunk in despair, Cholera, flooding and

fire.I am the assassin's hand trembling, with his gun raised and

pointed at Gandhi.

I am Radiant health

Singing delightedly of Death,

Red blood cells and white

Rocking to the Soundless,

Buoying up brothers and sisters

In Oceanic pinpointed Sparkle.

I am the first-born child of Egypt and Rameses, a river of woe.I am an

ocean of sadness, lamentation, broken hearts, every kind of hell.

I am the last man out

Of everyman making headway

To nowhere,

A Sea of something not other,

Spilling in and out of sutras.

The mending of Hearts,

The Charting of the Uncharted Voyage -

Inherent Happiness heaving heavens

and hope, like children laughing,

leaping and landing

in the River of Self.

I am the Dark Finger of Light weaving through You like dreams.I am

Shiva the Master and Dancer in Every Disguise!

I am the Luminous Mouth,

Guha glowing,

swallowing You

like prosad.

I am Brahma

breaking bread

in the wheatfields wafting

through Vishnu.

I decorate the garments

of Shiva in vasanas,

then burn down the house –

Naked Nothing…

Knowing nothing.

 

LoveAlways,

Mazie Protect your PC - Click here for McAfee.com VirusScan Online

[Guest guest]

"Come, come, whoever you are,

worshipper, wanderer, lover of leaving.

Ours is not a caravan of despair.

Though you have broken your vows a thousand times,

come, come, come again, come."

 

~Rumi

 

 

a battlefield covered

with bodies, motionless,

silent save the flapping

of a lone pigeon's wings,

its feathers red

with its parents blood

and white with innocence

washing children's

eyes of fear

and leaving them

shining in wonder

that it really is

okay, even through

all the violence

and bloodshed

as if preparing

the world

for the peace

it's always been

but kept to busy

looking for

to feel itself

and know...

 

~Tykal

 

No one has ever gone anywhere,

nothing has ever happened.

No struggle has taken place,

no war ever fought.

Not a soul has been liberated,

not a demon cast down.

No lovers have ever been

parted, no enemies divided.

No light shines in some

bright mirror,

no darkness shadows land.

Not one drop of the most

compassionate rain of bliss

has ever fallen from the

Sky of Heart,

nor has any arrow

ever pierced it.

In all directions there is

nothing to see, to feel, to know.

There are no lessons to learn,

no way to tread, no journey

ending in happiness.

There is no hope,

nor any need or reason for it.

This is so, and yet

it cannot be comprehended,

yielded to in some sacrificial ritual, or

objectified by the bundle of fleeting

arbitrary thought forms

we mistake ourselves to be.

At first and last it is

of no more consequence than

the migratory patterns of the

now extinct great-beaked birds,

afloat on the vanished wind currents of

the distant Mezazoic.

 

Still, we can feel, we can

feel their heart-throbbed songs

even now, even as they echo

and resound eternally through

billions upon billions of

galaxies!

 

Ah,

such Music!

 

Such Music

there never was!

 

Such Music,

Yes,

We Are!

 

~b

 

 

Yesterday i watched the video, "The Thin Red Line." Witt always

breaks my Heart and every moment of hearing him inquire, asking

things like, "Who is this that's killing us?" and "Maybe we're one

being..." just sinks me into the Suchness of Such Love. That movie

set up my own inquiry about war and death and my own experiences with

such things, limited as they are.

 

When i was about eleven years old i came across a box of photographs

that my best friend, Jodie Sarver, had found in an attic that her

father had taken while an official photographer-soldier in WWII, the

European campaign. It showed graphic death scenes, bodies twisted and

mangled, frozen in grinning masks of agony and ecstacy. The pictures

portrayed in great and stark detail, the death camps, the holocaust

survivors and those who did not survive. i was horrified and

completely transfixed on the images before me. i began a serious

investigation into death and war. i was haunted and compelled,

exhilarated and repelled, thrilled and disgusted, frightened and

fearless. i was in the depths of inquiry and the only way i could

come to terms with what i witnessed in these pictures was to face the

fact that death appeared gruesome to me and at the same time,

absolutely intriguingly beautiful.

 

i discussed my findings with my own father with whom i had an

extremely close relationship. He had also been a soldier and was sent

at seventeen years of age to the Pacific campaign, Okinawa and Iwo

Jima. He lied about his age and joined the forces with a sense of

duty and honor, he told me. My father had had nightmares for many,

many years about his experiences during this war and he always told

me that i was the only one who could understand his pain and long-

held regret about having to take another's life. He said that others'

did not have the Heart to fully understand how grievously his Heart

wept in his remembrances of this experience of death and warring. The

only thing was, i was only twelve years old and carrying my own

tragic experience of being completely bodily-devastated by rhuematoid

arthritis. Through by some Incomprehensible Love, he and i would weep

together over his grief and he would tell me fascinating and

horrifying tales of this confusing and awesome time in his life. i

sometimes felt as if i were carrying my entire family, the world and

everyone in it on my tiny, young shoulders. But i went with whatever

wanted to express itself and i stuck to the program of inquiry and

surrender to what is, as it is. i had no idea about what yoga was

yet, what non-dualism was yet, what Buddhism or what any ism was yet,

for i had just began my own serious investigation into life and death

and suffering by beginning my study of the Vedas, the Gita, Sri

Ramana, reincarnation, Cayce, true-life murder mysteries, the mystery

of my own illness, psychology, anything and everything i could get my

mitts on i read it and pondered it. i was driven to find out who i

was and why i was here and why anything was happening at all which

would present such a dual face of pain and pleasure, good and bad,

life and death, all the opposites that appeared before me everyday

and in every conceivable way. i lived and breathed and slept and

dreamed about death and pain and love and life. i was relentless in

the pursuit of wisdom. What did i know anyway, at twelve years old

but that the world seemed strangely fierce and kind at once,

beautiful and gruesome simultaneously. i nearly split my head open

trying to figure it out with the mind, with the intellect and ego.

What did i know anyway back then?

 

Then a short time later the Viet Nam war began. i was so fully into

inquiry then that i was on high alert to answers to my questions

possibly presenting again for my understanding of what this life and

death and war thing was all about. i watched Walter Cronkite with my

father every night, looking at endless images of death and pain and

confusion. i chanted peace chants, walked in marches locally and at

high school, i was a total reject and outcast because of my disease,

and yet even then i somehow knew, somehow knew that all this was

exactly unfolding as it should, even as i attempted to thwart it by

attempting to take my own life. i had nowhere to go and no escape was

possible from my life or the life and death portrayal all around me

everyday. i met friends who had been in Viet Nam, one in particular

who had come back so fucked up, so jammed with the inability to allow

it to be let go of that he became a complete alcoholic and madman.

And i mean, as in "we the jury find..." kind of madness. His name was

John and he was beautiful and brilliant and funny and utterly broken.

He showed me photographs he'd taken over there, and once again i was

propelled, catapulted into the memory of the magnificence and horror

of WWII war photos, the memory of myself being a crusader in a

previous life, completely shattered and in turmoil to the point of

walking away from it all, bloodied and stinking with death, and then

joining with a monk friend in some cathedral or other to close the

door on killing forever.

 

i have seen death and war and brutality and cruelty and so have we

all in one form or another. After seeing a film of the rain forests,

Brother Anandamoy spoke about his amazement to Master how everything

was killing everything else. Master replied to him, "If you think

that's bad, you should see what's going on in the ocean!" In this

oceanic sea of existence, death and life dance hand in hand. In

Seeing that this is all a play on the screen of Awareness, we are at

last free to recognize the Perfection and Beauty of every single

moment, every expression of That With No Name, and in that moment we

are OneHeartOneMindOneBeingOneLove - LovingLoveLovingLove. . . Love

Is Infinite.

 

The capacity to understand any of this is in the Heart's Capacity to

realize that It holds Everything in Itself and as Itself, and let it

flow, let it go where it will.

 

There is no other.

There is only One.

 

 

LoveAlways,

 

Mazie, Tykal & b

[Guest guest]

, "mazie_l" <sraddha54@h...>

wrote:

>

>

> "Come, come, whoever you are,

> worshipper, wanderer, lover of leaving.

> Ours is not a caravan of despair.

> Though you have broken your vows a thousand times,

> come, come, come again, come."

>

> ~Rumi

 

Namaste,

 

Yes nothing is happening if one is realised but if not, then

everything is happening.

 

When I watched the attack on Baghdad last night, knowing that

civilians would be the one's getting killed. It reminded me of when I

was a babe in arms. I remember the sirens, and I still react. I

remember the fear as my grandfather and mother and family carried me

down to the cellar to survive the bombs.

 

I was an innocent child who gave permission to try and kill me and

others?

 

I remember having to console my aunt for years as her partner was

killed in Burma, got the VC for sacrificing his life for his men, but

he still didn't come home.

 

It seems that bad karma has been visited upon us to pay again. While

the Egos of selfish people play it out on the world stage. Just like

ages ago.

 

There is a clearing going on between the last trumps of the 'sons of

darkness', the materialist and the followers of the 'law of one', the

spiritual non violent believers.

 

It is all delusion but as Sankara said 'it is real whilst one is in

it'.....Let us pray for all, especially the innocent children that

will die under the bombs. Loka samastha sukhino

bhavantu..x3...ONS...Tony.