Light Shining & Autumn Still

[Guest guest]

Done with yacky dharmaI am here with this fullnessLuminous on the horizon --I just want to love you.

........What is this home here that we rehearse withinbut the bare

light bones of all of us,a supremely intricate echo-structure of

unparalleled strength, one crying skull calling out to some God,some

super savior that we've been seeking in every face, every single

human visage and façade we've ever seen or dreamed or worn, warring

with ourselves, worn wearily with want, with desireand longing lines

cut deep from our love's pining pitch?Rattling cranium cages for a

rapture reputed to be rising from the spirit graves of the undead

posing as prophets, echoing cool cat jive in still repose,I suppose

that all our prose and poetry is already etch-a-sketched and

eruditely erased in the pages of time and space.On a thin dime we

find ourselves tossed into the sky of Light,dead again.Dead again...

And the river of rhymes we roll off our tongues is splash-back from

the waves of wondrous wordsthat fools and mystics in marvelous

repetitionare still listening in on as all our childlike chimes and

chimera shining hymnsflash-back at us,as us.This busload of

bare-boned bodies of brittle light in ache and moan –a koan never

coined.In the chink of God's wailing wall we fall into dyinglike

feathers in spiral, like the first breath of a starfish, like Love

letting out one long sigh.In dying, we dig up God from the cosmic

catacomb's ground of Light,and enter Him.It never entered my head

thatwhen God's finally dead - “temple bells die out.the fragrant

blossoms remain.a perfect evening.”~ Basho Matsuo (1644-94)

OneHeart

~Mazie, photo by Bob O'Hearn

how do we bare the mystery of this lovinghow do we bare the mystery of

this leavingthis chest throat squeezethis juice of salt sea tearsthis

picture:child, little boy, lit up from withinsunrays through a window

panethis picture:old man, wife, buried daughtermidnight black sun

glowing brighterthis picture:mystic widower, alone now, small roomher

touch the gnostic vision, her laughter, her perfumewe bare the mystery

of this lovingwe bare the mystery of this leavingJP

Music that is meaningful to my heart, J.P.

~Vicki

~courtesy of Alan Larus' lens

The Maelstrom Of The Mind - Vicki Woodyard Recently I have been

getting caught in maelstroms of the mind.. Downpours of

doubt....drenching me...weatherman says that there will be deluges of

delusion. My ego’s eaves will fill with leaves...my gutters will be

clogged with care and I have lost the phone numbers of old handymen.

I sit on my couch quite alone, listening to the rain within my soul.

My head is a tin roof. I begin to listen to the melody. The more I

listen the quieter it gets. It becomes an adagio of thought, tempo

going slower. My thoughts are slowing down. Music, maelstrom, please.

 

~Alan Larus photo

Hi, Mazie,Well, Bob and I could use some grace. I didn't go to the dr.

with Bob todaybecause I had to get a new crown. His oncologist says

his disease markers areon the rise again and he will be consulting

with the dr. in Boston to see whereto go from here. Always a shock, a

grief, an oh, no...not again....even thoughwe have been told

repeatedly that this is not a disease from which one recovers.Please

shine some grace our way.Love, Vickihttp://www.bobwoodyard.com

September 18, 2003--Bob began his fourth round of Velcade today and we

still appreciate your prayers. He was feeling well enough to take me

to my junior high school reunion. It was wonderful to reconnect with

our younger selves, because people don’t really change--at least not

their essence. Now that fall is here, I will buckle down and get

back to more writing, because that is what sustains me. Let us hear

from you.... August 28, 2003--It is when we stop resisting that

healing happens.

((( Dearest Vicki,

The physical reality of unreality really gives us the gambol of

getting "it" while undergoing the most incredibly uncomfortable

positions...like me, vomiting and nausea nearly every day, pain and

the grinding, grueling re-tooling of my outlook and angle of vision.

Arthritis is a slow eating away of the body, and after forty years of

crumbling into my own sea of me, Rumi's phrases about "burning this

house down," seem so apropos.

Prayers and Love I send to you always and always with great

bittersweet poignancy and great laughter and leaping happiness that

you're my friend. What you and Bob are going through, have been boing

through - i am bowing at your sacred dear forms in gratitude and awe,

and there will never be a time when we are not glistening in the same

tear sliding down the cheek of our OneFace and their will never be a

time when we are not a heart-breaking fragile glass of incredible

strength in our OneHeart.

The Love that expresses so beautifully through you, through JP,

through Alan Larus, and me, that Light Shine lifts us and sustains us

in the darkest most difficult hours, and I long to hold your hands in

mine and to embrace as three, you, Bob and me. Oh my DearHearted

friend! How can I say that your Lighted Smile and your bright tears,

lift me, sustain me and help me to endure these days when time seems

endless and pain has become my closest friend....

~Hmmm?

Fire-light & moon-light lickingagainst the same white western wall,and

again, again with the treacle-tears, and oy,I could squall in perfect

spell and incantationincandescent luminescentsunlight skylight

nightlight heartlightin death-bright living breathing lightlike the

Light of Ishwara,if Ishwara were actually here in a body,a body of

Incomprehensible Light, beyondeven shining, beyondeven bright,

beyondeven light.Hey! I'm a body of light.I'm a body of light that

Ishwara ignites, right?Perpetua in flame and flicker, candle-quick

and night moth,Both of me, this duo-glow of glower and glitter…the

cat, the cat shit and the kitty litter.Ishwara doesn't wear gloves

when cleaning out this feline-mind box.A muddled colorless moth's

wing with the initials `ML' faintly seen;a swing swung from with

Balarama in the arms;a river and a mountain and a drowning,

drowning,a drowning in Ishwara ever radiating in me, in thee,and we

are not three even as we sing in trio.Triune trip-up by Light getting

laughs as Mirth with three mouths.What a triple Howl from Hari we

are!Boat-rocking in God was a glower-gift,a flower stuck in the

rat-a-tat-tat rifle of our rancorand all we want to do sometimesis

yank it out and shout, "No mas, por favor, Senor Shiva!"Hmmm.Cerveza

or Chronic sound really good, and a tune too,sometimes, some of the

times after God gives us His Lightening Rod,His Rama Prod of

Hanumanaic proportions,like cosmic contortionists and

cartoonistsrocking in God-Light, we see, we understand that each

man,each plant and every atom spinning is Ishwara –all of us in

Grace.One Shiny Apple Face!The fruit of lifetimes of light-leaping

lexicons being openedand closed again and againheralding the arrival

of this night that does not end….Heartlight nightlife:Like a strike

from Nag Himselfin some Aryan holographic swastika scales,we are the

lightening that illuminates the mind.Hey! Bartender!Got a light?

~from art.com

Nurturing the Now Nurturing the Now is my concept of living in the

present moment. You simply can’t be any other place or in any other

time, so why try?

We keep trying because the mental mechanism is geared that way. It

takes a definite decision to leave pain and suffering, even for a

little while. But the payoff is priceless.

You must yearn to return....to the living experience that you are.

Begin by watching your breath go in and out. Follow it and it will

soon slow down.

Begin watching your thoughts as they try to scramble out of the

present and make a dash into the future or the comfy, cozy past.

Actually, as my spiritual teacher said....."Wasn’t it bad enough at

the time?" Of course it was, but sentimentality likes to suffer. It

embellishes the past with rosy-hued resentment and the seductive

slow-burn of being a victim of this or that. But it doesn’t have to

be that way.

Now-consciousness is always newly-minted. You can only surrender and

watch what happens. There is no expectancy or fear....just a

commitment to be a witness to what is, which is always a mystery.

Prefer mystery to history and you will have it.

~Vicki Woodyard

~from art.com

Your Worst Nightmare

What is it like to be living your worst nightmare? We will actually

never know, because our worst nightmare is only a mental picture held

in the unconscious mind. Phew, what a relief to know that. Not

exactly, for here is where the problem comes in, and on the mental

level, there is always a problem.

In many ways, I am living my worst nightmore now. Since my husband

has been diagnosed with an incurable cancer, I have been trying to

offset the nightmare by living consciously in the now. And it works.

 

But sometimes miserable mental pictures present themselves to me--so

miserable that I start wallowing in self-pity. And I am always

weakened by these images projected on the cave wall of my unconscious

mind.

What can I do to keep these nightmares at bay? I can bring them into

focus willingly and consciously. Once I do that, they dissolve into

the daylight of reality. There is only now. Such simple words to

have such penetrating power. I am here now and I am now. Nothing

complicated about that.

Suffering is central to the life of someone still living from the

mind. But if we have really and truly suffered enough, we can use

suffering to remove suffering. Choose it to lose it.

Choose conscious suffering and mechanical suffering is replaced by

reality. You have to practice catching yourself in the act of

sentimental longing or fearful imagining and yell “Stop!” You’ve had

enough...and enough is enough. Until you get strict with suffering,

it won’t go away and leave you alone.

Suffering is a bully brought on by mental laziness. It wants to eat

your lunch and give you a black eye to boot. But like all bullies,

it is actually weakness masquerading as strength. Real strength

arises from awareness.

So go ahead and live your worst nightmare, but do it consciously. All

of a sudden you will know where you are and where you want to go--into

the living moment. It is your birthright.

~Vicki

~photo by Mazie

Enlightenment is a Dirty Word - Vicki Woodyard & Bob Woodyard, whom

without him, this might never have been written....

Enlightenment has become almost a dirty word with me. I have strived

for it, studied for it, let go of it, clung to it, danced with it and

tranced with it. I have gone the extra mile for it, flashed the smile

for it, hoping that someday, somehow it would be given to me as an act

of grace. I should know better. I studied with a master teacher,

Vernon Howard. There was no question about his enlightenment. Every

word he said was true and came from the depths of the inner heights.

His energy was phenomenal, pure and transcendant. I wanted a piece

of it. He died of cancer, his secretary befriended me and she died of

cancer. Now my husband has incurable cancer. Somewhere along the

line I have become less excited about my own particular nirvana.

During the worst days, my husband was so ill he did not know where he

was. I knew all too well where I was--in hell. One day when he was

in the hospital I came home and sat down at the computer. All of a

sudden my bowels released and I messed in the computer chair. I

cleaned myself up. The dog had thrown up on my side of the bed near

my pillow. I stepped in dog doody and walked it all over the

hospital corridors. And strangely enough I knew that I was getting a

message of love...of the Mother Theresa variety. I was the unclean

person. I also knew during this strange time of trial that every time

I asked for something I would be given an inner message that things

would go better if I let things come to me unasked. I was in a no

man’s land. Who cared about enlightenment when there were

unmentionable sufferings occurring in my life? Who cared? My

husband’s ribs had been broken by the undiagnosed cancer and he

looked like a skeleton. Since our daughter had died of the disease

as a child, I knew what death looked like. I didn’t want it to

happen to him. When he got home from the hospital I slept with a

skeleton for months. Now he is in remission but I have much more

self-esteem than I did when I was seeking enlightenment.

Enlightenment is cellular, unearned and undiscerned. It is

ephemeral, visceral and gut-wrenching. People tell me that I have an

aura of peace about me. I know what they mean, for when I look

inside I experience it. The sad thing is that my ego with the name

and form must undergo panic attacks and frequent sorrow because she

can never be enlightened. I am tired of reading all the endless names

of people who teach enlightenment. They have books and tapes and

seminars and retreats and introductory trial offers. I know the same

things that they do...more’s the pity. If you would like to consult

with me about gut-wrenching loneliness contained within a peaceful

energy field, be my guest. I just don’t do seminars.

Bob and Vicki Woodyard

>From The Prayer Tree by Michael Leunig

When the heart Is cut or cracked or broken Do not clutch it Let the wound lie open

Let the wind From the good old sea blow in To bathe the wound with salt And let it sting.

Let a stray dog lick it Let a bird lean in the hole and sing A simple

song like a tiny bell And let it ring

~photo by Mazie

Fishpond Thoughts

The aimless path consumes, Fluent rain falling Delight becomes delight.

~The Structure of Delight, Nelson Zink

Often we are too content to rest in the mechanical mind and forget

that every day is a challenge and a commitment to our own

consciousness.

Three of my favorite quotes are: "You live that you may learn to love.

You love that you may learn to live. No other lesson is required of

man." The Book of Mirdad.

"Rest and rapture. What else is there?" Pamela Wilson.

"A wizard stays rested and relaxed." Peter Russell

Rest and relaxation are core concepts of life. Without them, we

become a sounding brass and a tinkling cymbal. Emptied of peace, we

pound ourselves into headaches and heartaches and worse. No wonder

that we are in a maze and not amazed. Wonder requires stillness and

serenity. R and R from the rat race is the prescription for peace.

Pamela Wilson states the truth in a marvelously simple way. When I

began my website, her comment was "How beautiful it is when the heart

speaks." She has been a teacher for me. Peter Russell is a brilliant

man with a wit to match. He, too, has encouraged me. He is the

author of The Global Brain and Waking Up.

~Vicki

She likes the taste of windows...

~Baby Grace's Face, courtesty of K Plessinger

LovingYouSoMuch,

Mazie

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