Archives for category: poetry

Words, like belief, can be prisons or liberators. Breath can show you the way….a deep simple innefable truth existing beyond reason. An inner compass that resides before the prison of belief held me. Be careful of your words, like your beliefs, for like the gods and goddesses, they will reinforce each other, catching you and convincing you of its small truths as it stands in the shadow of the one great Light.

Beyond belief is that place within me, within you and the All, where we meet where we are, you and I, stripped bare of pretense. Written in the heart of a Child, these sparkling consequences tell us of truths simple in their acquisition. Beyond reason, curled up within the fiery portals of becoming, it beckons to you, promising to ruin you for anything but its great soul-saving promise.

It holds out promise, it’s hand, that we might drop what we hold now to embrace this new world within us. It asks everything of us to discover what will remain, what abides in its deep portals of bliss which has always been the physician to our undoing, redemtion, and inward discovery.

It is beyond belief.

Let it go. To feel it means letting loose your grip of what you think is real. It is at once terrifying and the deepest comfort, the more you let go the more it fills you and animates you. Whispering in your heart it welcomes you as so much leaves you in this upside down world. Set right, set on fire, it meets us in this place. The great healer has come to you.

I know that I was made to bear this fire, to bring it down through myself in a simple act of forgetting. It asks me to let go of the things that limit me. All belief, bias, notion. “Forget what you think you know; you cannot know the gods with your mind or memory…” is what it says. It opens a portal through feeling, through the She, and through her I see a brilliant channel into those realms of fact but which are beyond all belief.

The divine asks us only one thing: feel truly, deeply, because that is where it waits for us. This is the stair, the ladder which we seek but are held back by in our rational minds that speak in the grammar of uncertainty and the syntax of fear. Letting go of it, I turn from dark to brilliant, fiery, possessed of myself, possessed of you, no need to ask why. It just is.

You meet me here, this garden of the gods and goddesses.  Fiery is the soul of creation and what animates it. Constantly burning away the impure, returning us to a renewed state of ressurection. Can you feel how such a simple grace in him responds to the grace within you? Can you feel how they each speak in the mute syllables of bliss? The cantenaries of desire? Can you see how he and she turns around in a spiral ever upward, endless in scope, forming worlds? So simple the Ida and Pengali become the rails of the ladder and we rise both alone and together. Every entry into this sparkling realm was as if we had never left. He touches her in the center of her heart and says, “There.” Her head falls back with such a truthful reminder.

Breath tells more truth than a million beliefs. It explodes illusion, turning you and I inside out, returning us to that brave realm of sacred fire and boundless joy. What you are brings out what I am in those places…

My awakening came gradually. It came in somewhat measured steps. The first step clearly opened me to a strong flow of prana and my first experience of nonduality. Then, over five months, I began having innexplicable events occurring that led me deeper. A friend loaned me a hemisync cd for clearing emotional baggage. Another gave me a meditation technique I have detailed in the last post.

A Voice spoke in my mind telling me to close my eyes and focus on the center of my brow. Complying, I awakened my third eye, a process that expanded over several days once I focused my attention there and saw the fiery brightly lit eye emerge into my field of vision. Then I was taught or tutored in how to alter my consciousness to take advantage of the wave-form part of our consciousness, the part we call the feminine, the Shakti, the right brain and left side of the body. Everything was unfolding, gradually, carefully, as if by some plan. I wrote about it to close friends. I had no idea what it was leading to.

I had several events that all directed me along a path to awakening in a way that left me the last to know what all of these things were adding up to. Clearly, a higher intelligence was involved. This is not to say everyone must awaken the way I did. What is clear to me, because of my own experience, that at the base of awakening is an effort to break through a logjam of trapped energy to liberate or open a hole within us that will let the water of life stream in. First a trickle (for me), and growing stronger each day, each week, until my body was conditioned enough so the full rising event could come. A breaking through this logjam.

One of the events that took place in October of 2006 was a day-long acceleration of prana, which was a preview of what kundalini would bring. I had a vivid vision-a certainty in inner vision and through intensely felt feelings-about how all life feels prana or life force in the same way when it is felt abundantly (which is all kundalini really is—unusually high levels of pranic flow).

Getting ready to go home, this information nagged and pulled at me until I put it down on my computer starting at 7:30 pm and finishing at 7:34 pm (I had no idea why I should note the start and ending time but I did…now try and type what I typed in under four minutes).

This writing spoke of prana and how it was affecting both my body and mind. After writing this, I would find myself experiencing an odd synchronicity involving my finding the only magazine on a rack full of popular magazines whose content was uninteresting to me except one magazine I had to hunt for around a corner, blocked by a card rack placed in front of it. Without anything on its outside to suggest its contents, I would find that it had an article that read in bold: “When it comes to seeds, it’s all about sex.” Here is the piece I wrote to try and get that stuff out of my head, a first brush with a powerful burst of prana.


The Yearning

The fields are wet from rain after the corn has been harvested. Trees slowly turn from green to yellow, then gold. The air cools and the mind thinks back on days when life was brimming over and the air was thick with the smell of pollen. The same corn, now nothing but stubble, stood gold and green with tassels swaying with the breeze, releasing its sweet nutty smell. To some it was just a delightful thing that marks the passage of seasons. To me, its more than that. It speaks of life seeking its own, making itself over; a new generation. A yearning, a leaning toward the wind in the hopes that Nature will take care of Nature, and carry its life giving sweetness on the air to waiting seeds, waiting for that breath of life, that germ of passion that makes the flowers grow, and makes life turn ‘round once more in the endless cycles this world is known for.

Seeds and plants and pollen, all lean into passion in ways we can scarcely imagine. For this is the glue that keeps life going. For them, it must be pleasurable, a passionate act of giving, a release, an immersion into a mystery far older than our own known seasons, our own individual lives and experiences. For this is the gravity that pulls them, moves them to continue. How can it be any other? Why then would life seek to replace itself through an act as perfunctory as the dropping of an apple from a tree? No, the drop of the apple is not perfunctory, or a second thought, but part of a yearning to become, a part of merging with some larger dance. If trees can’t feel this, then why continue? Why go on? Perhaps in measures we can only guess or imagine, there is some divine spark of wantonness, of passion and pleasure bound up within their shells of being. How can it be any other? Perhaps there is a secret life these rooted beings feel that is beyond our ken, beyond our too quickened ways. We have been “beyond” these beings for so long that they are now “just plants.” And yet, they are more. They will speak if only you will listen, and they yearn to tell of this ancient dance, this incredible desire and passion bound up within every cell of their being, so it pays if you will only listen.

I know that seeds seek and yearn and hope and dream; dreams perhaps that are so different I could never scarcely imagine or see them for what they are. And yet, it seems inescapable that these creatures, ancient as all of life here, yearn for the touch of pollen upon their seed pods and enclosures, waiting patiently for the bee to carry their spawn beyond them into other regions where others await the touch of the life giving sparks that enliven and awaken a new generation. Even the warming caress of sun and drenching rain is an act of divine providence, or giving in a wheel that knows no end and no beginning. Quiet and still, these beings mask their greater inner lives.

So even we do these same things, even we make this dance of longing and yearning, so old and ancient that its root can escape us as we are caught up as if in some whirlwind, some deeper dance both of passion and letting go as we give ourselves to life’s great mystery, to its passionate embrace, and longing that brings us to this place, this wonder filled state where our minds and bodies and hearts are excited beyond the normal trebling that life gives or provides.
To touch my eye with your eye, to touch smile to smile, or hand to hand, we join in this ancient dance, this passionate longing for life seeking to complete itself, and in so doing, complete ourselves. Round and round we turn, like stars upon an endless wheel that rolls and ducks and sways in the lost night of time. We are carried one by the other, some by our imaginings, some by the reality, but always by the same glue that keeps life turning turning back and forward at once, calling to the roots of what it was to the heavens of what it will become.

So as our hands embrace, our smiles merge, as face becomes face, and eye becomes eye; as flesh becomes flesh, we excite in this dance, this subtle movement first tentative, then more certain as we are gathered by the compass of its certainty, of its need to move as it moves, which is ever forward into endless days and tomorrows.

We came here as boundless beings who knew neither limit nor touch, and followed down into narrow pathways into minds of earthlings, like spirits on a cosmic voyage, we entered the world of limit and pain and loneliness, only to be called back by forces that were brought to bear in this world, moving us through realms of limit and bounding to that greater reminder that this is a dance of mystery, passion, and love. In this love we touch the infinite, wrapped in that which pulls and grabs us like hawk talons grasping talons in a spiral dance of yearning, moving us one step beyond this one, seeking the divine, seeking the infinite. 10/13/06 – 7:30-7:34 p.m.

She was the one who was touched by the growing bloom of desire. Each center opened to a presence that moved all through her. It was little more than a wisp, really, like a rising tide of water. Just like that. This touched her at every level of her being. Pulling him close, though he was far from her, she initiated a dance that she was never able to complete perhaps because the prize was just that precious and powerful a thing; fire from heaven.

The truth amongst our kind is that once touched, we are forever changed. We cannot pretend to be the same. We cannot act as though the genie has gone back into the bottle. We try, many times we do, just as she had done, hoping to return to her Kansas and her blissful ignorance. We all do, if the truth is told. We do grow accustomed to it though and in its big roaring realm of a shift it awakens us to deeper truths, and not all of them sit comfortably with us. With such power, with such roaring realms as these, we are ourselves made into instruments of the emanations that is our universe. The Gods and Goddesses speak through our fiber, our bone, our idiosyncracies, our desire, our failings and our triumphs. We face up to the fact that to be spiritual is to be sexual, which is to be creative, which is about begetting both spiritually and physically. We cannot nor will we ever remove ourselves from the truth of this which is that at its core, all of this awakening is creative. She wants to create with him, to feel his words and his presence upon her lips, drawing out of her a consummate creation born of a love that is transcendent….something more than just she and more than just he. Through every center she feels how the truth of this touches her inwardly just as it touches him inwardly. They are carried, touched, enlivened…. by this fire to know how they both share in an inuterable truth about it and each other….Such a truth draws souls together unlike anything else.

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People can turn their backs on these things but so strong are these events that they make indelible marks on our lives, our souls, our hearts, and even our bodies. For as much as we seek to seem normal, to fit in, to fly under the radar, we are rendered an exotic forever after and for always. All of the heresies come to live in us all at once, shaking us to that inevitable conclusion that each of us make, which is that the world is both backwards and upside down. …and it has been that was for a long time.

We, even touched as we are by this, remain backwards and upside down creatures until we relearn and allow ourselves to break under the pressure of the great force that is the divine bearing down on us and on the falsehoods of our innermost lives. The difference is that we are pilgrims who travel not without comprehension to the Promised Land but with full realization that we each ARE what was once promised us.

She is the kind who can sense and even smell him before he arrives. Her innermost senses are so enlivened by him that her own senses begin to form a world around him that is made up of him. Something in her is made to know him perhaps as much as he knows himself. It is at this great level of intimacy that she can never again pretend she had not caught glimpse of the bringer of that fire to her frame in this life or that she served as the crucible within which their surrender became the Great Revealer. She knows him and he knows her in a way that defies any idea that we are in any way separate or that the universe itself is not strung together in an incredibly intimate fashion such that no lie about separation can stand long before the roar of this world washes over it and topples it, washing its pieces away as we stand gape-mouthed wondering over what just happened, and also over how we could build such castles to honor the deeper heresy of separation.

heart

And even those who have parted still meet in the breathless silence of their innermost realm at night and between the sentences of spoken words and between the architecture of our thoughts. They are just too large for that not to happen, and we must learn to forgive ourselves if the fire is ever to make any sense to us and not burn us to a crisp in fear or in anger, or in jealousy, or in uncertainty. It is in the in-between that it calls to us and does not care the channel or vessel who carries it. It seems to need us to tell its story, like some wordless presence, like some vivaciously creative mute that is suddenly tired of keeping silent but has no means itself with which to speak or caress or to love the other in the way that we are equipped.

For many, it’s just too much. It’s too much as long as we resist being as big as it is. It’s too much as long as we refuse to stretch into its being and learn to give that higher self a place in our lives. We resist because the higher self is not uncertain but knows…..and we, the children waking up to its presence within us, are limited and do doubt and are afraid that it might mean our end…..even though that never seems to happen.

He can feel how she visits him. It’s often only after she falls completely asleep. Some nights he waits up and others, he slips off into a sleep that contains chapters only the two of them know, but mostly know peripherally or secretly (even when its secret from themselves sometimes). It isn’t always clear, and there isn’t always a narrative to paint the sky so it can be seen, or a room or a sense of place…..because this now belongs to the timelessness that we each touch when our bodies open their eyes and as our mind is dragged along for the ride. He holds his hand up; this is all he needs do to transmit the ripple of pure bliss which penetrates and travels faster than light and ignores the laws of our world because of how it lives and breathes the one Law that has ever really mattered and is the one Law upon which worlds have been built. This Law lives within him and its movement into her is what remains a world of endless pleasure and delight.

This plays out in this way with many today. Married, single, alone but connected….it has taken all of us into its arms regardless of our laws and rules or conventions. It asks us to tell the truth by BEing the truth, and so it changes our lives when this enters them. We are shaken by this and it is hard, but it is like leaving Kansas with no hope of ever returning, perhaps never wanting to return. The genie is out of the bottle and the truth turns in us until we learn to face it more fully each time it swings us ’round in its pulsating dance of both pleasure and becoming. This truth, if ignored comes back around in other years, seasons, and lives. There is all the time in the world and yet, it seems to make us all feel that there is little time left. I think that this is because of how long we have remained ignorant of how much we have lived outside of its Law even as some of us proclaimed to know it intimately. This force does not care about how our lives are composed it seems, and will clear a path in us to see that its will is done. Eventually, the truth catches up with all of us….and until it does, it exerts a steady pressure on each of us until we give way and forgive in order for the resistance to allow flow again. He remains in silence until she acknowledges that nothing has the power to stop this…

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Their opposites, both as the Cosmic She and He attract. Karma attracts, that which is left undone attracts. But what is really at the root of our misgivings after all? In each case, it is always something that felt that we did not reach in its fullest apogee for our hearts to feel filled with it. We return to lovers who died too soon for us to play it again just as we turn the wrongs other have done to us into the force that cracks our insides open to reveal the greatest bliss one could ever imagine. In each case, we feel a sense of lack that always has us forever chasing it, forever yearning for it, forever focused on it even if it is done subconsciously. We hide so much from ourselves that our lives do not adequately allow fulfillment for. But how

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do we correct for a wish never filled that is now thousands of years old, covered over by ten lifetimes or more? These bones form the substance of our desire in some of this as we wake up…..and there is nothing so compassionate a hope as this; to free ourselves and to know the force of love not as something that we feel FOR someone but a force that we finally ARE.

There are many stories that remain silent and secret but that live vibrantly in the luminous realm. Don’t let its grace pass you by.

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You have lived in wonder

captured by its magic

carried by its vitality

that was both you

and the cosmos upon which you rode…

 

Long before you were taught

you knew.

More was known in the nurseries of you infancy

than could be scarcely dreamed

by those who had grown older

and had forgotten.

But we all know what is true,

a truth that lives in marrow and sinew,

the fiber of your whole being

unbounded by the limits of belief.

Its reality cannot be spoken in mere words

but in the syllables of feeling

and the syntax of awe.

 

Somewhere you grew up and set aside those dreams

which were so precious

necessary for knowing what you are

as you tried to grow up…

but since you forgot or lay aside what you knew

you abandoned something

necessary

and free.

 

You knew once that no one could tell you how you must be

for it was self-evident

so sure.

But doubt took its place

and it took years to shake that off

and now here you stand

knowing that the poetry of your soul

is contained in every rock and river

in butterflies

whirlwinds

and change.

The earth speaks to you

through you

like a divine marriage

as the stars whirl overhead

in their endless dance of time.

 

You lived a mystic existence

and nothing offended you

save for forgetfulness

of what we truly are.

 

This is why the realm of fairie

is so real to the young

and the world of myth

stands so close to the world of the child.

There are greater truths told in tale such as these

than in any of our books written by older hands

and darkened hearts.

 

In all of this

there was light

and unbearable lightness

which was its own reward.

But it seems that forgetting became its own passage

to teach us of the contrast

that we might know the continuity of our own consciousness

with all things

and then  find ourselves joined to it,

merging with nature,

speaking its own language…

which is the same language of the heart of the child.

Was there a purpose in being dislocated from the Beloved?

 

Nothing can stand between you and this world again

if you so choose it.

It may not be the readily-crossed path

but it is the only one that matters most

for there existed love and joy and  abundance wonder and awe

whose language you spoke so fluently.

The world need not be the danger you grew to believe

but a place that supports you

and conspires to see you succeed.

Your hands became the bird wings that fluttered in the air, your eyelids grew heavy like leaves in Autumn…and you knew that you were truly wedded to life and life to you as your naked feet rested firm and loving on the ancient ground.

This is the nature of all creativity

regardless of how it expresses itself.

We each choose whether to bring it to the purpose of light

or the dark.

In each, we so our consequences

and so learn by them

to return again with different choices

and brighter souls.

While the world has innumerable challenges and threats

you do not need to place yourself where danger resides

for even the wisdom of children know

that in the sweetness of the honey

lies also the threat of a sting.

But this is not enough to make the world evil or bad

but filled with people who each have their own level of awareness

and knowing.

I speak to the child that is so necessary to kindle

new worlds

and deeper love.

 

Curled up within the world that we know are those codes which we can tap into

limitless knowledge for building a new world.

Hard-heads may choose to prevail

but no one needs to define your existence.

So listen to your intuition

to the vibrancy contained in your childhood

when limits were unknown

and everything seemed possible.

It can be so again

when you choose to live a life

unbounded by belief

and inspired by this secret knowledge resting in the heart

that we once believed could only exist

in childhood’s dream.

 

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My morning window view

 

 

It comes in the unexpected moments,

with lack of guard

the inbetween

where the barrier to it falls

the heart melts

the self is returned to its primordial state

a glimpse

that returns again and again

until the brilliant flash fills and alters

changing you forever.

 

 

It isn’t worth wasting it

on anything but wonder

this sovereign moment

that owns itself

turning you over to a higher ❤️

a force that

forges you

bending the crooked

straightening,

cleansing,

purifying…

 

It can come at any time

especially when you least expect it…

making a lover of you.

Years ago I was so touched by this song. It has since remained filled with significance (since the mid-80’s!) If you know me, I adhere to the notion that for awakening there is no need for a guru or teacher, or even a method (thus the words become so much sweeter when you read and listen to this song). It made such an impression on me and has since served as a kind of prophetic story, right down to a violet color and an awakening in the garden.  So I share this song with you today honoring the return of an old soul from another lifetime, which gives fresh meaning to  this song.

 

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“In The Garden”

The streets are always wet with rain
After a summer shower when I saw you standin’
In the garden in the garden wet with rainYou wiped the teardrops from your eye in sorrow
As we watched the petals fall down to the ground
And as I sat beside you I felt the
Great sadness that day in the garden

And then one day you came back home
You were a creature all in rapture
You had the key to your soul
And you did open that day you came back to the garden

The olden summer breeze was blowin’ on your face
The light of God was shinin’ on your countenance divine
And you were a violet colour as you
Sat beside your father and your mother in the garden

The summer breeze was blowin’ on your face
Within your violet you treasure your summery words
And as the shiver from my neck down to my spine
Ignited me in daylight and nature in the garden

And you went into a trance
Your childlike vision became so fine
And we heard the bells inside the church
We loved so much
And felt the presence of the youth of
Eternal summers in the garden

And as it touched your cheeks so lightly
Born again you were and blushed and we touched each other lightly
And we felt the presence of the Christ

And I turned to you and I said
No Guru, no method, no teacher
Just you and I and nature
And the father in the garden

No Guru, no method, no teacher
Just you and I and nature
And the Father and the
Son and the Holy Ghost
In the garden wet with rain
No Guru, no method, no teacher
Just you and I and nature and the holy ghost
In the garden, in the garden, wet with rain
No Guru, no method, no teacher
Just you and I and nature
And the Father in the garden

-Van Morrison

 

 

Would you like to listen to this song now on Youtube?

Let its healing sounds wash over you today..

  Click here:

In The Garden

 

 

 

 

sahin-6

Artist: Hüseyin Şahin

 

The lock of the Beloved

curls thrice

gently,

lovingly,

gasping quietly

until she is freed from her deeply chambered place.

 

Years in dream she prepares 

edging closer to you and me
longing across a bridge not yet built,

eying your capable hands.

 

I heard your voice speaking

in events surrounding me

you wrapped me in impossibilities

transforming the mundane

into the profound.

 

You were the essence of the miraculous

and  bid me deeper

so that I might know

finally

what I had been seeking.
Though I might drown

I am drawn deep into your sea…

 

Your waves shook me deep

over and over,

your golden presence

lifted me into light

and bid me enter the chamber

of the bride and the groom

a secret consumated in mystery.

 

My watery self

emerged from new birth
challenged

an old memory

rewritten,
it was…

a resurrection

an inundation

there are no words to contain you…

but you bloom here in my chest

and open me to the grandeur

the same as when life comes to itself

knows itself

and knows what has made it.

 

You undid me

and remade me all at once.

 

I am left having to make new sense of old maps

 

listening to a still-older compass

that whispers at night in dreams

and shakes me to my core;

it is waiting for you” 

and I struggle through the sleep

to find myself on the other side

awake

sahin-8

Artist: Hüseyin Şahin

 

What is the merit of holding on?

 

Fists of your heart

 

clinging since before your birth

 

to what keeps the rush of the real

 

at bay.

 

Just listen to your words

listen to the secret language of your heart

 

feel it deep

 

deep

 

the luscious words are there

like a bubbling spring

 

a creek

a brook

yearning for its ocean tide

 

as was ever-written

 

on this heart of mine

-on all of ours-

 

 

that it is time to just let go.

 

 

“It is such a lonely place!”

that false heart cries

your hands clenched tight

 

where do you think you will ever go?

 

the biggest lie you tell yourself

is never as big as this one

because it was born from the blindness

which will lead you to the blazing light

where nothing can be hidden anymore

 

Where is the merit in what has always been?

Where does the new get born in such a place as this?

 

Just let go…in everything….in all of it….because of it….for it… and be free.

 

You just gotta learn how to set yourself free.

 

 

 

 

What do you think awakening will be?
It will be what you are.
If your life is lived in fear
It will be that fear.
It can be what you choose
you were never a prisoner
or so incapable.
It can be grandeur
and awe can bathe you
clearing shadow
transforming it
into light.
But how you are is what it will be
and your choice is just that powerful.
You can choose to live in ignorance
you can live in the light.
There is no honor nurturing wounds
only in realizing that they were never the biggest and best in you.
A bud blooms in my chest—
nothing else need make any sense but this
the guiding light
the spreading wonder
that this has become.

It can be this and more for you,
and still more…
which is enough.

Let the small love do for now

it leads you to a deeper love
rivulets lead to torrents
and rivers run out to the sea.

Let love lead you
go blind and follow down blind alleys and heart break 
until there is nothing left but a bigger love
which yawns widely
consuming you
taking you into itself
as it shows you it’s bliss
orgasmic,
alive,
eternal,
forever new.

Let the small lead you to its inevitable course,
to flow into the larger
so that you are led into an ever greater love
that no one could imagine exists.
But this love sets up shop
like lovers who are unafraid of making their love 
right in front of you,
in the bathroom
the living room,
the park
temple
and office.
They are there,
unafraid to be within you
wherever you are
going at it
and sharing this sweet orgasmic experience with you.
These two have lost their shame
long ago
and visit us each
as revealer
of how Creation is
beyond our breathing world….

Let it lead you.
It will trick you
until you learn
that it is first inside you
as a creek empties into its river
and fish become platelets 
and water turns to salt 
and salt into wine….

Let it take you
show you
and why it wants you
to follow.

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