Kundalini Splendor

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Monday, February 20, 2017

The God Particle 





The God Particle

They call it
the God Particle

They found it
by whirling tiny little bits
of things, not matter,
around in a huge,
expensive machine.

After years of effort,
they finally trapped it,
named it the God Particle,
the one they were looking for
that holds everything
together.

Finally, the puzzle was solved.

At last, they knew
everything,
had caught it
like an animal,
a wolf
or a bear
in a device.

Meantime
a little girl
in India
was dancing
in joy.
She sighed as
she felt something within,
something she did not really
have a name for,
it was "ecstasy,"
and she announced as
she twirled,
"See, I am feeling
the God within,
like a wee something circulating
in my blood,
like whatever it is
that holds the world together,
I call it Love."

Dorothy Walters
February 19, 2017

Sunday, February 19, 2017

New Experiences 






New Experiences

The fascinating thing about your own journey of transformation is that new experiences, new possibilities of knowing, are constantly arriving.

Here is what happened to me yesterday in a workshop with a lovely Swami from India who has taken up residence in our community. He is a very humble man who does not proselytize or seek adulation but imparts information  in a very articulate and convincing way.  He is full of love.

As he talked, I saw one and then another form appear beside him.  The first resembled him but looked like a sadhu, a bit coarser and darker than he.  The second was more modern and even had a mustache.  My intuition was that they were speaking through him.  Although I have often seen the faces of speakers morph into other countenances, this was the first time I have perceived actual figures manifest (as if in the astral plane, thus vague and fuzzy.)

Swami told me that I did not have to do any specific practices, since I was beyond that stage.  I was happy to hear this, since that is how I operate anyway.  (I sometimes do "practices" such as mantra or standing movement, but I do these spontaneously and not as part of a regular regimen.)  He seemed to have read my thoughts since as he was announcing a meditation darshan for those able to meditate for three or more hours, I was thinking that I would not like to do this.  But then when he led us on a short practice to shut out the senses, I went into a state of deep serenity and quiet (no energetic component) and loved it and wished for more.  I think this may have been the state of pure consciousness, minus the kind of energetic bliss I usually experience, yet a state of sweet delight as if I and it were indeed one, or rather as if I had entered a state I have often heard described and have never experienced.

I am grateful that such novelty continues to arise, for, among other things, it keeps life interesting and tells us that we are continuing to progress on the path.


Saturday, February 18, 2017

The Leader: Alice Once More 






The Leader

He thinks he is
a king or an old time Russian czar.

He claims he won
a mandate,
when he lost
by millions
of votes.

He says he had a big
turnout
at his inauguration,
but the pictures tell
a different story.

He tells us
that he won the most
electoral votes since R. R.,
even though
the facts show otherwise.

He insists that millions
of voters
cast illegal ballots,
though no one can
find any evidence.

He describes non existent busses
bringing invisible voters
into a New England state.
No one saw them.

He accuses the press
of hiding many
terrorist attacks,
and gives no proof
or reason why.

He bans millions of
believers
of another religion
from coming,
in order to keep us safe.
Thus are created untold numbers
of new militants,
now radicalized and intent on revenge.
Gasoline on fire.

He plans to build a wall
that will bankrupt
the nation,
says another country will pay.
They do not agree.

He tears mothers from families
sending them home
because they are rapists
and murderers.
The children weep.

Herr Doktor
in charge of mental classifications
insists
he is not mad and says
we should deal with
such matters
"by political means."

How do you pass laws
against such notions?
What reality
do we embrace?
Alice is back in Wonderland
once more.

Dorothy Walters
February 17, 2017



Friday, February 17, 2017

"A Handbook to God"––poem by Dorothy 




A Handbook to God

This is not something
you have ever imagined.

Don't think of white beards
or sages
perched on thrones,

Do not ponder it
too long
or look it up in the dictionary
for precise definitions.

It will be hiding,
maybe in a cottonwood tree
or a budding rose,
a jungle cat
with taut muscles
ready to spring.

It will be speaking
in the cry of the pines
swaying overhead,
vocabulary unknown.

Perhaps at a concert.
Mozart or Bach.
Brahms' German Requiem.

Maybe as you
are brushing your teeth,
doing the laundry.

You will not get
an advance announcement,
no calling card will arrive.

It will be a surprise.

Be still.  Let it happen.

Welcome it when it comes,
dance in your cells.

Leave your camera
and notebook
at home.

Dorothy Walters
February 16, 2017

Kindle edition of "Some Kiss We Want" 




Kindle Book Now Available
Dear Amazon.com Customer,

We're happy to let you know that a Kindle book you previously expressed interest in, "Some Kiss We Want: New and Selected Poems," is now available.


Thursday, February 16, 2017

The Mother 





The Mother

You thought that you
would be treated like a person.

You thought that you would
be classed
as a human being.
someone with needs
and feelings.

Just because you had
lived here
for 20 years,
no major transgressions,
no record of
significant misdoings.

Even though you had worked
for years as a seamstress,
or sometimes at
Hardy's,
taking orders,
helping out in the kitchen.

Even though your
eldest daughter
now works in a bank
while she finishes her degree,
and the young ones
do well in school.

They said
you might be
a rapist, or
a terrorist
ready to harm
their country,
the place where their ancestors settled
so many years ago.

Once your ancestors
owned this land,
they took it away
and now it is theirs.

Now they are building
a wall,
one very, very high,
to keep us out.

They say it will be
beautiful.

I wonder if there
are walls in heaven.

Dorothy Walters
February 14, 2017

Wednesday, February 15, 2017

Hank Wesselman––Shamanic Guide to Becoming a Navigator of Light 






Hank Wesselman––Becoming a Navigator of Light

I have just listened to a free one hour introduction to Hank Wesselman's upcoming webinar on Shift called "Becoming a Navigator of Light."  Hank is himself an experienced shamanic guide.  He is extremely articulate and quite familiar with many spiritual traditions, including Zen Buddhism, Tibetan Buddism, Hawaiin  kahuna beliefs, as well as shamanism old and new,

Much of what he presented was, to be honest, familiar to me, since I have been involved in spiritual work of various kinds for many years.  However, I am always interested in the formulations of such "perennial wisdom" from the perspective of various sources.  I like to review the parallels between the many traditions and discover how they are alike or differ.

However, I did learn some things that were new and gave me materials to reflect on.  He explained that shamans now living believe that a new form of shamanism is appearing in our world as more and more people are "awakened" to their true nature and thus connect with traditional truths in a new way.  This is an essential process for each generation as it formulates its own belief systems in a way appropriate for the times.

I was intersted in his discussion of the various levels of spiritual consciousness, from the lower realms through the bardos and on to the subtle/astral levels (I have always had difficult in distinguishing these.)  He described the role of our spirit guides and the councils of the highest level, who  consult with us as we forge our soul contracts for each incarnation.  He explained our "soul pods," those we meet many times in our various incarnations in differing guises, always learning from these experiences.

All of these and other topics are to be explored in detail in his upcoming webinar.  You can read fuller descriptions of the different modules at
Navigators of Light with Hank Wesselman - The Shift Network ...
https://support.theshiftnetwork.com/.../115002299887-Navigators-of-Light-with-Hank Wesselman

To listen to the free introduction to the webinar,  google his name and that of the webinar, and then sign up to register for this replay of his earlier presentation on Shift Network.


Tuesday, February 14, 2017

Reminder for Youtube of poetry reading by Andrew Harvey and me 








There are now two ways to access the Youtube video of the recent reading of poems from "Some Kiss We Want" by Andrew Harvey and me:

by url:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=41cCHmc6-Bk&feature=youtu.be
by name:Youtube Dorothy Walters and Andrew Harvey Read From Some Kiss - Video Results

I can access this through Google Chrome, not through Safari.



Monday, February 13, 2017

For my Friend Who Was Once a Prostitute 





For my Friend Who Was Once a Prostitute

We listened in fascination,
wide eyed and gaping, to
your tales.

How you were the most able of all,
the girl with the strongest parts,
sometimes you could accommodate
several customers in
a single night.

The building where someone of means
once installed you in  a deluxe
suite.

The time you stayed too long
in a hotel room
until your johns broke in through
the window
to make sure you were
o.k.

Then you discovered
"Modern Man in Search
of a Soul"
and it changed your life.

You went back to school,
got a student loan
and planned to pay it back
by setting up as an astrologer.

We four met
in a class about the
goddess.

You read Joseph Campbell,
Jung, William Thompson.
We had a lot in common,
got together
for serious discussion,
sometimes disagreed.

I moved to another state
and we all went our separate ways,

You went nearly blind
and got hard to deal with.
Wouldn't move out of your
third floor efficiency
even though you fell  a lot
on the street
and kept breaking your bones.
You began to scream at those
who wanted to help you,
called them names until you
drove them away.

Once you were a dance teacher
at the Arthur Murray
Studios.

Now you live alone,
only a paid social worker
to look in.

You never did get your
astrology business
off the ground.

Sometimes
you can't even remember
your name.

Dorothy Walters
February 11, 2017







A True Confession (by Dorothy) 





A True Confession

by Dorothy Walters

I have a confession to make.  It is a secret that I have kept hidden for many years, but I feel that the time has come to be honest with myself and the world and so I am coming clean at last.

I am an addict!

It is true that I am not addicted to such things as alcohol, drugs, cigarettes, caffein, soft drinks, or even food in general.  No, it is none of these.

I am addicted to potato chips!

Once a week I go grocery shopping, and when the chips enter my house, I cannot wait to open and devour them.  Sometimes I start nibbling even before I have unpacked the other groceries.  This uncontrolled behavior lasts until they are all gone (even with the medium size pack I usually buy.)  Next day, when I find the bag is empty, I begin to get nervous, pace about the room, "bewail my outcast state" (Shakespeare), turn on the local weather reports as well as the latest tweets from you know who, check my mail, see what the latest appointment disaster is to come out of Washington, and then watch John Colbert on the late night T. V.  I have, however, not succumbed to day time programs with their obsession with sex and violence.  You must draw the line somewhere.

I have attempted to find substitutes for my obsession.  I have tried nuts, celery sticks, organic cream on top yogurt, and guaranteed gluten free chocolate cookies.  All to no avail.  My inner glutton wants potato chips, preferably kettle fried and seasoned with sea salt.

Actually, my addiction began with a medical prescription.  Once when my blood profile revealed that my electrolytes were low, my doctor told me to go home and eat potato chips and drink gatorade.  I never got around to the gatorade, but I began eating massive amounts of potato chips.  In this way, I got hooked and as years passed, I ate more and more.  Clearly, I am not to blame for what the medical profession did to me.  I may sue.

That is all I can write for now.  I have a new bag of chips in the kitchen, and must go.

Dorothy Walters
February 10, 2017

(Note: I believe that if we can't laugh at ourselves, we are indeed lost.  I am pretty sure I was a clown in at least one of my past lives, and thus feel it is necessary to let that aspect of who I am find a voice today.)




Sunday, February 12, 2017

"Survivor"––poem by Dorothy 





Survivor
(for all who find they have outlived the rest)

The lovers who left,
flesh on flesh,
then devastation.

And the others,
friends,
the fellow who rode
a motorcycle
and wore British military
shorts and carried a
swagger stick.
What was he trying
to prove, to be?

The commanding presence,
brilliant being,
spellbinding teacher,
published poet,
art as religion,
everyone wanted to
come near,
died too young.

The gourmet cook,
fastidious,
wore handsome clothes,
exquisite taste,
vast classical collection,
he never realized he was gay.

The polymath genius who
grew up on a farm,
had lived abroad,
knew owners of
French winery,
sent note over at Antoine's
(brandy aflame on the table)
surprised the haughty waiter,
tasted and said "not as good as I
expected, but will do,"
talked for hours––history, politics,
literature, art, Dr. Johnson back again––we were spellbound
by his flow, never stopped,
first words likely "and furthermore."

The teacher who had
been cured
by the gracious
hand of good,
poetry as sacred practice,
all is infinite mind.

The professor
at the outdoor party,
too much wine,
went bounding
into the stream, naked,
wouldbe Pan.

The long time partner,
everyone's big sister,
her theme,
"I shall be sad
and say nothing."
False true love.

Now, no more amazements,
no heady discourses,
no more tumbling
into despair,
everyone taller and
younger now,
no way to tell.

Last one left at the party,
all alone,
why I am writing these words.

Dorothy Walters
February 12, 2017





Saturday, February 11, 2017

"Look to this Day"––Ancient Sanskrit poem 




Look to this day
for it is life
the very life of life.

In its brief course lie all
the realities and truths of existence
the joy of growth
the splendor of action
the glory of power.

For yesterday is but a memory
And tomorrow is only a vision.
But today well lived
makes every yesterday a memory
of happiness
and every tomorrow a vision of hope.

Look well, therefore, to this day....

~ ancient Sanskrit poem

Thursday, February 09, 2017

Dreamers Beneath the Quilts 





Dreamers Beneath the Quilts

I can't think, really,
how far we have come
on this road.

Maybe we have travelled
nowhere,
maybe we are still in the same
place
from which we started,
dreamers beneath the quilts,
imagining they are on a journey.

Yet, how beautiful it has been,
ripe sunsets,
snow quieting the hills,
stunning silences of midnight joy,
yourself awake and yawning,
what an astonishing dream
we have had,
wondering
who sent it down,
how it was conceived,
addressing thanks now
"to whom it may concern."

Dorothy Walters
February 9, 2017

Andrew Harvey––free Q and A today on his upcoming coming course on Shift Network 





Andrew Harvey Offers free Q and A session today for his upcoming course on Shift:

 "Turning Anguish into Opportunity"

Thursday, February 9 at 5:00pm Pacific

You can connect by telephone or web phone:

425-440-5100
or
206-402-0100

Pin code 498503#

for local connections, go to instantteleseminar.com

Dial in, then enter phone number above followed by pin code










Wednesday, February 08, 2017

'Ancestors"––poem by Dorothy 






Ancestors

Men in overalls,
women in sunbonnets,
backbreaking labor
in the rented fields,
even when the price
of cotton went down.

The night that the mule
died
even before the neighbor
who had bought it
could come by and retrieve
his purchase.
Sad day for everyone,
especially the mule.

The one from Connecticut
who fought for the colonies
in the very first war.
The one who soldiered
for the South in the war between
the states––moved with a limp
the rest of his days, proof of valor.  Walked all
the way home from the final battle,
the family sitting quietly at evening heard
the dogs barking in the yard
and knew he was
alive and come back.
How did they feel?
(Tears for me, memory of return.)

The child who was beaten
and then dropped dead
in the yard soon after,
long ago, before the war,
days of spare the rod.

The grandfather who
went to trial
for murder of opponent
in a fight (acquitted)
white man vs. black,
frontier justice,
Georgia, 1880's,
outcome foretold.

Early governor,
new state,
mean spirited curmudgeon,
lawyer, itinerant Methodist preacher,
heart as hard
as a rock,
turned the pleading
veterans away.

Betty the grandmother,
five young children,
both husbands early dead,
no one knew why,
she pregnant each time,
survival itself now a goal
in the Indian territory,
not yet a state.

Lived in two room
unpainted cottage
in tiny town,
boys slept on the floor,
chicken every Sunday,
cow for milk,
"the Widow Jones,"
good church going woman
who kept them alive.
Old before her time.

Almost no evidence
of who any were,
penciled list of
Betty's trousseau,
petticoat and undies
she made herself,
rough platter
brought from Ireland.

Coal oil lamps
and outdoor privies,
washtub baths,
water from wells,
spelling bees,
camptown revivals,
families in wagons
from miles around,
women aflame with the spirit on fire,
shouting loudly,
swinging their bonnets
over their heads,
sound of tom toms
a few miles away,
Indian powwows,
tribal ceremonies.

Town celebration Christmas eve,
each child one present,
maybe an apple
or an orange,
rare winter fruit,
if well off
a doll or a toy.

Sunday walks to the river,
young people welcoming the train,
chickens and milk cows,
gardens with sun ripe tomatoes,
unicorn darting across her path,
small white creature, one horn on its head,
what was its name?
Mother was only a child.

The picture of the other
grandfather, young,
cowboy hat,
mustache
and all,
like Wyatt Earp,
style of the times,
image long lost,
wooed the widow with
a poem,
"Do not mourn for the pearl
that is lost in the sea"
(plaintive refrain)
brought over his trunk
from the station
and they were wed,
in the buggy
on their way
to the preacher
he tried to hold her hand
but she withdrew,
too bold,
left him with her glove,
died when mother
was two years old,
he rocked her
and called her "Doll,"
only memory.

Who were they, really,
these folks each a necessary link,
random sperm and egg uniting
in the long chain––
so little seeming resemblance
to who I am––
how can I think of them
when the evidence is mostly gone?
Like trying to remember the separate leaves
on a tree long dead.

What would they think
of me now, if they knew?

Dorothy Walters
February 8, 2017

Tuesday, February 07, 2017

Ella Wheeler Wilcox––"Protest"––poem 



Protest

To sin by silence, when we should protest,
Makes cowards out of men. The human race
Has climbed on protest. Had no voice been raised
Against injustice, ignorance, and lust,
The inquisition yet would serve the law,
And guillotines decide our least disputes.
The few who dare, must speak and speak again
To right the wrongs of many. Speech, thank God,
No vested power in this great day and land
Can gag or throttle. Press and voice may cry
Loud disapproval of existing ills;
May criticize oppression and condemn
The lawlessness of wealth-protecting laws
That let the children and childbearers toil
To purchase ease for idle millionaires.

Therefore I do protest against the boast
Of independence in this mighty land.
Call no chain strong, which holds one rusted link.
Call no land free, that holds one fettered slave.
Until the manacled slim wrists of babes
Are loosed to toss in childish sport and glee,
Until the mother bears no burden, save
The precious one beneath her heart, until
God’s soil is rescued from the clutch of greed
And given back to labor, let no man
Call this the land of freedom.


- Ella Wheeler Wilcox
(1850-1919)
_______________________________________________


Monday, February 06, 2017

Christine Valters Painter––"PLEASE CAN I HAVE A GOD" (poem) 




Please can I have a God
(after Selima Hill)

not fossilized, hardened, stiff, unshaken,
not contained in creeds and testimonies,
judgments and stone tablets,
but in the wound breaking open.

Please can I have a God
who asks me to worship at the altar of mystery,
to lay aside certainty, and curl up
in the hollow of a great stone down by the river,
to hear the force of it rushing past.

Please can I have a God
with questions rather than answers,
who is not Rock or Fortress or Father,
but sashays, swerves, ripens, rages
at the rape of the earth.

Please can I have a God
whose voice is the sound of a girl, long silent from abuse,
now speaking her first word,
who is not sweetness or light, but the fierce utterance of
“no” in all the places where love has been extinguished.

Please can I have a God
the color of doubt, the shape of uncertainty,
who sees that within me dwells a multitude,
grief and joy, envy and generosity, rage and raucousness,
and anoints every last part.

Please can I have a God
who rolls her eyes with me at platitudes and pronouncements
and walks by my side in the early morning
across the wet field, together bare-footed and broken-hearted,
who is both mud and dew.

Please can I have a God
who is the vast indifference of forest and night sky,
who is both eclipse and radiance, silence and scream,
who is everything slow and dark and moist,
who is not measured, controlled, but ecstatic and dancing.

Please can I have a God
who is not the flame, but the flickering,
not bread, but the chewing and swallowing,
not Lover and Beloved, but the making love,
not the dog, but the joyful exuberance when I come home.

 --- Christine Valters Paintner

Sunday, February 05, 2017

from the "Vijnana Bhairava Tantra" 






Toss aside your map of the world,
All your beliefs and constructs.
Dare the wild unknown.
Here in this terrifying freedom,
Naked before the universe,
Commune with the One
Who knows everything from the inside:
Invisible power pervading everywhere.
Divine Presence permeating everything.
Breathe tenderly as
The lover of all beings.

– Vijñāna Bhairava Tantra

The Vijñāna Bhairava Tantra (sometimes spelled in a Hindicised way as Vigyan Bhairav Tantra) is a key text of the Trika school of Kashmir Shaivism in Sanskrit language. Cast as a discourse between the god Shiva and his consort Devi or Shakti, it briefly presents 112 meditation methods or centering techniques (dharana).[1] These include several variants of breath awareness, concentration on various centers in the body, non-dual awareness, chanting, imagination and visualization and contemplation through each of the senses.[2] A prerequisite to success in any of the 112 practices is a clear understanding of which method is most suitable to the practitioner.[3] (from Wikipedia)

Note: There are many translations of the Vijnana Bhairava  Tantra but that by Lorin Roches is the most captivating.  Called "The Radiance Sutras," it is a gorgeous poem capturing the divine essence of our existence.  It is available on Amazon in book form and also (in an early version) available free on his website.  It is something to be read and delighted in again and again.  Here is the concluding section:


The Radiance Sutras
(Lorin Roche)

Conclusion

Bhairava said,

Beloved power-permeated one,
When the elements of your being –
the creative mind,
the one who divides things up,
the identification with your limited self –

When all these dissolve into essence,
and are experienced as delightful 
manifestations of the true Self,
then that Self is known.

Being established in even one 
of these hundred and twelve practices,
you can know from inside 
the one who permeates all.

You will have the power to say a word, and
it will be done, the power to bless and unbless.
The one who goes deeply into any of these,
becomes friends with the life-force itself.

The goddess then asked,

If this is the nature of the universal self, 
then who is to be worshipped?
To whom do I offer oblations,
To whom do I sacrifice?
If everything is divine,
and consciousness merges with that divine essence,
then what happens to the distinction between worshipper and worshipped?

Bhairava replied,

Oh goddess, the practices you are speaking of 
refer only to the externals.
When you enter into the great Self,
then all prayers go on inside you spontaneously 
without ceasing.
In reality all songs of gratitude 
and ecstatic lovemaking are resonating in 
every particle of creation at every moment.
When you are established in mindfulness
you are listening, and you hear them.

Plunging without reservation 
into the ocean of being is meditation.
No image, no thoughts, no prop.

Concentrating on the image of a god
with a body, eyes, and a mouth,
is not meditation.

Worship does not mean offering flowers.
It means offering your heart to the vast mystery 
of the universe. It means to let your heart pulse with the life
of the universe, without thought and without reservation. 
It means being so in love that you are 
willing to dissolve and be recreated in every moment.

Being transformed by even one of these practices,
fullness of experience develops day by day.
One day the desire of the self for the great Self
is consummated. Come ready for that day!

To dissolve in the fire of the great void,
senses dissolve, mind dissolves,
the objects of sense dissolve,
even the void is dissolved -
that is worship.

Sacrifice is to let your sins be destroyed 
by the vast power of the universe;
It is to live in radiant bliss,
having sacrificed your shame before infinity. 

The real purification with water
is to bathe in the essence of eternity.
Stunning autonomy, radiant bliss,
invisible consciousness permeating you
always and in every direction.

The flowers, the candles, the honey
that are offered in worship are
made out of the same divine stuff as you.
Who then is worshipped?

As the breath flows in, and as it flows out,
it travels always the curving path of the goddess.

Breath flows in and out spontaneously of its own will,
thus all breathing beings continually worship the goddess.
Be conscious of this unconscious prayer,
for she is the most holy place of pilgrimage.

The breath flows out with the sound sa,
The breath flows in with the sound ha.
Thus thousands of times a day, 
Everyone who breathes is adoring the goddess.

Know this, and be in great joy.
Listen to the ongoing prayer that is breath.
Life shall dance in you
a dance of ever-renewing delight.

Devi said,

Beloved Revealer,
I am suffused with satisfaction.
My questions have led to fullness.

You have sung to me of the ways of union 
of the god and the goddess, 
space and time, personal and impersonal,
energy and form, infinite and finite.
You have sung the song of being at home in the universe.

Having said that, the goddess,
radiant with delight, embraced her lover.

According to the great Vedanta philosopher Śankara, vijñāna is a deep understanding or knowing that cannot come about merely through outer knowledge, that we receive through a teacher, or a spiritual textual tradition. Rather it is an inner clarity that is revealed through personal experience.






Saturday, February 04, 2017

Each Time 







Each Time

Each time it happens
I think how can this be?

These flowers
huddling by the sidewalk,
this pine swaying
as if to a secret rhythm,
that sturdy oak
with its round haven
for the new squirrel
peeking forth.

How can they send
these tiny shivers of delight
through my veins?

How can they pluck my senses
as if I were some kind of harp
hung from a willow
near a stream?
Some sort of sounding board
ready to echo
whatever is coming my way?

Does the spirit have loose borders,
always breaking through to merge
with that which is beyond?

Dorothy Walters
February 4, 2017

Friday, February 03, 2017

"Eagles at Rest"––poem by Dorothy 






Eagles at Rest

Bundled energy,
electricity of motion
packed into
a shell,
arrested fury,
here they sit
arrayed like a child's stuffed playtoys,
waiting to unleash
their implacable intensity
on an unsuspecting world
once again.

Dorothy Walters
February 1, 2017


Sister Giant––Spirituality and Politics 







 This is an important event.  It is essential that we understand the essential connection between these two commitments.  Note that you can view it live stream as well as in person,


Dear Friends,

Our friend, Marianne Williamson, is hosting an event in Washington DC in February that I feel can be a significant turning point for our community, and for our country. The times in which we live call for a critical re-evaluation of our relationship to life around us - to our fellow citizens, to our country and to our world. The search for authenticity, for our deep humanity, should not stop at the door to politics. If anything, it should extend deeply into realms that affect so powerfully the existence of earth's billions of inhabitants.

SISTER GIANT DC will be highlighting the intersection of spirituality and politics - never before has this theme been so urgent. SISTER GIANT will be an important gathering of progressive spiritual and political voices. We'll come together to forge a deep conversation about the state of our country and ways in which each of us, particularly now, can help move it in a more enlightened direction. I plan to attend and I hope you'll join me, either live in Washington, or by Live Stream.

During this time of national tumult, SISTER GIANT will provide us the opportunity to rethink our country, together. The question on many of our hearts at the moment is, "Where do we go now?" At SISTER GIANT we will discuss our options.

Additional details and registration information may be found here: www.sistergiant.com .

Again, I hope to see you there.

Love,

Andrew

Thursday, February 02, 2017

Patricia Lay-Dorsey––"An Open Letter to Spiritual Seekers" 





from Patricia Lay Dorsey

An Open Letter to Spiritual Seekers ~

Many of us would like to think that what is happening with Donald Trump in the White House is a political issue, one that is causing divisions in our people based on those who support him and those who do not. We might see it as differences in partisan politics, in ideology, in how the government should work or not work, in our views on abortion, immigration, oil pipelines, affordable health care, walling out Mexicans and such. We may not like what is happening, but in many cases, we cannot see how this affects us personally. So we remain silent.

In my opinion, this is no longer a political issue but a spiritual one. It is all about how we see ourselves as humans. in relationship to the Divine. How do we pray? Do we pray in mosques, churches, synagogues, ashrams or at home with our children before they go to sleep? Do we seek Divinity in a special book, ritual, meditation or mystical experience? Are we looking for enlightenment that will remove us from this world and set us on a higher plane?

I have a spiritual friend who died in 2010; her name is Nan Merrill. Perhaps you have heard of her or have even read her book, "Psalms For Praying: An Invitation to Wholeness." I remember during the first and second U.S. wars against Iraq Nan told me she "prayed" the news on TV every night. That was where she found God. At that time, I thought I knew what she meant. But I didn't. Not then. It is only now that I am beginning to understand.

If I don't find the Divine in every person in the world, I will never find Her/His enlightenment. And in my 74 years I have never before experienced such a worldwide spiritual crisis as the one that is swirling around Donald Trump. I do not call him evil, but I do see him appealing to our worst human impulses. Probably through no fault of his own. I would imagine this is how he was raised as a child.

Now is the time for action, and I don't just mean marching in the streets. I mean digging deep into our souls to find both the best and the worst of who we are. This worldwide crisis is reflected inside each of us. But the global healing that is required to save our planet and its people is more than personal; it is communal. We must break out of our shells, extend our hands and hearts to our sisters and brothers around the world, and find a way to transcend the fear and hatred that keeps us apart.

Yes, we are in the midst of a spiritual crisis not a political one. And it will take all of our energy and fortitude to find our way to the place of Oneness that brings healing and wholeness. This is the moment for which we were created. Let us move forward with fearless intensity and unbridled hope. We are already halfway there.

Note: Patricia Lay-Dorsey is one of my dearest and oldest friends.  She herself has been a staunch advocate for democratic and human values for many years, someone willing to engage in action as well as rhetoric.  She is a gifted photographer and her work is recognized now by a very wide audience.  She also is the person who first set up this blog as a gift to me several years ago.  Here she expresses in eloquent and insightful language the nature of the crisis we all face today.  You can see more of her work and comments on Instagram.

Wednesday, February 01, 2017

"This Swift Stream"––poem by Dorothy 




This Swift Stream

Now that I am caught
in this swift stream,
ever rushing closer
to  its unseeable end,

I am not sure what to wish for.

Should I convey
to that other that ever hovers
near
a list of accomplishments
 to be completed,
an array of gifts
to receive
before those last
final moments?

Should I catalogue
all those things I
meant to do
(Egyptian temples,
the Ganges and the Himalayas,
one more visit
to Tara and the holy wells
of Ireland where
the sacred energies
pour from earth,
a final rendering
of Mozart and Bach
to my pulsating heart,
more Rumi, yes, again
and again,
even another walk
on Bobolink Trail
with its stream
whispering secrets,
its radiant trees and grasses)––
ah, there is so much
not yet achieved,
but time ever shrinks,
and things not done
will remain undone.

Always,
gifts have come.
Presents from an
unseen source.

Surely, more
are waiting.
And I too,
now the final waiter.

Dorothy Walters
February 1, 2017


Tuesday, January 31, 2017

"Two Kinds of Intelligence"––poem by Dorothy 





Two Kinds of Intelligence

"There are two kinds of intelligence."
                                         Rumi

One is the sort
we acquire in school,
where we memorize,
dissect, discard
what our feelings tell us
about the real direction
our hearts wish to go.

Thus we develop skills
that command
a high price
in the market.
We marry our computers,
or learn to take the stuff
of this world apart,
ever finding new components
to add to an already existing
array of proficiencies.

We thus are certain
that we know what we know,
and never have to think
about other possibilities,
sovereigns of our chosen
kingdoms.

We often become famous,
win prizes,
acclaimed for our discoveries
that make us ever more
marketable.

The other kind of knowledge.
opens us to the secrets of
plants and paintings.
We marry certain trees
and betroth ourselves
to flowers.
Evening clouds
take us aback
with their shifting
array of colors,
purple and subtle orange.
It envelops us
in a kind of awe at concerts,
where we allow ourselves
to be ravished
by sound, frequencies arriving
in nuanced order
to echo deep within.

This kind of knowing
commands love,
a caring for those
who cross our path,
a way of connecting with
others, even those
we have never seen.

This way is not marketable.

It constantly turns the base metal
of our lives into gold.

Dorothy Walters
January 31, 2017



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