Monday, April 12, 2004
On the Longing for a Perfect Body
All of us yearn for a perfect body--a vessel total and complete on all the levels, physical, mental, emotional, and energetic/spiritual. But in truth no one (at least no one that I know of) ever attains this ideal. Even after we are visited by the divine energies, even when we have been opened to extreme ecstasy as a gift of grace, there remain flaws, impediments of various kinds. Beginning meditators sometimes suppose they will be instantly plunged into states of total serenity and calm, only to discover that all their hidden issues surface during these periods of quiet. Kundalini can bring extreme bliss, but it can also turn a spotlight on any unresolved psychological or physical problems.
So our lives remain forever a series of challenges, a constantly shifting flow of pleasures interwoven with pain. Shadow invariably accompanies sun. Descent follows arrival at the apex. Full enlightenment (if that implies absolute perfection of being) is not available on this earth. Nonetheless, we constantly continue our search for bliss, and inevitably encounter the inevitable downward swing.
It is the glimpses, the brief tastes of nirvana (sometimes very rich), which lure us forward, giving us reassurance that our journey is not in vain, that the reward we seek is waiting somewhere up ahead and ultimately attainable. In such times as our own, when the world is wracked by chaos, when human suffering of all kinds is so prevalent, we need this comfort, this sudden visitation of the unseen even in the midst of turmoil. Some turn to human love, some continue to seek the divine embrace. But always, whatever the path, there will be an element of suffering as well as the moments of exaltation.
Blake said, "Without contraries is no progression." By moving through the contraries, we together approach planetary initiation, Teilhard de Chardin's "omega point," the place where divine and human meet in final union.
Pablo Neruda on his Beloved
He longs for her
the way some of us
yearn for god.
He wants her to
cleave to his flesh,
to wrap him
in her opalescent wings,
to send her tongue
to explore all the secret places
of his soul.
I do not know
whether or not
she is still alive,
whether he is still dreaming
of her wherever he has gone.
Each morning when I wake
I wonder if my Unseen
is still waiting,
calm or pacing restlessly
among the flowers just outside my door.
copyright, Dorothy Walters
Pain
We bury our pain in a secret crypt,
stealing out at night to worship or pray.
We insist our pain is nameless,
and therefore does not exist.
We hide our pain behind the crockery
on a high shelf,
convinced that when we lift it down
it will be less vibrant,
muted by dust and silken webs.
We put it in with the silver
which we use only on Rare Occasions,
removing it with the flatware now and again,
to polish and make inventory.
We wear our pain inside
a small locket around our neck.
We carry it as a stone hidden in our shoe,
or else as a thorn riding our flank.
We fasten a red ribbon around our throat,
so that we do not speak or whisper.
from Marrow of Flame
The Men Who Denied the Goddess
How she arrived
in her shimmer of bright silk.
Her rawness, her nakedness,
her beauty.
How her breath swept over them,
seeping into their pores
like incense,
like smoke.
How they muttered and groaned,
how they sobbed into their hands,
as they turned
against the shining air.
from Marrow of Flame
Aztecs
We have all had our hearts torn
from us,
one way or another.
The poets offer a brief consolation
every now and again.
We follow them into that other world,
their soft nuances of feeling,
their subtle manipulations of tone.
We fall into a forgetfulness,
a swoon of word longing,
how dear the imaged moment,
how precious the projected scene,
but then we remember
the block on fire,
the city blazing around us,
the corpse waiting in the plaza
beneath the unyielding sun.
from Marrow of Flame
So our lives remain forever a series of challenges, a constantly shifting flow of pleasures interwoven with pain. Shadow invariably accompanies sun. Descent follows arrival at the apex. Full enlightenment (if that implies absolute perfection of being) is not available on this earth. Nonetheless, we constantly continue our search for bliss, and inevitably encounter the inevitable downward swing.
It is the glimpses, the brief tastes of nirvana (sometimes very rich), which lure us forward, giving us reassurance that our journey is not in vain, that the reward we seek is waiting somewhere up ahead and ultimately attainable. In such times as our own, when the world is wracked by chaos, when human suffering of all kinds is so prevalent, we need this comfort, this sudden visitation of the unseen even in the midst of turmoil. Some turn to human love, some continue to seek the divine embrace. But always, whatever the path, there will be an element of suffering as well as the moments of exaltation.
Blake said, "Without contraries is no progression." By moving through the contraries, we together approach planetary initiation, Teilhard de Chardin's "omega point," the place where divine and human meet in final union.
Pablo Neruda on his Beloved
He longs for her
the way some of us
yearn for god.
He wants her to
cleave to his flesh,
to wrap him
in her opalescent wings,
to send her tongue
to explore all the secret places
of his soul.
I do not know
whether or not
she is still alive,
whether he is still dreaming
of her wherever he has gone.
Each morning when I wake
I wonder if my Unseen
is still waiting,
calm or pacing restlessly
among the flowers just outside my door.
copyright, Dorothy Walters
Pain
We bury our pain in a secret crypt,
stealing out at night to worship or pray.
We insist our pain is nameless,
and therefore does not exist.
We hide our pain behind the crockery
on a high shelf,
convinced that when we lift it down
it will be less vibrant,
muted by dust and silken webs.
We put it in with the silver
which we use only on Rare Occasions,
removing it with the flatware now and again,
to polish and make inventory.
We wear our pain inside
a small locket around our neck.
We carry it as a stone hidden in our shoe,
or else as a thorn riding our flank.
We fasten a red ribbon around our throat,
so that we do not speak or whisper.
from Marrow of Flame
The Men Who Denied the Goddess
How she arrived
in her shimmer of bright silk.
Her rawness, her nakedness,
her beauty.
How her breath swept over them,
seeping into their pores
like incense,
like smoke.
How they muttered and groaned,
how they sobbed into their hands,
as they turned
against the shining air.
from Marrow of Flame
Aztecs
We have all had our hearts torn
from us,
one way or another.
The poets offer a brief consolation
every now and again.
We follow them into that other world,
their soft nuances of feeling,
their subtle manipulations of tone.
We fall into a forgetfulness,
a swoon of word longing,
how dear the imaged moment,
how precious the projected scene,
but then we remember
the block on fire,
the city blazing around us,
the corpse waiting in the plaza
beneath the unyielding sun.
from Marrow of Flame
