Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Vibrations, Ascenscion, and DNA Activations
This morning I listened to a CD by Tom Kenyon called "Soundings." Kenyon is another student of music who uses special frequencies to evoke certain vibrational responses in the listener. Once more, I listened with earphones to intensify the experience.
And, again, the energies opened a section where I have almost never felt the flow before--this time it was the pelvic bones, the actual place where the pelvis and the hip bones connect. I was surprised, but pleased. I wondered if indeed we are all being opened totally, in order to prepare us for full reception of the highest energies coming our way. Like many others, I am convinced that the vibration of earth itself is being raised, and that human initiates are essential to that experience. The earth lifts us higher, and we do the same for earth. And I also am convinced that many "volunteered" for this task before birth. That is our assignment. That is why we are here. We don't know the final end of all this, but we are certain that this surrender to higher direction is what we are intended to do.
Will this process lead to the famed "Ascension"? I am inclined to think yes. Why not?
People describe the experience of transformation in many different ways, but I often feel that most of our knowing is simply an assimilation of what Aldous Huxley called the "perennial wisdom," certain basic truths which emerge again and again in the many societies and eras of the world. (For example, belief in a higher spiritual power.) Today these truths are emerging through many forms of expression and with the aid of various media. As a result, they are available to a wider audience than ever before in history. The doors once closed to all but a select few are swinging wide open for all prepared to enter.
The other day, I listened to the first of Oprah's conversations with Eckhardt Tolle, the writer who has captivated so many readers and listeners. I certainly applauded all that he said, but, when I reflected on his message, I realized that (at least for me), these were familiar truths expressed in new language. In fact, what I felt I heard was an accurate description of deep mystical experience, the sense of oneness with the surrounding world and all that is. But the vocabulary was different (for example, calling the moment of mystical connection the "power of now.") This "new language" is very attractive to today's seekers, many of whom might be "turned off" by references to "mystical awareness" or "shifts of consciousness."
This program (which is series of classes) is broadcast to a worldwide audience of over a million listeners. Never has spiritual learning been so easily available, at least to those who "have ears to hear." Thus, everyone is being invited to the table. Spiritual knowledge is no longer confined to the "wise man in the cave" with his scant following.
If you want to listen, you can hear all the broadcasts free on Oprah's website, http://www.oprah.com/
Sometimes, of course, the presentation of such truths (from some of the "New Age" folk) is highly superficial. The danger is always that dissemination will lead to dilution, a watering down of the core revelation. Still, it is beneficial to have this information available to all who listen at a deeper level. And because the times are so critical, surely more and more will hear the inner message.
Now, to return to Tom Kenyon--his CD includes a section on DNA activation. Although Tom himself produces all the sounds with his own voice, many of them seemed to emanate from various spiritual beings, originating elsewhere. There are various theories about the current activation of additional DNA strands within the human species, and some feel that today's children manifest this effect (the Indigo children and the Crystal children). I don't know if any of this is true, but when one listens to Kenyon's CD, one is affected is some curious ways. But I exercise caution in this as most things. Last summer I attended one of his workshops here in San Francisco and got totally "spaced out" for several days. I finally got back into familiar consciousness when I went to an organ recital, and the regularity of the rhythm seemed to put my brain back into balance once again.
I think we are always tempted to go far, all the way to the edge, but we always have to be careful not to fall off into chaos and confusion. We wish to expand our range of experience, but not be totally annihilated by it.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Shiva, Paravati, Sacred Connection
For me, stories of Shiva and Paravati (Parvathi) are irresitstable. These are the names of ancient Indian gods and goddesses, words which have been repeated many millions of times by worshippers who have, in effect, packed them with energy and sacred power. I like to say or hear these names, for they can evoke the sweet energies within.
The picture above is of the Meenakshi Temple in Tamil Nadu (southern India), which is dedicated to Shiva and Paravati. (Image found on Wikipedia)
I was looking up another reference a short while ago and came upon this delightful tale
Malayadwaja Pandya, a king of Madurai , was childless for a long time. He performed a number of yagnas (sacrifices made before a sacred fire) because he wanted an heir to his throne. On one occasion, a three-year-old girl came out of the fire and Malayadwaja adopted her. But the girl had three breasts and this worried Malayadwaja. However, a divine voice assured him that the third breast would disappear as soon as she met her consort. The girl grew into a brave and beautiful princess. she won many battles, but eventually lost her heart to Lord Shiva, when she met him on the battle-field in Kailas. As soon as she saw him, her third breast disappeared and she recognized her divine consort, for the princess was none other than Shiva's wife, Parvathi. After ruling over the Pandya kingdom for a while, they settled in the Madurai temple as Meenakshi and Sundareswarar.
Those who make pilgrimages to this and others of the sacred temples of India often can feel the sacred vibrations of the grounds. Westerners, accustomed to a more "intellectual approach," often fail to grasp the nature of the experience which is offered. They get distracted by such details as the architecture, the history of the construction, the composition of the structure and the like and miss the key experience, which is to commune with the "spirit of the place."
Other sites also may wecome you with sacred vibrations. Power spots such as the sacred wells or burial sites of Ireland allow you to feel the earth energies flowing upward (Tara is an outstanding example of this.) The vortexes of Sedona are said to do the same. And I remember once going to a spiritual retreat on a location in Colorado which for years had been occupied by a Christian order. When I remarked to a resident that I could feel the special energies of the place, she answered that this was land that had been "prayed over many times."
In restoring our sacred connection to earth, it is critical that we open and allow ourselves to "feel" the connection, not merely think it.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
A Chakra Opens
(Image from Wikipedia)
Thursday, April 24, 2008
The Misfits (poem)
The Misfits
From early on
we knew who we were.
The child hunched over
her book
in the corner of the playground,
the boy with the limp,
the one who was too fat.
In the classroom
we sat silent,
or else went ahead
and revealed what
we knew, never mind the cost.
We were not popular.
Later on we did not get invited
to the parties, the
celebrations
before the game,
the secret meetings
after the dance.
We spent a lot of time
in the library,
alone or with one or two
of the others
who were like us in social quarantine.
We wondered how it was
with Homer,
the blind man with his lyre,
or Vulcan, the crippled artisan,
had Fate wounded them on purpose,
were they chosen young
From early on
we knew who we were.
The child hunched over
her book
in the corner of the playground,
the boy with the limp,
the one who was too fat.
In the classroom
we sat silent,
or else went ahead
and revealed what
we knew, never mind the cost.
We were not popular.
Later on we did not get invited
to the parties, the
celebrations
before the game,
the secret meetings
after the dance.
We spent a lot of time
in the library,
alone or with one or two
of the others
who were like us in social quarantine.
We wondered how it was
with Homer,
the blind man with his lyre,
or Vulcan, the crippled artisan,
had Fate wounded them on purpose,
were they chosen young
for some special task?
Were we?
Were we?
Dorothy Walters
April 22, 2008
(Idealized image of Homer from British Museum via Wikipedia)
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
The First Day
The First Day
When we go forth,
not knowing what
the day will bring
of sorrow or delight,
the passage of
those we have loved,
the welcoming of fresh
morning bread,
whether we will
at the end of day
find ourselves
wrapped in sorrow
or clothed in the comfort
of soft wool—
still, we venture out
into the brightness which awaits,
knowing that among the trees
and unfolding blossoms
or snow falling softly
on the sleeping asters in the garden,
there is yet something,
an essence or a being,
which moves always
and everywhere
in an aura of light,
flowing from
the bright chasm of beginnings
where all once more
is melted into the sun-gold
of this, the shining first day.
Dorothy Walters
April 22, 2008
When we go forth,
not knowing what
the day will bring
of sorrow or delight,
the passage of
those we have loved,
the welcoming of fresh
morning bread,
whether we will
at the end of day
find ourselves
wrapped in sorrow
or clothed in the comfort
of soft wool—
still, we venture out
into the brightness which awaits,
knowing that among the trees
and unfolding blossoms
or snow falling softly
on the sleeping asters in the garden,
there is yet something,
an essence or a being,
which moves always
and everywhere
in an aura of light,
flowing from
the bright chasm of beginnings
where all once more
is melted into the sun-gold
of this, the shining first day.
Dorothy Walters
April 22, 2008
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Betweem Two Silences (poem)
Between Two Silences
I am a comma
between two silences,
a spark flaring in
a bowl of darkness,
a breath circling
the unnamed stars.
What hand closes over mine,
what throat speaks,
I am a comma
between two silences,
a spark flaring in
a bowl of darkness,
a breath circling
the unnamed stars.
What hand closes over mine,
what throat speaks,
whose eyes uncover
the golden air of morning,
the aspens' scarlet spill
on the awakening mountainside.
Who walks with me
when the waves
shock the shore
and the shouting gulls spin
into the waiting clouds.
Whose cells dance
when I dream myself awake.
Who makes love
to himself within my body
as I sleep.
Who says my name
again and again
when I listen?
Dorothy Walters
April 22, 2008
the golden air of morning,
the aspens' scarlet spill
on the awakening mountainside.
Who walks with me
when the waves
shock the shore
and the shouting gulls spin
into the waiting clouds.
Whose cells dance
when I dream myself awake.
Who makes love
to himself within my body
as I sleep.
Who says my name
again and again
when I listen?
Dorothy Walters
April 22, 2008
Monday, April 21, 2008
Advice from the Master (poem)
Advice from the Master
Ego stepped forward
and said,
Dear Master, I am ready.
I have prepared for this moment
for thousands of years.
I have said my prayers,
told my beads,
knelt all the way
to Mecca.
Everyone tells me
I am a Great Soul
returned to save the world.
The Master said,
You overestimate yourself.
You are too inflated.
Go home and let some
of the air our of your personal
balloon.
Come back after you
have sized yourself down.
When ego returned,
he abased himself
and spoke in great humility:
Oh, Master,
I am not worthy.
I have lashed my soul
a million times
with the whip
of remorse,
and covered myself
with the dust of repentance.
I have resurrected every sin
and transgression
and worried them
like sores
with pinpricks of conscience.
I quit living
in this world,
found myself a cave
where I ate nothing
but nettles and snow
for a hundred years.
I know I am nothing,
a parasite,
less than a worm.
The Master replied:
Self-rejection is as great
an obstacle
as self-inflation.
If you plan
to soar to the heavens,
your balloon cannot
carry too much or too little air.
Only the middle way will work.
Quit thinking about all this
"how am I doing stuff"
and get on with your journey.
For now, here is a mop.
Go home
and scrub your kitchen floor.
Come see me
when you see your real face
reflected back.
Dorothy Walters
April 20, 2008
Ego stepped forward
and said,
Dear Master, I am ready.
I have prepared for this moment
for thousands of years.
I have said my prayers,
told my beads,
knelt all the way
to Mecca.
Everyone tells me
I am a Great Soul
returned to save the world.
The Master said,
You overestimate yourself.
You are too inflated.
Go home and let some
of the air our of your personal
balloon.
Come back after you
have sized yourself down.
When ego returned,
he abased himself
and spoke in great humility:
Oh, Master,
I am not worthy.
I have lashed my soul
a million times
with the whip
of remorse,
and covered myself
with the dust of repentance.
I have resurrected every sin
and transgression
and worried them
like sores
with pinpricks of conscience.
I quit living
in this world,
found myself a cave
where I ate nothing
but nettles and snow
for a hundred years.
I know I am nothing,
a parasite,
less than a worm.
The Master replied:
Self-rejection is as great
an obstacle
as self-inflation.
If you plan
to soar to the heavens,
your balloon cannot
carry too much or too little air.
Only the middle way will work.
Quit thinking about all this
"how am I doing stuff"
and get on with your journey.
For now, here is a mop.
Go home
and scrub your kitchen floor.
Come see me
when you see your real face
reflected back.
Dorothy Walters
April 20, 2008
Sunday, April 20, 2008
I Am Mouse (poem by Eric Ashford)
I Am Mouse
The dog said: I am a mouse.
The lion said: I am a mouse
The elephant said: I am a mouse.
Mouse said,
"I am a powerful Spiritual Being."
He kept saying this
in little sonic squeaks
until his soul was polished bright.
Even dog, lion and elephant
began to see themselves
in the fine glowing tips
of his rodent whiskers.
Eventually they began to hear
sub-atomic molecular particles
chanting and dancing
the same incessant prayer:
I am a Spiritual Being.
I am astounding and boundless.
I Am Mouse.
Eric Ashford 2008
(picture from Wikipedia)
Saturday, April 19, 2008
The Solitary Ecstatic (poem)
The Solitary Ecstatic
When you ask me
why I keep doing this,
I answer
Why not?
When you point out
that at my age
I should act more sensibly,
find better things to do,
not set such a bad example for the young,
I reply
Why not?
When you complain
that this is a one person path,
and compare me to
a strumpet or a sybarite,
a hedonist with no concern for others,
I shrug,
Why not?
When you press the issue,
say what about the world
and its sad state,
how will this help
to go dancing about
and scribbling questionable verses
like a madwoman
under the moon,
I respond,
Why not?
When you protest
that there is serious work
to do all around,
that we cannot afford
to waste our time
pleasing ourselves in frivolities
like children playing with musical toys,
I smile,
Why not?
Do your know how
the universe works,
how it speaks to us,
tells us what we must give up,
surrender, embrace,
if we are to survive,
be charged with life?
Why not this food for everyone?
Why not?
Dorothy Walters
April 18, 2008
When you ask me
why I keep doing this,
I answer
Why not?
When you point out
that at my age
I should act more sensibly,
find better things to do,
not set such a bad example for the young,
I reply
Why not?
When you complain
that this is a one person path,
and compare me to
a strumpet or a sybarite,
a hedonist with no concern for others,
I shrug,
Why not?
When you press the issue,
say what about the world
and its sad state,
how will this help
to go dancing about
and scribbling questionable verses
like a madwoman
under the moon,
I respond,
Why not?
When you protest
that there is serious work
to do all around,
that we cannot afford
to waste our time
pleasing ourselves in frivolities
like children playing with musical toys,
I smile,
Why not?
Do your know how
the universe works,
how it speaks to us,
tells us what we must give up,
surrender, embrace,
if we are to survive,
be charged with life?
Why not this food for everyone?
Why not?
Dorothy Walters
April 18, 2008
Friday, April 18, 2008
On That Day
On That Day
On that day
when the heavens opened
so long ago,
I had no names for what was
happening,
some other realm
where I was.
All I knew was that man,
that woman, gods in my head,
in close embrace,
and I was that man, that woman,
and streams of love poured through.
How could I have guessed that you
would return so many times
over so many years.
Even now, what is it
stirring in my wrists,
turning my hands
to blossoms of light.
Nothing I can say in syllables
even now.
But when you kissed me
I fainted.
Dorothy Walters
April 17, 2008
On that day
when the heavens opened
so long ago,
I had no names for what was
happening,
some other realm
where I was.
All I knew was that man,
that woman, gods in my head,
in close embrace,
and I was that man, that woman,
and streams of love poured through.
How could I have guessed that you
would return so many times
over so many years.
Even now, what is it
stirring in my wrists,
turning my hands
to blossoms of light.
Nothing I can say in syllables
even now.
But when you kissed me
I fainted.
Dorothy Walters
April 17, 2008
(Image from the husband of Abigail Alfono)
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Two Poems for Rumi
Rumi’s Poems
Anyone
who loves these verses
has a soul
that is awake.
Suddenly, she can see
the invisible birds
that are flitting like small colored lights
among the blossoms
in the hidden garden,
and even knows their names.
Hues deepen,
branches sway inside her body.
Sounds that float
like scent in the air
carry her into
that place
where the flute trembles with joy
and the oboe gives off
small cries of rapture.
Dorothy Walters
April 15, 2008
branches sway inside her body.
Sounds that float
like scent in the air
carry her into
that place
where the flute trembles with joy
and the oboe gives off
small cries of rapture.
Dorothy Walters
April 15, 2008
Sometimes Our Souls: For Rumi
Yes, I know.
Somewhere our souls
are dancing together,
you the master dervish,
me the stumbling partner.
Your poems are swirling
all around us,
each syllable
a touch
from invisible hands.
Will you kiss me
when I leave
as you did
that other time?
For now, let me
breathe your breath,
feel your pulse rise in my chest,
turn again in your arms.
Dorothy Walters
April 15, 2008
when I leave
as you did
that other time?
For now, let me
breathe your breath,
feel your pulse rise in my chest,
turn again in your arms.
Dorothy Walters
April 15, 2008
(Picture from http://whirlingdervishes.org)
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Like This (poem by Rumi)
(Image and poem from http://www.poetseers.org/the_poetseers/rumi)
Like This
When someone
asks you
how the perfect satisfaction
of all our sexual wanting
will look, lift your face
and say,
Like this.
When someone mentions the gracefulness
of the nightsky, climb up on the roof
and dance and say,
Like this.
If anyone wants to know what "spirit" is,
or what "God’s fragrance" means,
lean your head toward him or her.
Keep your face there close.
Like this.
When someone quotes the old poetic image
about clouds gradually uncovering the moon,
slowly loosen knot by knot the strings
of your robe.
Like this.
If anyone wonders how Jesus raised the dead,
don't try to explain the miracle.
Kiss me on the lips.
Like this.
Like this.
When someone asks what it means
to "die for love," point
here.
If someone asks how tall I am, frown
and measure with your fingers the space
between the creases on your forehead.
This tall.
The soul sometimes leaves the body, then returns.
When someone doesn’t believe that,
walk back into my house.
Like this.
When lovers moan,they're telling our story.
Like this.
I am a sky where spirits live.
Stare into this deepening blue,
while the breeze says a secret.
Like this.
When someone asks what there is to do,
light the candle in his hand.
Like this.
How did Joseph’s scent come to Jacob?
Huuuuu.
How did Jacob’s sight return?
Huuuu.
A little wind cleans the eyes.
Like this.
When Shams comes back from Tabriz,
he’ll put just his head around the edge
of the door to surprise us
Like this.
From ‘The Essential Rumi’, Translations by Coleman Barks with John Moyne
Monday, April 14, 2008
Two Poems for the Beloved
The "I" is an illusion. . . .
God alone is real.
Rumi
While I Sleep
Whatever is wondrous
falls from your lips
like petals.
Whatever is beautiful
hangs from the threads of light
you hold in your hands.
When you kiss me alive
I know the feeling
of your face on mine.
When night comes,
you are still there,
watching me as I sleep.
Dorothy Walters
April 14, 2008
The Return
Something is giving way
inside my chest
after so long.
My wrists are beginning to move
in a certain way,
eyes closing,
head thrown back.
This is a moment
both new and familiar,
not predictable and yet certain
of its course.
It enters
and I follow like a blind
dancer
swaying only slightly,
blood rhythms become
a silent drum.
Lost child
tapping at the window,
runaway come home again.
Dorothy Walters
April 14, 2008
Friday, April 11, 2008
Mary Oliver reads "The Kingfisher"
(image from source)
On the following site, Mary Oliver reads her poem "The Kingfisher":
http://www.panhala.net/archive/Mary_Oliver_Reads_The_Kingfisher.html
The Kingfisher
The kingfisher rises out of the black wave
like a blue flower, in his beak
he carries a silver leaf. I think this is
the prettiest world -- so long as you don't mind
a little dying, how could there be a day in your whole life
that doesn't have its splash of happiness?
There are more fish than there are leaves
on a thousand trees, and anyway the kingfisher
wasn't born to think about it, or anything else.
When the wave snaps shut over his blue head, the water
remains water--hunger is the only story
he has ever heard in his life that he could believe.
I don't say he's right. Neither
do I say he's wrong. Religiously he swallows the silver leaf
with its broken red river, and with a rough and easy cry
I couldn't rouse out of my thoughtful body
if my life depended on it, he swings back
over the bright sea to do the same thing, to do it
(as I long to do something, anything) perfectly.
~ Mary Oliver ~
(House of Light)
Thursday, April 10, 2008
On Angels
(image from source)
This morning, I unexpectedly discovered two interesting sites on the Internet. One was dedicated to spiritual wisdom and included many good references, particularly for Sufism and the interrelationship between Buddhism and Christianity . Then I ran across a passage which spoke out against the recent ascent of "soft spirituality" and
further insisted that only within the confines of established faiths could one hope to connect with god.
This assertion gave me pause. It called to mind the age old conflict between priests and mystics, conservers of tradition and iconoclasts (Blake? Yeats?) who went their own way and discovered their own inner path to salvation. I marveled that there were still those among us who--it would seem--believe that it is possible to capture divinity and enclose it in a building, where properly sanctioned priests can dole out fragments of source to the devout who swear allegiance to this particular establishment. And I thought of the many today who are indeed finding their own paths, who are functioning as a "light unto themselves." (I am not rejecting all traditions and churches here, merely those who insist that theirs is the "only way.")
I think these writers (like the many threatened priesthoods of history) are afraid of losing the power and the positions they have spend their lives acquiring.
And then I came across another interesting site at www.gratefulness.org This group has no specific creed or practice, it merely encourages us to reflect on and feel grateful for the blessings which come our way. And, I found these lovely poetic reflections on "angels" which appear below.
How many people have you met who have been disillusioned with their earlier "churchly" experience and are now filled with gratitude to find that they too can connect with spirit and enjoy a rich inner life of sacred experience, though they no longer go to church? As Emily Dickinson observed, "Some keep the Sabbath going to church/ Some keep it staying at home."
I feel that those of us who have been touched by Kundalini are especially blessed, no matter how high the price of the gift, for we sometimes feel as though we have indeed been "touched by angels." Certainly, we should feel gratitude for our experience, and do all we can to help others reaching for the same light, whatever their own path may be.
ABOUT ANGELS
Outside the open window
The morning air is all awash with angels.
(Richard Wilbur, "Love Calls Us to the Things of this World")
The angels keep their ancient places -
Turn but a stone and start a wing!
'Tis ye, 'tis ye, your estranged faces
That miss the many-splendored thing.
(Francis Thompson, "The Kingdom of God")
Everything we call a trial, a sorrow, or a duty:
Believe me, that Angel's hand is there.
(Fra Giovanni)
Coincidence is God's way of performing
a miracle anonymously.
(source unknown)
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
The Moral Compass
Yesterday, I used the word "moral compass" in my post. Lest anyone get the wrong impression, I should add that by this term I mean the (in my view) almost innate, spontaneous response to events which arises naturally, and is not based on some memorized code of action or imposed teachings. Christine Arpita has captured this notion beautifully in her response:
. . . (I) see the moral compass as being an innate expression of our true nature... rather than something that is thought or culturally learned. The "light unto ourselves" being, in my view, our own inner light that, when excessive thought is relaxed, just shines naturally on its own - right action being simply natural action... which by its very nature is nothing other than compassion. So, I don't believe that Boddhisattvas base their actions on "what they believe", rather right action - that affirms and supports "the whole" simply arises as their nature expression of 'Buddha Nature'. This in my view of what Bodhisattvas are, and what they do - whether they are farmers, prostitutes, politicians, teachers, activists, etc - regardless of the culture they live in.
The weather vane (whale) above illustrates this notion. It swings easily with the wind, following its natural capacity for appropriate response. We too should be like the whale--allowing our true nature to follow the appropriate course, not because someone told us to be this way, but because this is who we are.
However, I would add, that (to me) the injunction to "be a light unto yourselves" does indeed include the responsibility to consider carefully all thought systems and teachings, texts and admonitions, lest we be led astray by false doctrine or inauthentic "authorities." We should not follow blindly, just because because someone in high position insists that "this is final truth." As I wrote in a poem some time back:
Reality is always
soft clay,
ever shifting and changing
its shape.
Fire it into form, and
at the very moment
you are hailing it as
final truth,
it will break in your hands.
(from Marrow of Flame
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
The Bodhisattva Path
The Bodhisattva Path
Once we grasp the unreality of self and the world which surrounds us, we are left to consider the implications of this revelation.
Some become angry with the discovery that "they" do not exist. They feel tricked or betrayed with the entire experience, and lapse into bitterness and resentment.
Others yearn to remain in such ecstatic awareness constantly, and grieve that they are unable to retain such states of consciousness, other than as memory or as intermittent and less intense returnings.
And others, having realized either through direct experience or through teachings the unreality of self and the phenomenal world, conclude that, since nothing is real, there is no need for compassion for human suffering, or concern for the preservation of the earth and its inhabitants, since "everything is illusion."
And some contend that, since all is "relative,” we can discard our moral compass and live without guidelines for our own and others’ behavior. What does it matter, if everything is illusion?
I feel that none of these responses is appropriate. No matter how intense our perception of such (seemingly) ultimate "truth," we do not live day to day in this world of the absolutes. We are here together in a shared field of experience and perception, and we must make the best of it, with caring concern for one another and attention to our own behavior toward others. In fact, from one point of view, there is moral obligation to live authentically, whether or not other planes exist, whether or not "god" exists, whether or not some teaching would lead us to discard notions of personal responsibility .
To shrug our shoulders and walk away, when confronted with the spectacle of wanton destruction of nations and cultures, whether at present or in the past, is, I think, to put oneself and the planet at risk. Most would agree that we are now in world crisis. That crisis has arisen out of our unconcern for the welfare of others beyond our immediate circle (family, tribe, nation, or self), whether such callousness comes from theory or mere selfish intent.
We must examine closely every teacher and teaching, each text whether ancient or modern, each idea and action we encounter, and draw out the best from each source, becoming, as Buddha said, “a light unto ourselves.”
Only when the cycle is broken, when we realize our inherent connectedness to others and to our earthly home, will we find our path to survival. Yes, there are other planes, but we inhabit this one, and it behooves us to be thoughtful caretakers while we are here.
In my view, this is the true Bodhisattva path, dedication to universal good, progress for the whole, whether such actions are “real” or not.
Dorothy Walters
April 7, 2007
Monday, April 07, 2008
The Moment of Opening
The Moment of Opening
At the moment of opening, one loses virtually all sense of self. All that exists is this vast, inscrutable, immeasurable, indescribable reality, which is now pouring into your crown as a stream of ecstatic energy. At that instant, you no longer exist as a separate entity, a being with a name and an identity it claims as its own.
You are now nothing, merely a particle in an unknown, rapturous source, a minute component in that which cannot be named. All thoughts, concepts, notions, questions, quibblings, theories and speculations about “truth” fall away. Only This exists.
Later you may reflect on the experience, wonder about it, marvel and examine. But only in the midst of it, the actual instant, can you realize the essence of the divine flow.
Later, a question arises. If you are so swept from yourself that you do not know what is happening, how can you have any awareness, then or later, of the event itself?
I suspect that at those moments, when we seem to be in unbroken awareness of The Other, we do in fact flicker in and out of “normal consciousness,” and it is these brief “returns” which allow us to retain a vague notion of what is happening, even at that time. But—if too much sense of self intrudes (when we think of what is happening), the state vanishes. Only when we surrender “personal” awareness does it continue.
Perhaps this—the condition of oneness with “divine rapture”—is the source from which we come, and the reality to which we return when we leave this plane. Perhaps it is what is called by many “heaven.” Possibly—as many who have had near death experiences report—it is the ecstatic state, the entry into unconditional love—which will come to us all when we “go home.”
Thursday, April 03, 2008
Edge (poem by N. M. Rai)
(Photo by N. M. Rai)
Edge
I always wanted to live on the edge.
I did now and then.
Now I've built my house there.
There's no cellar, just one room,
no front steps, no road nearby,
just the drop into the unknown.
Birds sing from clouds.
The sun rises over the memory of trees.
n.m.rai
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
Poems by Ivan Granger
(picture from source)
As many of us know, Ivan Granger has created and now maintains the poetry chaikhana site (see sidebar for link). Ivan is a poet as well, and here are some of his verses, which give us a great deal to ponder in terms of the spiritual journey.
Today happens to be Ivan's birthday, so may all of us send him love and blessings on this special day, as well as gratitude for his ongoing gifts to the world.
Adi Atman 1, Dipped in Black
Adi Atman,
your brush is dipped
in black
black hairs drinking black
black hairs rolled
against gray stone
black hairs rolled
to a fine black tip
white
beneath your black
brush --
I wait
I wait
your first mark
-- quick and rough
will I know myself
after?
2004
Adi Atman 9: you you
Adi Atman,
I am a fool
I place a picture
before me
and say
-- you you
hosanna hari hari bol!
daybreak and I whisper
to the sun
-- you
full moon night
and I cry out
-- you
summer downpour
the thunder crash
shouts for me
-- YOU
drowning
drunk from too much
seawater
I sputter
-- you you you
shambo shankara!
I am a grasping fool
I say -- you --
and you are gone
when I remember to shut up
then you are here
and I am gone
2004
Adi Atman 10: full moon
Adi Atman,
the full moon has lit up
the countryside
showing me
every slope and shallow
yet I cannot see
my hand
in front of my face
2004
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Yakut Prayer
By Yakut (Anonymous)
(19th Century)
My words are tied in one
With the great mountains,
With the great rocks,
With the great trees,
In one with my body
And my heart.
Do you all help me
With supernatural power,
And you, Day,
And you, Night,
All of you see me
One with the world!
-- from The Essential Mystics: Selections from the World's Great Wisdom Traditions, Edited by Andrew Harvey--and also from Poetry Chaikhana
