Kundalini Splendor

Sometimes Miracles

Something always happens.

We leave a trail of crumbs to
find our way back home,
but the birds devour our carefully
marked trail,
and we are left there stranded,
ready food for the
wicked one ahead.

We descend into the cellar maze
and confront the beast
who has lived so long
within,
but then discover that we have somehow
forgotten our weapon,
left it at home
or dropped it on the way.
What then?

We rise, finally, into the clouds,
like the circling birds we have envied
for so many lifetimes,
but we miscalculate the distance,
find our wings melting
from too much sun,
as if they are covered in wax
(and they are)
and we plummet
downward,
in a final descent.


But the universe
forgives us.
Calls us back for another
try,
devise a different ending,
compose some other script.

We are the story tellers
who never give up,
who craft a tale
always more to our liking,
sometimes miracles occur
in this life or the next,
they are never foreseen,
some call it fate.

Dorothy Walters
November 22, 2013

(Image from internet)

Today

Today the Way is abundantly joyful.
Lovers jostle for my attention,
enthusiastic and generous.

Christian mystics,
Sufi poets,
Buddhist monks,
Jungian analysts,
Jewish rabbis,
Kundalini energies,
Taoist sages ...

I hold my breath,
suspended in a state of
grateful expectation,
every pore open to
unimaginable adoration.

Jan Elvee

What Will You Do

What will you do
with the last good days?
                      Lynn Ungar

Who was it asked,
what if this present were the world’s
last night?

Do you remember John Donne,
man of notable prayer?
Rogue clergy
who counseled us,
seek not for whom the bell
tolls, and then added the
unwelcome revelation?

At the bottom of the sea
a hundred lost cities
lie buried in sand.
No one knows their purpose
or even their names.
Some men of learning
even doubt that they
existed.

Each morning we wake
and, like performers
on a tight rope
take our long staves
and go forth.
To fall either way
is annihilation,
into either despair
or immeasurable joy.

Which will you choose,
now at the end of choosing,
now that the final choice is
standing before us,
wearing its motley uniform,
its reminder of necessity,
love and fear together mixed?

Dorothy Walters
November 22, 2013

(image from google)

To Earth the Mother of All

I will sing of the well-founded Earth,
mother of all, eldest of all beings.

She feeds all creatures that are in the world,
all that go upon the goodly land,
all that are in the paths of the seas, and all that fly;
all these are fed of her store.

Through you, O Queen, we are blessed
In our children, and in our harvest
and to you we owe our lives.

Happy are we who you delight to honor!

We have all things abundantly:
our houses are filled with good things,
our cities are orderly,
our sons exult with feverish delight.

(May they take no delight in war)

Our daughters with flower-laden hands
play and skip merrily over the soft flowers of the field.

(May they seek peace for all peoples)

Thus it is for those whom you honor,
O holy Goddess, Bountiful spirit!
Hail Earth, mother of the gods,
freely bestow upon us for this our song
that cheers and soothes the heart!

May we seek peace for all peoples of the well-founded earth

- Homeric Hymn XXX adapted by Elizabeth Roberts

Before Galileo

You think you are
the center of everything.
Those planets and galaxies
their dizzy spirals
and loops,
their constant circling around
endless space—
you imagine they are a light show
constructed for your benefit—
and you are at the very midpoint,
the way earth itself was
before Galileo set us straight.

What indeed would you do
if this proved to be the case?
Would you tilt this way and that
to see if your universe went off center
with you?
Would you shrink into an atom
to see if your world would follow,
miniaturize itself?

Listen, there are a thousand billion
universes out there
and you are just a tiny speck
on one exceedingly small rounded
sphere
hurling itself out into the immensity.

You think that your moods and
intuitions guide everything
around you,
that you are the creator
of endless voyaging
and arrival—
you are the molecule
that defines all existence,
for the currents of the universe
flow constantly through you—

and they do,
they do,
and you are,
you are.

Dorothy Walters
November 21, 2013

Earlier I posted a note about Tsung Tsung, the remarkable child pianist from Hong Kong.  You can also find him by typing his name onto google, and that will take you to his youtube site, and also to his appearance on Ellen.
Are these children reincarnations?  Is Tsung Tsung a young Mozart (or some equivalent) returned?

Signs in the Sky

(inspired by Lynn Ungar)

I am not one
for seeking signs
in the sky,
for skrying into plates
juicy with water,
or discovering stones
on the path
with secret symbols,
directions to heavenly realms.

Yet when I go forth
and find these blinding
colors of fall--
indigo, vermillion, bronze--
entering my place of seeing,
piercing me
with yearning always for more,
of knowing the world
around me, as something
I lack words to describe,
but can only say
(in a measured whispered tone),
Yes, yes,
this is what I meant,
what a perfect
combination,
seer and seen united,
whatever it is
already come
down and entering where I am,
is this not a blessing?

Dorothy Walters
11/21/13

Blessing the Bread

Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu melech ha'olam,
hamotzi lechem min ha'aretz.

Surely the earth
is heavy with this rhythm,
the stretch and pull of bread,
the folding in and folding in
across the palms, as if
the lines of my hands could chart
a map across the dough,
mold flour and water into
the crosshatchings of my life.

I do not believe in palmistry,
but I study my hands for promises
when no one is around.
I do not believe in magic.
But I probe the dough
for signs of life, willing
it to rise, to take shape,
to feed me. I do not believe
in palmistry, in magic, but
something happens in kneading
dough or massaging flesh;
an imprint of the hand remains
on the bodies we have touched.

This is the lifeline --
the etched path from hand
to grain to earth, the transmutation
of the elements through touch
marking the miracles
on which we unwillingly depend.

Praised be thou, eternal God,
who brings forth bread from the earth.

~ Lynn Ungar ~


(Blessing the Bread)

When I went to wikipedia to learn more about these unusual children, here is what I found:

Descriptions of indigo children include:

the belief that they are empathetic, curious, strong-willed, independent, and often perceived by friends and family as being strange;
possess a clear sense of self-definition and purpose;
exhibit a strong innate sub-conscious spirituality from early childhood (which, however, does not necessarily imply a direct interest in spiritual or religious areas);
a strong feeling of entitlement, or "deserving to be here."
Other alleged traits include:

a high intelligence quotient, an inherent intuitive ability; and
resistance to rigid, control-based paradigms of authority.
According to Tober and Carroll, indigo children may function poorly in conventional schools due to their rejection of rigid authority, being smarter (or more spiritually mature) than their teachers, and a lack of response to guilt-, fear- or manipulation-based discipline.

And when I went to the site of Doreen Virtue, who has written on the various types of
children, I found the following:



Meet the Rainbow Children!
They are the embodiment of our divinity and the example of our potential. The Rainbow Children have never lived on this planet before, and they’re going straight to the Crystal Children as their moms and dads. These children are entirely fearless of everybody. They’re little avatars who are all about service. These are children who are only here to give—Rainbow Children are already at their spiritual peak.

Then, there’s the Crystal Children. 
The first thing that most people notice about them is their eyes—large, penetrating and wise beyond their years. The Crystal Children’s eyes lock on and hypnotize you, while you realize your soul is being laid bare for these children to see. Perhaps you've noticed this special new "breed" of children rapidly populating our planet. They are happy, delightful and forgiving. This generation of new lightworkers, roughly ages 0 through 7, are like no previous generation. Ideal in many ways, Crystal Children are the pointers for where humanity is headed . . . and it's a good direction!

The older children (approximately ages 7 through 25), are called "Indigo Children." 
They share some characteristics with the Crystal Children. Both generations are highly sensitive and psychic, and have important life purposes. The main difference is their temperament. Indigos have a warrior spirit, because their collective purpose is to mash down old systems that no longer serve us. They are here to quash government, educational and legal systems that lack integrity. To accomplish this end, they need tempers and fiery determination.

from Dorothy:
I personally simply keep an open mind on all of this information.  I find it presents an intriguing
theory, but as I mentioned earlier, it is quite possible that such gifted children have always been born across the planet, but only now with our advanced media so readily available, are they able to fully  realize their own potential.  In any event, we seem to have an abundance of highly gifted children in various areas.

As a side note: I once had a psychic reading with Nancy Tappe, who originated the notion of the Indigo children.  I don't recall much of the reading, other than that she told me that when I returned home from California, I would find a check on my desk.  But when I got back, I did not find such a check.  But--when I opened my desk drawer in my office, there it was!

And here is another side note:  In Doris Lesssing's brilliant novel "The Four Gated City", she foresees a time when universal catastrophe has wiped out much of the globe's population.   A small remnant remains in a colony in northern Africa.  Their children speak very little, but they communicate with one another through telepathy.  These children strongly resemble the types described above--humans with superior capacities,
being produced through some kind of mutation, possibly brought about by atomic warfare.

(Doris Lessing has just died.  I admired her greatly and will miss her presence.  She was a mystic, among other things, and wrote about issues far in advance of her time.)

(picture found on google)

Recently, I posted on two of the amazing child prodigies featured on You Tube and also on the Huffington Post.  The latter includes several other "wunderkind" including tsungtsunghk, a 5-year-old pianist of mind boggling ability.  It is worth watching his video to see his smile once he has finished. (I believe he is now 7--he has, among other things, appeared on Ellen.)

Another child who caught my special attention (though all did in one way or another) is
to be found on http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JN2SQ4m7M04    This 3-year-old violinist is so tiny he can hardly hold his instrument up to his chin.  But he also offers an amazing performance, one that can hardly be believed.

Almost all of the children performing as prodigies seemed to love what they did--some spent many hours a day practicing and obviously had a great time doing so.  Their art was not so much an imposed discipline as a beloved activity from which they gained much satisfaction and pleasure.  And they showed no trepidation or stage fright when they performed in public.

The question that we have, is whether or not these are indeed the "crystal children" who have been predicted for so long.  Are we now in a special era when a whole generation of children of incredible abilities are coming forth?

One of my friends scoffed at this notion, pointing out (correctly) that such children may have been born in equal numbers in many previous eras, but without the aid of current media and other social advantages, they may have existed quite unknown outside their villages or the rural provinces where they lived.  And, in fact, they may not have had the opportunity to develop their talents except in a most rudimentary way.

Certainly, children today have (in the developed world, at least) advantages far beyond those of their predecessors.  But that, I think, is the point.  Children are being born in
impressive numbers who--through technology and the digital era--are able to express
their gifts at a remarkable age.  Science and innate talent offer a unique opportunity for
the "crystal children" to appear among us.

(Note: Earlier we heard of the "indigo children," so called because they were assigned to the indigo segment of the color chart that the inventor of the term used to assign children to various categories according to their temperaments and gifts.  The "crystal children" are said to be yet an advance over the indigos, bringing event more talents and capacities into our world.  Some believe that these crystal children will in fact save our world from its present follies, for they will display capacities for leadership innovation that will bring us into new and needed ways of thinking and doing.  Let us hope that these predictions are right and that these young world saviors hurry!)

(from the Anam Cara Newsletter--Lawrence Edwards, Ph. D.):

Dear Friend

The great Sufi mystic and poet Rumi is among the most popular poets in America. His poetry reaches the heart of the heart, beyond any one tradition or religion, inspiring millions of people with their love and wisdom.

Here is a selection from the wonderful translations done by Coleman Barks.

 from Rumi: The Book of Love
 Translations and Commentary by Coleman Barks

Don't look for it outside yourself. You are the source of milk. Don't milk others.

There is a fountain inside you.
Don't walk around with an empty bucket.

You have a channel into the ocean,
yet you ask for water from a little pool.

Beg for the love expansion. Meditate only
on THAT. The Qur'an says,
And he is with you.(57:4)

There is a basket of fresh bread on your head,
yet you go door to door asking for crusts.

Knock on the inner door, no other.
Sloshing knee-deep in fresh riverwater,
yet you keep asking for other people's waterbags.

Water is everywhere around you, but you see only barriers that keep you from water....

Mad with thirst, you can't drink from the stream running close by your face. You are like a pearl on the deep bottom wondering inside the shell,
Where's the ocean?
Those mental questionings,
form the barrier.

Stay bewildered inside God,
and only that.

This first video is something everyone should see and hear.  It is incredible and makes the stories of
the crystal children believable.  Absolutely beautiful--like a miracle:

 9-Year-Old Girl Sings Opera on Holland's Got Talent


http://www.flixxy.com/9-year-old-girl-sings-opera-on-hollands-got-talent.htm
?utm_source=nl

After posting the above, I discovered that the Huffington Post had recently run a feature on other child prodigies, including the five year old painter Aelita Andres, who is getting ready for her second public showing.  Her work has been compared to that of Jackson Pollock.  The daughter of two painters, she says she could paint 24 hours a day and love it.  The website for this wunderkind (plus several other your prodigies) is on

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/10/29/amira-willighagen-hollands-got-talent-_n_4173750.html

Look down below the piece on the young opera singer for the video on Aelita--another
crystal child?

The following announcement is from The Shift Network:

Hi all,

Last night’s live event I hosted with Tim Kelley was so truly stellar that it inspired me to ask our WHOLE staff to not only listen to the one hour call, but also take his full upcoming course.

That's the FIRST time I've ever done that.

Why? Because Tim developed a powerful system for how we can open up to higher guidance in every moment, which transforms us from confused seekers into powerful agents of change.

It goes beyond psychic or visionary trainings — he's created a rigorous, tested and honed methodology for this that helps us focus us on what really works.

I see reliable access to higher guidance as the missing key for our movement to be far more impactful, and for us to create relationships and collaborations that are effective and joyful.

It's the key to really knowing our higher purpose and manifesting our destiny, as well as showing up at just the right time, with just the right people.

Plus he shows us how to relate to the higher guidance we get in a way that is empowering, discerning and mature, which addresses our subconscious fears of opening the channel.

REALLY great stuff — so much so that I'm inviting you to a free encore of the call on Saturday morning. Just copy and paste in the following url for your free registration: http://theshiftnetwork.com/AccessingHigherGuidance

Imagine when we are ALL plugged into our higher soul, and able to tap into transcendent wisdom all the time. That's when we start REALLY making the Shift a reality.

You may not have heard of Tim, but I can assure you he's an exceptionally clear and illuminating guide. Do listen in!


  In spirit,
Stephen Dinan
 



The Shift Network 101 San Antonio Rd Petaluma, California 94952 United States

(from Dorothy:  As many of you know, Ivan Granger, himself a poet, is the creator and
overseeing editor of the site known as the Poetry Chaikhana.  A Chaikhana is a tea (chai) house on the early roads of the Middle East, where travelers could pause and refresh themselves through tea, poetry, and song.  The Poetry Chaikhana has grown immensely since it was founded, and is now recognized as a major site for spiritual poetry of many traditions.
What follows is the posting by Ivan to all his followers (you can easily sign up--there is no fixed charge to receive his daily e-mails of sacred poetry.)  As always, I am intrigued by how people are introduced (initiated) into the deep spiritual path.)
  
Hi Dorothy -
I am often asked how I came to the world of sacred poetry. What set me on this path? Was there a particular poet who opened the doorway or a line that hooked me? What was my inspiration for starting the Poetry Chaikhana?

My father, Steven Granger, was a poet, so I heard poetry from a young age. Like many young people, I wrote a bit of poetry as I grew up, but I didn't take it too seriously. Most of the poetry I was exposed to was, well, boring to me. I thought of poetry as belonging my father's world. To me it was mostly an intellectual game of words.

In the year 2000, I moved with my wife Michele to Maui. A friend from the mainland sent me a series of talks by the poet David Whyte on cassette tapes. I went for long drives along Maui's country roads, through the tall sugar cane fields, among the rows of spiky pineapple plants, listening to David Whyte's molasses accent, as he told stories and recited poetry by poets I hadn't heard of before: Antonio Machado, Anna Akhmatova.

Maui's natural beauty and quiet rhythms of land and sea and sky inspired me to go deeper into my spiritual practices. I was meditating deeply, praying, fasting, going for long walks in the eucalyptus forests that grew along the slopes of Haleakala Volcano. It was idyllic, yet I was going through a personal crisis.

I had just broken with a spiritual group I had been practicing with for nearly ten years. So, while I was engaged in intensive spiritual practice, it had lost its context. Should I still be following the same form of prayer, the same focus in meditation? I was flailing about.

Christmas came, and the sense of crisis deepened. The holidays just seemed to emphasize my disorientation. I was in my early 30s by that point and had no career to speak of. I was just doing work to get by. I was largely cut off from friends and family, cut off even from the American mainland. My one driving goal was spiritual growth. That was my only identity. And it was in disarray.

I came to a profound personal confrontation. For the first time I really saw myself. And that was a terrifying thing. I dropped all pretense and projection, all the fantasies of who I thought I was or who I might become. I just looked at myself plainly, as I was. What I saw wasn't terribly impressive. I felt I was a mostly good-hearted person, but largely ineffectual. I had the ironic recognition that I was basically a likable flake. What truly surprised me, though, was the thought that followed, which was that it was okay.

New Years came and went, while I hovered in that limbo state.

The combination began to ferment in my mind the poetry and the personal crisis.

In early January it all converged and then POW! I was catapaulted into an ecstatic stillness. Everything about me and my world came to a complete stop. The person I thought of as "Ivan" seemed to disappear. It was as if some undefined, wide-open awareness was quietly witnessing the world through my eyes. My heart bloomed and was flooded with love. An indescribable joy bubbled up inside me. The entire world was an intangible outline sketched upon a golden-white radiance, and I was a gossamer thin ghost happily disappearing in that light.

I spent days hardly speaking, a crooked grin plastered across my face.

I didn't want to unsettle my wife, so I made a game of it. I pretended to be "Ivan." I resumed my work schedule. I walked the dogs. I cleaned the house. But the world still shone.

I started to fill pages in my journal, describing what I was witnessing. How the world was changed, how I was changed. But I found that what really wanted to come out was poetry!

As I wrote more poetry, I found a certain metaphoric language naturally emerging in what I was writing: water and honey and wine, sleep and death and new life, moon and sun and light

Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi (picture)

It was then that I came across books of sacred poetry, by mystics like St. John of the Cross, Rumi, Hafez, Abu-Said Abil-Kheir, and Ramprasad. Their words sent thrills through my body. They whispered to me as intimate companions. And I noticed also that they spoke a similar language of wine and moonlight. They told me how many before me had walked the same path in awe.

John of the Cross (picture)

I became hungry for more. I started rummaging through used bookstores for more poetry collections. I scanned anthologies for new names and voices. Sufi poets, Hindu poets, Buddhist poets, Christian poets.

I realized there was a rich world heritage of sacred poetry, hundreds of poets, thousands of poets, singing songs of the divine and I had heard of almost none of them before. Most commentaries accompanying their poetry were dry, academic literary analysis, which has its value, but, in my opinion, lacks deep insight. It was frustrating to find poetry of such profound wisdom and ecstatic joy, and have it thought to be merely beautiful.

I spent about a year building a database that would allow me to gather a wide selection of sacred poetry, organize it, link it together by theme and tradition and century, and be able to generate a website I could maintain by myself in my spare time. In 2004, my wife and I returned to the mainland, moving to Colorado, and soon after I officially launched the Poetry Chaikhana as a place for people to discover new poets, sample different translations, explore the inner meanings of esoteric poetry without a lot of arcane jargon and, hopefully, come to recognize what mystics the world over affirm, that the heart of religion and spirit is one, regardless of differences in tradition and culture.

So, please, explore the Poetry Chaikhana. Perhaps these sacred poets will whisper in your ear too.

Ivan

This is an actual essay written by a college applicant to NYU in response to this question.
I found it on the Facebook page of Sparrow Mattes and could not resist reposting it here.

IN ORDER FOR THE ADMISSIONS STAFF OF OUR COLLEGE TO GET TO KNOW YOU, THE APPLICANT, BETTER, WE ASK THAT YOU ANSWER THE FOLLOWING QUESTION:

ARE THERE ANY SIGNIFICANT EXPERIENCES YOU HAVE HAD, OR ACCOMPLISHMENTS YOU HAVE REALIZED, THAT HAVE HELPED TO DEFINE YOU AS A PERSON?

I am a dynamic figure, often seen scaling walls and crushing ice. I have been known to remodel train stations on my lunch breaks, making them more efficient in the area of heat retention. I translate ethnic slurs for Cuban refugees, I write award-winning operas, I manage time efficiently.

Occasionally, I tread water for three days in a row.

I woo women with my sensuous and godlike trombone playing, I can pilot bicycles up severe inclines with unflagging speed, and I cook Thirty-Minute Brownies in twenty minutes. I am an expert in stucco, a veteran in love, and an outlaw in Peru.

Using only a hoe and a large glass of water, I once single-handedly defended a small village in the Amazon Basin from a horde of ferocious army ants. I play bluegrass cello, I was scouted by the Mets, I am the subject of numerous documentaries. When I’m bored, I build large suspension bridges in my yard. I enjoy urban hang gliding. On Wednesdays, after school, I repair electrical appliances free of charge.

I am an abrstract artist, a concrete analyst, and a ruthless bookie. Critics worldwide swoon over my original line of corduroy evening wear. I don’t perspire. I am a private citizen, yet I receive fan mail. I have been caller number nine and have won weekend passes. Last summer I toured New Jersey with a traveling centrifugal-force demonstration. I bat 400.

My deft floral arrangements have earned me fame in international botany circles. Children trust me.

I can hurl tennis rackets at small moving objects with deadly accuracy. I once read Paradise Lost, Moby Dick, and David Copperfield in one day and still had time to refurbish an entire dining room that evening. I know the exact location of every food item in the supermarket. I have performed several covert operations with the CIA. I sleep once a week: when I do sleep, I sleep in a chair. While on vacation in Canada, I successfully negotiated with a group of terrorists who had seized a small bakery. The laws of physics do not apply to me.

I balance, I weave, I dodge, I frolic, and my bills are all paid. On weekends, to let off steam, I participate in full-contact origami. Years ago I discovered the meaning of life but forgot to write it down. I have made extraordinary four course meals using only a mouli and a toaster oven.

I breed prizewinning clams. I have won bullfights in San Juan, cliff-diving competitions in Sri Lanka, and spelling bees at the Kremlin.

I have played Hamlet, I have performed open-heart surgery, and I have spoken with Elvis.

But I have not yet gone to college.

(The author was accepted to NYU.)
Source:laughbreak

Kristallnacht

The SS guard hit Zindel Grynszpan on the head and he fell
Into a ditch. Father, he heard the voice of his son, you must
Go on. Zindel took the hand of his son and climbed out of
The trench. With his wife, a son and daughter on his side
They continued the march. But the SS guards did not stop
The savage whipping of the deportees. Blood was flowing
On all sides.

The Grynszpan family were Polish Jews from Hanover.
When the Nazis came to power they became outcasts.
In October 1938 they were expelled from Germany
And deported to Poland in a group of 12,000 Jews.
They were taken by train to the frontier town Neubenschen
And from there on foot to the German-Polish border.
When they reached the border heavy rain started to fall.

The Nazis confiscated their money. They had no food to eat.
Polish officers arrived and began to inspect their papers.
They admitted the refugees with Polish passports,
Housing them in military stables. Old, sick and children
Were herded together in most inhuman conditions.

One of the first things that Zindel did in Poland was to send
A postcard to his seventeen year old son Hirsch in Paris.
When Hirsch Grynszpan read the family’s tribulations
He became furious. His heart was filled with rage and hatred
And he decided to avenge their sufferings. On the morning
Of November 7, Hirsch entered a gunsmith’s shop on rue
Faubourg Saint-Martin and purchased a 6.35 calibre pistol
With a box of 25 bullets, for 235 Francs.

Then he took a ride on the Metro to the Solferino stop
And walked to the German Embassy at 78 rue de Lille.
Hirsch told the receptionist that he has some documents with him.
He was received by Ernst vom Rath, the third secretary.
When the German diplomat closed the door Hirsch pulled out
The gun. “You are a filthy Kraut”, he said, “and in the name of
12,000 persecuted Jews here is the document”. He fired five
Bullets from point blank range at vom Rath. The diplomat died
Two days later of his wounds.

The assassination came as a godsend thing for the Nazis.
Hitler denounced it as part of a global Jewish conspiracy
Against Germany. It became a pretext for the well-orchestrated
Pogrom of Kristallnacht, the night of broken glass.
During the night of November 9-10, 1938, in every place
Throughout the Third Reich, Storm Troops attacked Jews
And Jewish institutions.

Hitler’s henchmen burnt down or destroyed in Germany
Nearly two hundred synagogues. They burst into Jewish houses,
Broke the glass of Jewish businesses and beat up Jews wherever
They found them. About ninety people were murdered
And thousands of others were wounded in the street violence.
The Nazis also arrested thirty thousand Jews and sent them
To concentration camps in Buchenwald, Dachau,
And Sachsenhausen. And on top of all this, the Reich
Cynically imposed a billion mark penalty
On the Jewish Community to pay for the damages.

In Berlin hundreds of truncheon swinging storm troops
Led the mob in smashing up the glass plate windows
Of Jewish stores. In the Jewish neighbourhoods of German
Cities the Nazis lit bonfires. They threw on them to burn
Torah scrolls, prayer books and whole libraries. Thousands
Of Germans joined the Storm Troops in the atrocities.
But many resented the pogrom. People watched in horror
The roundup; they cried silently behind their curtains.

On a third floor balcony in Leipzig
Storm Troops shattered a balustrade and pushed
An upright oak wood piano over the edge. It plunged like
A black wingless dragon and fell helplessly to the street.
It crashed on the pavement with a shocking clamour.
Its wooden casing had split. The strings stripped bare
Stood in the middle of the wreckage as an orphan harp
Screaming with a heartbreaking outcry.

- Paul Hartal

(Note: Paul Hartal is a renowned poet and artist of Hungarian origin, who now lives in Canada.  He has won many prizes and accolades for his poetry, which is often described 
as the marriage of spirit and intellect.  "Kristallnacht" is a particularly powerful poem, revealing as it does the horror of what was then the beginning years of the rise of Nazi Germany in a candid, extremely honest account of this event which, to many of us, signals the decay of civilized behavior and the emergence of the savagery of the Third Reich, in particular how that terror and suffering were inflicted on the Jews and other groups in Germany and elsewhere in Europe.

Paul Hartal is thus a major spokesperson for those who have suffered at the hands of the
powerful, when their only crime was their minority identity.  He is to be applauded and
admired for his willingness to explore this dreadful page in the human history of the twentieth century.  Certain events need to be remembered forever, and Kristallnacht is certainly one of them--it is good for those of us who have come later to be reminded of
the excesses of history and of the negative capabilities of humanity under certain conditions.

But, with no disrespect to the revelation that Hartal presents, we can also recall that the other side of horror is, in fact ecstasy.  How many artists today are willing to take an equally honest look at the experience of ecstasy and/or intense joy, such as often flows through the initiate during kundalini awakening?  How many have the strength or stamina to experience such states for themselves?  Is it considered a sign of weakness to turn to rapture as a universal theme in art?  Where has our sense of transcendence  gone?

Yes, a few have had the courage to explore this area.  I think of Mary Oliver, Billy Collins in a few outstanding poems, Wendell Berry also.  But to a great extent, gloom
and skepticism are in fashion, and, although we cannot deny the truth of the negative vision, neither can we ignore the fact of the eruption of joy through spiritual awakening
such as is occurring to many among us.  Indeed, spiritual awakening is a topic that seems to be banished from the world view of many of today's artists and writers.  Can we in fact construct a vision where both despair and joy are equally honored?

As I have mentioned often before, I hold with Gopi Krishna who saw Kundalini as the driving force behind evolution of consciousness.  Life is neither all light nor all shadow.
Both deserve their due.  "Stand in the light but acknowledge the shadow" is, I think, a worthy admonition.)


 If you are seeking, seek us with joy
    For we live in the kingdom of joy.
    Do not give your heart to anything else
    But to the love of those who are clear joy,
    Do not stray into the neighborhood of despair.
    For there are hopes: they are real, they exist ˆ
    Do not go in the direction of darkness ˆ
    I tell you: suns exist.

   - Jalal-ud-Din Rumi
    (Translated by Andrew Harvey from A Year of Rumi)




_______

A Message from Andrew Harvey

Dear Friends,

I am pleased to announce the publication of my new book, Light the Flame: 365 Days of Prayer, published by HayHouse.com

In this collection, I have compiled 365 prayers that convey the soul-awakening power of the written word, so that the reader can be deeply inspired and reminded on a daily basis about  the sacred quality and preciousness of life.

Each day, there's a chance to explore both modern and classic works, whose wisdom is simple yet timeless. Themes include love, despair, loss, unity, and transformation. I hope this luminous book will capture your imagination, nourish your soul, and lift your spirit.

Marianne Williamson says "These universal pieces of spiritual wisdom are sure to bring light to any heart, on any day."

Ken Wilbur says "Take one of these prayers to heart each day and you will discover the Great Loving Spirit that is Ground, Goal and Soul of all that is."


You can read more about the book and order it here from  Amazon.

Sailing to Byzantium

I

That is no country for old men.  The young
In one another’s arms, birds in the trees
- Those dying generations - at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.

II

An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.

III

O sages standing in God’s holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.


IV

Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords or ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.


- William Butler Yeats

This poem is one of the "signature poems" of Yeats.  It is often republished and taught in English classes.  In it, the speaker is lamenting the onset of age, the time of bodily decay and destruction.  Everything around him seems alive with life and its processes.  Yet these too are subject to death and degeneration.
He longs to escape into the realm of art, where there is constancy, not decay.  He mentions specifically an "artifice" of a golden bird which will sing for the amusement of
the "lords and ladies of Byzantium."  Actually, such a bird had been crafted in ancient Greece--but it seems odd that he would choose what is, in effect, a toy, a diversion of the
leisure classes, rather than some monument or work of art of more serious significance.

Note: the phrase "to pern in a gyre" derives from Yeats having seen the spindles in a local factory, in which the twine twisted first one way, then another.  These "gyres" became for him a symbol of the great cycles of time, which move now in one direction,
then reverse into the opposite.  Interestingly, he felt that our own time was one in which such a major transition would take place.

If you have ever seen the mosaics of the saints on the church walls of the middle east, you recognize the reference to the "fires" which surround them (the gold of the background.)  He asks these holy ones to come forth from the created image and "become the singing masters of my soul."  In Yeats' day, there were such "singing masters" to help others learn the art of singing.

_____

 The Work of Michael Regan will be presented in Boulder, Colorado, this coming weekend.  Here is information from his website at www.michaelregan.us/‎  (for more info
look at schedule/bio column on this site)

“When the world falls away
what is awake must be You.”

Welcome
       
As a catalyst and guide, Michael’s work is best described as a visceral, improvisational art form - one that is rooted in the revelation of an intrinsic, divine reality yet invites us onto new creative and relational edges where life-changing conversations take place about awakening and sharing one’s gifts in the world.

Most events start with a short talk about a recent highlight from the work mixed with silence, deep listening, inquiry and dreamwork; others include nature walks, art-making, variety nights and offerings that participants bring too.

Many thanks to all.

Upcoming Events*

October 27, 2013
1-day Gathering
Embudo, NM

November 8-10, 2013
Weekend Gathering
Boulder, CO

November 16-18, 2013
3-day Weekend Gathering
SF Bay Area

Dec 28 - Jan 4, 2014
7-day New Year’s Gathering
Santa Fe, NM

* When available, details can be found on the “Schedule/Bio” page.

Last April we published Gerda Visconti Kuhl's account of her kundalini awakening
(See April 12, 15, and 16)  Her story was remarkable, and even more remarkable
was her willingness to share some intimate details of her experience.
Sadly, we learned just a few days ago that Gerda has died.  The following
eulogy by her friend Peter Winskill reveals what an unusual woman she was,
finding success in both her early career as a dress designer and, later, as an
astrologer.

Peter Winskill
Eulogy for Gerda
 
I first met Gerda 38 years ago in London. There was an immediate connection – and one of the first things she told me was that she remembered her birth – of being born – she recalled details. There was tremendous noise going on and later her mother confirmed that a small plane had been flying over the house again and again at the time of her birth. Gerda said she remembered being inside her mother’s womb, indeed even hints of times before that – past lives. In this, Gerda possessed a remarkable ability for far memory. You could ask Gerda “what were you doing on such and such a day in June 1979 or whenever” and she would often be able to tell you.
She grew up in Germany and as a child experienced the bombing raids over Hamburg and first hand saw some of the terrible slaughter. After the war as a child she starved for a time, her mother desperately searching for food. Sometimes a few potatoes and an onion in a watery soup would be all they had in a week of they were lucky.
She left home at 16 and went to England where she trained as a tailor making men’s suits. Then she opened her own business making dresses in Beauchamp Place in London. She became very successful in this because she was easy going and not intimidated by the English class system. Soon her clients included not only the aristocracy but entertainers and theater people. Among her friends were Diane Cilento, Lulu and other “names”. She was discreet and a confidante to the upper class gentry who wanted Dior quality dresses at bargain prices. She was very good at her job because she could tune in to what her clients wanted – and what would suit them and look good. At one function in Buckingham Palace in 1973, five of her dresses were on show – none of their wearers were aware of the others. So it was an achievement.
She had access to high echelons but she was never a snob. She had offers of marriage which could have set her up in stately homes – but no – she preferred to have her freedom. Personal freedom was all important.
In 1975, when I met her, she had grown tired of pandering to what she viewed as womens' vanity, and this is really when her spiritual quest began and she began to ask questions like: Why are we Here. What is the purpose of Life. Things like that. She started reading voraciously spiritual books and esoteric literature. Theosophy, Buddhism. She was secretary of the Tibet Society and helped bring the Dalai Lama to England and Europe for the first time in 1977. She trained as an astrologer and within a short time had built up a clientele.
Astrology is an art and a science – and she possessed very good intuition and could pick up on people’s personalities and see their problems and the challenges and relate that to astrology. The astrology chart for her was a divinatory device, she could tune into that person and give them an accurate reading and analysis and how the planets were affecting them, the pitfalls, what was likely to happen etc . She used to say things off the top of her head. What was likely to happen and often uncanny in their accuracy. I suppose you would say now she had very high ESP.
But her motto in astrology was – and she was careful to say – that always “the stars do not compel”. In other words, fate isn’t fixed and you have some control over what happens to you.
I moved to America in the 1984 and Gerda used to come and stay with me for 6 months, then return to Europe (London and Majorca) for the rest of the year. She set herself up as an astrologer there – a lot of people used her services, actors and Hollywood people among them. But she never really felt at home in America. For a time she fronted for the successor to the astrology column of a famous astrologer after he (the latter) died, and the column needed to be continued under his name. I edited the column and it was syndicated in many newspapers. This lucrative job lasted for about 18 months.
Gerda also worked in public access television in America and got good and known for that – interviews with different people who excelled in what they did or were interesting subjects. She used to do things slightly differently from the mainstream. Robert here has seen one or two of these videos.
Gerda was fascinated by pyramids and for years experimented with them. She travelled to Russia in 2008 (to attend a clinic) and also met Anatoli Golod, the man who has built large pyramids all over Russia and funded extraordinary research. Gerda and I were privileged to spend half an hour - alone - in the King's Chamber (of the Great Pyramid) - there were no tourists as 9/11 had just occurred. But I wont go into that experience now!
Gerda was a generous and a good person with a kind heart and high intelligence. She helped whenever she could those less fortunate. But she didn’t suffer fools gladly and would often tell it how it was. Gerda wasn’t the soul of tact.
She also had enormous courage. She was a fighter. I rarely saw her fearful in any situation. Especially during these last 12 years of dealing with cancer. She refused to go the chemo radiation route, instead trying the many alternatives. One or two of these were very effective and kept her alive. Until quite recently, exercise was part of her routine and she was in love with the sea and up until about 18 months ago she used to swim out to the yellow markers on Maro beach. I would watch in trepidation.
I want to thank Stephanie here for her help and assistance and encouragement in these difficult last days. Also Robert, Isabelle, David and Laura - for their friendship and support. And Tomas and Rozella for arranging this 5 day, for me, “lying in state”. It has given me comfort that I’ve been able to carry out her wishes – and you have made this happen and accommodated it.
Gerda didn’t believe in religion because she thought it was a limitation and often caused problems, though she loved the art which the church sponsored. Her motto was “the highest religion is the truth”. She was probably more a Buddhist - or a gnostic – than anything else. The truth was to be found through self knowledge and individual soul search. She was on a quest for knowledge about the soul and its destiny and she never stopped reading – later on the internet. But she believed in the heavenly dimensions and hierarchies, that we are part of something unimaginably vast and incomprehensible, each human being contains that spark of divinity which has to be nurtured and the earth is a kind of battle ground. Love is the key and only value worth living for. All rather difficult in this “minor hell.“
Gerda was also into "conspiracies". She would always be wondering what was really going on behind the scenes, especially in politics, would never take any event at face value. She always wanted to lift Dorothy’s curtain. In this, she was often right too. She had a nose for that. I guess you could call her a good remote viewer. When the planes hit the Trade Towers in NYC in 2001 she immediately phoned me – “Oh that's the Pentagon and Mossad – a false flag event“ and I think in retrospect in the light of what we know now she may have been right !
Gerda knew a lot of people. I’ve had some wonderful emails with memories and kind words, from people scattered all over.
Although none of those who knew and appreciated her are here today – except for Robert and Stephanie - it is a privilege for me to speak these words to you here.
I am going to end with a prayer and ask you to join me in this. Thank you.

(picture sent earlier by Gerda)

Mukteshwari

By Swami Muktananda
(1908 - 1982)



Kundalini Shakti is the prana of the universe.
By the power of this great Goddess
the universe exists.
Muktananda, know Her.

When Kundalini awakes
all doors are thrown open.
Rama reveals himself in the heart.
Muktananda, love Kundalini.

When Kundalini awakes,
the eyes are filled with light,
fragrances arise,
nectar bathes the tongue,
ecstasy plays in the heart....
Muktananda, worship Kundalini.

(image from internet)

There are paths,
no destinations.
Meditation is a path,
painting is a path,
dream work is a path.
At times we arrive
at a fixed point, a way station,
where we feel at home.
We stop, we rest.
Slowly or suddenly,
it changes, it dissolves.
We find ourselves
once again on the path
that beckons us on
to nowhere special.


Jan Elvee, October 31, 2013