Friday, August 26, 2016

A Sacred Riddle



Suddenly,
Like a shot,
Pitch black,
Silent as a tomb,
I am upright in bed.

I hear the Voice.
It speaks my name.

There is a calling to it,
As if to say,
Yes, lad, I’m talking to you,
So, wake up, sit up, and listen.

I’m listening.

It Speaks:
“If I Am Infinite, who are you?”

Silence again.
The darkness returns.
Just me, sitting there,
In bed.

Wait a second.
Did I say, returns?
Yes, there had been Light, too.
I hadn’t noticed until now,
Remembering, writing it down.

Instantly,
The familiar doubts arise.
Had I really seen a light?
Heard words?
There’s no such thing as lights,
Much less discarnate words.
Am I nuts?
Must have been a dream.

I feel the sheet between my fingers.
Across the room, the clock glows
Four eleven.
Around the corner,
The refrigerator hums,
Endlessly defrosting. Energy saver my foot.
This is no dream.

At my desk,
Flashlight in hand,
I write,
“If I Am Infinite, who are you?”

Upper case letters.
Had I heard them,
Or guessed them?
Never mind, what’s written
Is written.

Uh-oh, here they come again,
Mr. and Mrs. Doubt.
We’re back!
If there had been a voice,
Not to mention a Voice,
Why didn’t the four-legged one,
Asleep in her bed beside mine,
Awaken, and bark?

Point taken.
But what if,
The Voice
Is her Master’s voice, too?
No stranger, no bark.
Elementary, my dear Watson.

“If I Am Infinite, who are you?”

Think about it.
If there is you and me,
And one of us is infinite,
How can there be “you and me”?

If one of us is infinite,
There can’t be any one else.
There is no and in infinite,
No and and no else.
Just the infinite one.

Infinite isn’t some thing
And not another.
Infinite is infinite.
There, there are no others.
You name it,
Infinite is.

Take your pen,
A scrap of paper,
And draw, let’s say, a circle.
Label it “Infinite Being.”
Now, on the same scrap of paper,
Draw an other.
Any other.

Go on. Don’t just sit there.

Can’t be done, can it?
Infinite Being, being infinite,
Leaves no place to draw
Anything
Else!

”If I Am Infinite, who are you?”

Oh, sure, if pressed
I can answer that. Like —
You are, let’s say, God, and
I am, let’s say, me.
You create me, and
I worship You.
What’s the big deal.

But if
You Are Infinite
And if (big if)
I understand rightly what infinite is
Consider it from every angle
Contemplate its every implication
Imagine every possibility
Decipher every meaning
Up, down, back, forth,
I see
There’s no where left
For me.

I need space,
Like any tree,
In which to be.
A little time, too,
Would be nice.

But if
You Are Infinite
You’re already occupying
All the space
All the time
There is.
Leaving not so much as a microsite
For me.

And yet,
Clearly, I am here.
I touch my dog, and can feel her,
I touch this paper,
The desk, the chair,
And feel them.
Touching proves me.
Tango, ergo sum.

But if, once again,
You Are Infinite,
Then …
Who’s touching
Who’s feeling
Who’s Sum?

“If I Am Infinite, who are you?”

It’s a nasty riddle
You lay upon me
This dark and blessed morn.

Once asked, it must be solved.
But once solved,
There is no thing left.
A salt doll strolls into the ocean,
Never to emerge again.

The sun rises.
I release the pen.
The four-legged one, now awake,
Tail wagging,
“Let’s go out.”

Okay, I wonder,
If You Are Infinite,
Who’s my dog.
 

Ulla AllU - One Voice!


 There are many speakers, only ONE voice.
Appearing separate and with a choice.

In the hall of mirrors the ONE stand,
Giving reflections of more than ONE brand.

Mistaken itself with more is Existences constant chore,
Yet, always ONE at the core.

In form through continuity,
Boundless divinity, formless in infinity,

Never born, never to die, Existence freely fly.

When in the stillness there are no pieces and chess.
Only ONEness in recess.

Embracing nothingness in its fold,
No formless or form to hold.


Mark McCloskey - Avoiding the Void


   Our problem may be very simple in life; we find that we must keep doing, thinking, going, listening, running, talking or else what shall we be? We love to be filled with noise, images, words, thoughts, memories, fantasies, sensations, people, pleasures and good feelings. When these things are not, we feel bored, alone, scared and quite possibly angry and confused. The brain needs input almost continuously. When there is a lack of input into these amazing computer-like brains our thoughts can fill in. We believe that these thoughts about self, about ego (the "I") are the reality and that there is nothing more. We know of this space in between the thoughts, the words, the actions, but it seems we pay it no heed or we do not want to look there. But what is it about this silent space inside that we do not wish to face, that we try to keep covered by any means.

   I would offer that in this silence is who we are. That means not only every memory of every moment of our lives, many of which we can not face a second time because they are too painful. But it also means our true being-ness is right there, able to be experienced in the stillness of a moment free from everything, from every thought.

If you have not figured it out yet, this silent awareness, this Pure Silence is always there in you despite the exterior noise, the thoughts, the memories and to recognize it all you need do is stop for one second all the exterior and interior garbage and relax into that stillness at the core of your being. This is that which has been called God itself! This is who you are, your True Self! This is the Nothingness which contains everything! And yet we seek to avoid this at all costs. We are always avoiding this void by hook and by crook. We need to fabricate, manipulate and do.
 
   All peace, all order, all sanity, all goodness, truth and love is right here in you in the Pure Silence that is beyond intellect, beyond will, beyond understanding. Just stop and listen with your soul. Everything is here. Everything is you.
 
You are that which is is-ness itself.






Thursday, August 25, 2016

Jeff Foster - Love's deeper commitment


Let’s not commit to a future together. The future is so unknown, and we are so fluid, and tired of pretending that we know.
Our thoughts and feelings are ever-changing, uncontrollable, like a wild ocean of love.
Our desires wax and wane; our dreams are born and die in every moment.
Let’s not commit to a form of love. The forms are always shifting, like the tides.
We do not need security here. We are not seeking comfort, but Truth.
Let’s make a deeper commitment; one that cannot be broken or lost.
To presence. To meeting in the here-and-now.
To bringing all of ourselves. To knowing, and letting ourselves be known.
To telling the truth, today; knowing that our truth may change tomorrow.
To bowing before each other, even if our hearts are broken and tender.
No promises, no guarantees.
Loving takes courage! Yes!
For love is a field, not a form. Let us commit to the field, remember the field in every moment of our precious days on this Earth.
In ten years’ time, we may still be together. We may have children. We may live together, or live apart.
We may never see each other again. This may be our last day.
If we are honest, we really do not know; not knowing is our Home.
We may be friends, or lovers, or strangers, or family, or we may remain undefined, beyond narrative, our love unable to be captured in words.
Here at the edge of the known, on the line that once divided sanity from madness, and doubt from certainty, we play, we dance, we drink tea, we touch each other, we cry, we laugh, we meet.
We sacrifice comfort and predictability. But what we gain is astonishing: This tremendous sense of being alive. No longer numb to the mysteries of love, the mysteries of our bodies.
A little raw, perhaps. A little shaky. Maybe a little disoriented, but perhaps this is the price of being totally free.
Maybe an old part of us still seeks Mummy or Daddy, that Magic Person who will never leave, always be there, take away the loneliness repressed in our guts. Loving that frightened part too; bowing to that part too, but no longer being controlled by it.
And they will ask:
What about your future?
What happens if you have children?
How the hell do you define yourselves?
Why are you afraid of commitment?
Why do you run from security? Comfort? Future?
They will say you are crazy, or you don’t understand love, or you are lost, or you are unloving and selfish, and you will smile, and understand their fear, for their fear was once yours, and you cannot abandon your path now.
And nobody has to walk with you. Ever.
At some point, only Truth will satisfy. A living Truth, renewing itself each and every moment, the wild Truth of the open heart.
When Love and Truth are One, when the Commitment is deeply rooted in the breath, we can finally face each other without resentment, and explode into the most melancholy sunsets, held in the most profound joy.
Walking alone, together, alone.


Wu Hsin - Endless possibilities



What is one trying to change?
The past is finished; it cannot be improved.
The future is yet unformed; one cannot alter what has no form.
The present cannot be grasped
because in the instant one attempts to do so,
it has slipped into the past.
However, when the present remains unseized, untouched,
this-that-is willingly reveals itself, exposing its endless possibilities. 



Papaji - Why get into trouble?




    Why get into trouble? It’s enough.
    Everything is Here: Happiness, Beauty, Love.
    Whatever you call it, it is full of everything!
    Whatever you think, so it becomes because it is 
Consciousness and everything is possible in Consciousness. 
You have created all these manifestations, all these waves in the ocean. 
You are so capable and so vast, so full, so complete, so conscious. 
You can create all of this so why suffer?

    Emptiness is never affected by appearances in Emptiness.

    The ocean does not suffer when a wave rises.

    It does not suffer when a wave falls.

    Let the waves dance and let them enjoy.

    Just stay Here and see only Love and Beauty and Happiness.

    This is the Ultimate Understanding.

    It does not need any thinking or any process or any meditations.
    You are Limitless, Fathomless, Vastness: who will disturb this Vastness?
    Where will you run out so that you are no longer Here?
    Just stay as you are, do not start from anywhere and do not go anywhere, 
and do not activate a thought. 


Wednesday, August 24, 2016

Han Shan - Cold Mountain



Some might laugh at my poems but no matter --
they’re fine just as they are, and fun besides!

They need no commentary, no studious explanation,
not even any signature.

Who even cares if they're read or not --
certainly not me!

The pine just sprouts needles,
the wind just blows.

I have no literary pretense, no wordy ambition,
but still, these poems can offer a taste of light.

If you would read my poems,
prepare yourself well: be pure of mind.

Open your tight-fisted heart; flatter none
but honesty with your authentic voice.

From the bag of Self, unpack selfishness;
refolding what remains, your Buddha-body.

This is your first assignment. Do it now,
and quickly. I speak the law of what's true.


In our hearts, I'm not the same as you --
if in your heart you should become like me,
then you can reach the core of it too.

I choose to bray at the cock-eyed moon,
to dance through mountain clouds at dawn.

Why bury my hands in my sleeves,
place a lock on my tongue, tie legs in knots
and sit like a stone?

My hair flows and cascades!

Among the winding creeks and towering crags
there lives a happy hermit of a man.

In daylight he wanders freely 'round the mountain,
intoxicated by the mere existence of anything.

At night he sleeps wherever he pleases,
at home in any cave or pine needle nest.

Let all the springs and summers pass themselves,
selfless peace and serenity wrap around him
like a robe of comfy light.

What a great and indescribable pleasure -
Real Freedom!

Suchness sometimes means just sitting,
relaxing, in a cool autumn stream.

On Tien-Tai Mountain I make my home,
clouds and fog keep the tourists away.

This very life is a magic picnic
laden with oodles of bliss!

Tzon Tze said:

`The good death you are having
makes the earth and sky your coffin.'


The Unborn is prior to this world --
it has no form, health or disease.

It's the master of all things,
following nothing, at rest in all.

Climbing Cold Mountain --
the path forward never seems to end.

In the long stream there are many stones;
on either shore the grass is the same.

White clouds silently drape the hillside,
the peaks are obscured in the morning mists.

Building my hut was easy enough -- just borrowed
some light from essence of moonshine.

Wild deer make an excellent audience!

A man beyond both existence and non-existence,
I thoroughly enjoy this beautiful life!

Birth and death are just like water and ice.
Water becomes ice and ice turns to water.

There is nothing otherwise.

Han Shan-Tze,
Ever Thus!

Living alone --
no birth, no death!

I stand on the peak, lit by bright sunshine,
gazing out at the clear blue sky.

Crane and friendly clouds fly by, beckoning me
to pick flowers down by the lovely riverbank!

We play till dusk, watch wind rising, waves rippling,
water birds lifted on wings of flight.

Afloat in this boat my mind expands --
no place to hide, essence of space!

Now the old year is gone, the spring has come.
Flowers smile at the stream, cliffs dance
playfully in clouds and mist!

Butterflies seem so glad, while
fish and birds are sporting like mad!

Our friendship is endless, I am so happy
I can no longer sleep!

How sublime is this nature --
creation with no creature therein!

The Tao is like a stream from nowhere,
yet there is water in every mouth!

I gaze far off at Cold Mountain's summit,
alone and aloft above the crowding peaks.

Pines and bamboo sing in the swaying winds,
sea tides wash beneath the shining moon.

I gaze at the mountain's green borders below
and ponder philosophy with the puff-ball clouds.

In the wilderness mountains and forests are fine, but
I yearn for my companion to delight in this Way.



Many claim that Han Shan was the incarnation of the Bodhisattva Manjusri. People say a lot of things, but Han Shan paid little mind to the opinions of dreamers and interpretations of myth-makers, choosing instead to play among the peaks and white clouds of his beloved Cold Mountain, and leave the world behind.

Jiddu Krishnamurti - The book of life