WHEN A NEVERBORN/NEVERDIE ONE
ORIGINAL TRUTH OF BEING
NOT TO DO.
ANY DOING MUST FOLLOW
THE GREATEST GIFT
IS TO BE NOTHING
OR IN THE
MUCH AS THE BIRD
OR DEER WATCHING
THE HUNTER BUILD
HIS KILLING STAND
IN THE WOODS
Wednesday, February 26, 2003
Near Dublin, Indiana
IN THIS BATTERED HEART.
I WANT TO LOOK FOR YOU
I WANT TO HOLD ON
SO THE STORM DOESN’T TAKE ME UNDER
INSTANTLY, I REALIZE THE LIFELINE
RESTS WITHIN MY HEART
BEFORE AND SINCE FOREVER
Thursday, February 28, 2003
Near Dublin, Indiana
In the 1920s, Carl Jung, the eminent psychologist,
visited the Pueblos Indians in New Mexico.
He had the good fortune to speak
to the chief of the Taos Pueblos.
Ochwiay Bianco, meaning Mountain Lake,
gave his impression of the white race:
“Their eyes have a staring expression;
they are always seeking something.
What are they seeking?
The whites always want something;
they are always uneasy and restless.
We do not know what they want.
We do not understand them.
We think they are mad.”
“Why?” Jung asked,
“They say they think with their heads,” he replied.
“Why of course. What do you think with?” A surprised Jung asked.
“We think here,” he said, indicating his heart.
They are so placid and self-contain’d,
I stand and look at them long and long.
They do not sweat and whine about their condition,
They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins,
They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God,
Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of owning things,
Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago,
Not one is respectable or unhappy over the whole earth.
Leaves of Grass
not with them…
I am not contained between my hat & my boots…
…in other words, we see through our entire body…
….like being under water or walking gingerly in deep fog…
being possessed by light & love & the lyrical nature of paradox
you continue to only touch,
kissing so softly an image which feels like peace
…this fleeting consummation of seeing is your fullest expression…
Are you whispering it, and have been all the time, you sea-waves?
Is that it from your liquid rims and wet sands?
Whereto answering, the sea,
Delaying not, hurrying not,
Whisper’d me through the night, and very plainly before day-break,
Lisp’d to me the low and delicious word death,
And again death, death, death, death,
Hissing melodious, neither like the bird nor like my arous’d child’s heart,
But edging near as privately for me rustling at my feet,
Creeping thence steadily up to my ears and laving me softly all over,
Death, death, death, death, death.
But fuse the song of my dusky demon and brother,
That he sang to me in the moonlight on Paumanok’s gray beach,
With the thousand responsive songs at random,
My own songs awaked from that hour,
And with them the key, the word up from the waves,
The word of the sweetest song and all songs,
That strong and delicious word which, creeping to my feet,
(Or like some old crone rocking the cradle, swathed in sweet garments, bending aside,)
The sea whisper’d me.
Out of the Cradle Rocking
when the movement of the mind has been grounded
in profound surrender and stillness.
From that stabilized point one is able to honestly redefine
their relationship to Self, to Love,
Life, Creation, value, thought, choice, and to potential.
That is freedom.
That is Mastery.
Right now in this boiling pot of everything,
we are being given the catalysts,
influencers and opportunities
to embody our greater...if not only…
true evolutionary purpose and potential.
Excerpt from Newsletter
those who call on God,
to them God comes.
Bowl of Saki, January 24, by Hazrat Inayat Khan
For Origin of Bowl of Saki
Hazrat Inayat Khan
There is nothing that you ask that this universe will not answer.
For it is the nature of this universe to answer your soul's call.
... When a person seeks for something in the universe and he cannot find it,
it is not true that it is not there.
The fact is that he does not see it.
I exist every moment.
When you call me, I am there.
Knock at the door, and I will answer you.'
And those whose eyes are open do not need to go to a church
and look at a picture or statue of the Lord.
In the eyes of every infant,
in the smile of every innocent child,
they receive the blessing of Christ.
But man has ignored the divine spirit that manifests in humanity,
and always prefers an idol, a painting, a picture,
to the living God, who is constantly before him.
For the sage, the seer, the saint, and the yogi who begin to see the master,
and see him living,
there is no place where he cannot be seen.
the cry of the soul coming from friend, father or teacher.
And if we go a little further forward,
we will find that the teacher speaks aloud,
not only through living beings,
but through nature.
the leaves of the trees become as pages of the Bible.
If the heart is alive,
the whole life becomes one single vision of His sublime beauty,
speaking to us at every moment.
Try imagining life without endless self-reference.
And rest in the unbounded imagining.
~Kathleen Dowling Singh