MACABRE BEAUTY IN THIS HORROR NAKED GRACE "...they will exhale my smile." JULY 26, 2018

EXPLODING CHAOS
< 
LANCING THE INFECTED BOILS OF
ARCHETYPAL HATRED AND MURDER
=
SEEING BEAUTY – FEELING RELIEF
 IN THE EXPOSURE
∞
ONLY NAKED GRACE
SUFFICES WITH NAKED HATRED’S
 DESTRUCTION
∞
THERE IS MACABRE BEAUTY
IN THIS HORROR
ew
5:53 AM-7/26/18

So many garish lamps in the dying brain’s lamp-show,
Forget about them.

Concentrate on the essence, concentrate on the Light.
In lucid bliss, calmly smoking off its own holy fire,

The Light streams towards you from all things,
All people, all possible permutations of good, evil, thought, passion.

The lamps are different,
but the Light is the same.

One matter, one energy, one Light, one Light-mind,
Endlessly emanating all things.

One turning and burning diamond,
One, one, one.

Ground yourself, strip yourself down,
To blind loving silence.
Stay there, until you see
You are gazing at the Light
With its own ageless eyes”

― Rumi

The spiritual journey
calls us out into the wild places
where God is not tamed and domesticated.
We are asked to release our agendas
and discover the holy direction for our lives.
When we yield,
we allow a holy pause, notice where we are "forcing things,"
and then we can let them go.
It is about smiling gently at all the inner desires
that attempt to grasp control of our lives.
When we do, we can give those feelings a compassionate embrace.
We can all each of them to dissolve into this endless embrace,
yielding to the greater force at work within us.~Christine Valters Paintner
https://makebelieveboutique.com/2018/07/26/27779/

AFTERNOON

I’m a fool with little need of company.

There’s no one deemed respectable here,
so how could I demand respect?

When recognition only brings busyness,
how could I not love invisibility?

Knowing that mind is the slayer of silence
why would I want “the last word?”

Saturated by streaming aliveness
how could I be lonely?

I cherish the extraordinariness
of ordinary suchness
but few know what that looks like,
so I’ll tell you:

The birds come to my birdbath.
The dogs wag their tails
when I open my door.
My luna-lover beams at me
without reproach or expectation.

My cup runneth over
and the ants make the most of it;
they even cart off my toenail clippings.

When the tide of breath runs out
they will claim every scrap of this body
and have a banquet with the worms.

And their scats will feed the earth;
new grass will grow in the summer,
sap will rise in the trees
and they will exhale my smile.

I will be breathed back

into the fecundity of space.
Just like that.

And that’s enough for me.
miriam louisa
https://echoesfromemptiness.com/2018/05/04/the-birds-come-to-my-birdbath/