And follow me Home.”
Chuck Surface
from
10,000 Hawkers
See Read More at end
That remained after that Death Unto Life,
A Comforter, a Teacher, a Benediction,
A Wellspring of the Inexpressible,
Within this broken vessel.
"What is this?"
Is it the Holy Spirit that Jesus spoke of?
Is it The Beloved, The Friend, of the Sufis?
Is it the Bliss of the Atman that the Hindus speak of?
Is it the Divine Presence of those who believe in God?
Or... is it simply a psycho-somatic aberration?
"What was that, and what is this?"
I have come to a certitude of my own,
That although ten thousand teach what they “know”,
Only a handful, “Know”,
That… and This.
Though I will die with these questions upon my lips,
I Live now Surrendered in Not Knowing,
Having discovered that, like myself,
Those I have met who "Know",
That and This...
”know" nothing.
Chuck Surface
See Read More for full Wording of
What Was That, And What is This?
And all of life in ONLY one Eternal moment.
All “oughts” & “shoulds” Disappeared in such Eternity
History, time, thoughts, words, concepts/precepts….just POOF!
The dream as possessing reality is gone.
Disappeared.
Pure Being Suffices.
Just Is
The AhHa! Of Such Immortality.
4:27 AM
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
ew
Today I walked through the spiritual marketplace,
And heard 10,000 hawkers hawking,
10,000 children teaching,
And 20 held forth as 100.
So many voices,
So full of authority,
Young and old,
Certain and assertive.
I brought my Beloved with me,
But She could not bear the din,
And ran from that place,
Staring back, tearfully.
I could not hear,
Amidst the clamour,
Her sobbing whisper,
“My Own, leave this place,
And follow me Home.”
My Experience is simply that;
My Experience.
I know nothing of “Truth”,
Of “Awakening”,
Or “Enlightenment”.
How then can I “tell” anyone anything,
When I, myself, know only “asking”?
I write not to instruct or inform,
But only to invoke…
Wonder.
Chuck Surface
http://gardenofthebeloved.com/
I am but an old beggar, bent and weary,
Sitting at the gate of the spiritual marketplace,
Asking of all who enter,
"Sir, madam... please, can you tell me,
What was that... and what is this?!"
A beggar at the gate,
Not sitting "in front of", teaching,
Not asserting, like those in the stalls within,
For I know less with each breath,
Only always, with each heartbeat asking...
"What was that, and what is this?"
"What was that, and what is this?"
This... this touch of Ineffable Sublimity,
That remained after that Death Unto Life,
A Comforter, a Teacher, a Benediction,
A Wellspring of the Inexpressible,
Within this broken vessel.
"What is this?"
A beggar at the gate,
Not sitting "in front of", teaching,
Not asserting, like those in the stalls within,
For I know less with each heartbeat,
Only always, with each breath asking...
"What was that, and what is this?"
This... this touch of Ineffable Sublimity,
That remained after that Death Unto Life,
A Comforter, a Teacher, a Benediction,
A Wellspring of the Inexpressible,
Within this broken vessel.
"What is this?"
Is it the Holy Spirit that Jesus spoke of?
Is it The Beloved, The Friend, of the Sufis?
Is it the Bliss of the Atman that the Hindus speak of?
Is it the Divine Presence of those who believe in God?
Or... is it simply a psycho-somatic aberration?
A beggar at the gate,
Not sitting "in front of", teaching,
Not asserting, like those in the stalls within,
For I know less with each passing season,
Asking always, in each moment’s dissolution…
"What was that, and what is this?"
Long ago I ventured into the marketplace,
Only to be driven back by the terrible din,
Of ten thousand voices declaring,
With certitude and authority,
Ten thousand versions of "Truth".
Now, at last, I am leaving my station at the Gate,
No longer able to see clearly those who pass by,
Or hear their ten thousand “guesses”,
My fingers calloused by touching,
Ten thousand feet in gratitude.
After a lifetime of questioning,
I have come to a certitude of my own,
That although ten thousand teach what they “know”,
Only a handful, “Know”,
That… and This.
Though I will die with these questions upon my lips,
I Live now Surrendered in Not Knowing,
Having discovered that, like myself,
Those I have met who "Know",
That and This...
”know" nothing.
Chuck Surface
www.GardenOfTheBeloved.com
www.facebook.com/InTheGardenOfTheBeloved
posted Dec. 14, 1014