A free versification from Rumi's Mathnawi
> Whoever starts an evil path, malediction swiftly pursues,
> When the righteous depart, they leave good behind them,
> When the wicked leave, injustice and devilry soon
> ensues.
> Until Judgement Day the face of each congener of sin
> Is turned towards those congenial to his own particular
> kin.
> Sweet and bitter waters are separated vein by vein at last
> Flowing in God’s Creatures 'til the final golden trumpet's
> blast.
> The righteous gain the delight of thirst quenching waters sweet
> That inheritance is now, for His servants who value
> this book complete.
>
> Reflect! the supplications of God’s seekers are sunshine's
> rays,
> Emanating from the veritable substance of Prophethood's days,
> These rays are circling the substantial, from which they
> spring
> And return to that substance’s source which is everything.
> Window light brightens the house as the Sun winds its
> way,
> He who feels affinity with a planet resonates
> correspondingly each day,
> If his ascendent is Venus, then his tendency is for love
> and joy,
> If it’s Mars, then he’s a warmonger seeking enmity, wicked by!.
> Beyond our planets are many in which there’s no sinister
> aspect,
> Planets moving in other heavens not the seven that we
> know with which to connect.
> Some immanent in Divine radiance are at One with
> infinity,
> If one’s ascendent is from them , his soul drives away
> infidelity ,
> His anger is not martial nor desiring domination,
> The dominant light of Saints is between God’s two
> fingers,
> That light shines over all souls , by grace some are
> blest.
> The fortunate who receive that mercy turn only to
> God,
> They who lack a skirt of love don’t share in His
> largesse.
> Others turn towards Unity like nightingales love the rose,
> The ox is brown, in a man seek red and yellow hues within,
> These tones are from the vat of purity, the bad are dyed
> black,
> The blessings of God are subtle colours ,his curse is a bad
> smell.
> That which comes from sea returns to that same sea,
> From the mountain peaks flow swift rushing torrents,
> And from our body returns the soul mingled with
> love.
>
> The idol of your petty self is the mother of all idols,
> The material idol is a snake, the spiritual is a brass
> dragon.
> The petty self is iron and flint stone, it produces fire.
> The materialistic idol is a spark quenched by water,
> How should this stone and iron be dampened by water?
> How should man bearing these weights feel safe and
> secure?
> The idol is the black murky water in a clay pot,
> The ego is a constant fountain spouting jet black
> water,
> That sculptured ego is like the grimey black torrent
> The idol making self is a fountain from which filth
> flows,.
> A single piece of stone like David’s which
> slew Goliath
> Will crack open many thousand clay jugs and pots,
> But the fountain spews filthy black water incessently.
> It is easy to break idols as did Samson with
> the Philistines,
> But it isn’t easy to subdue an ego. To think so, is
> folly,
> If you seek to know the ego’s form read the tale of seven
> hells,
> Every moment it commits a thought of guile and
> deceit.
> A hundred Pharoahs can be drowned with their horsemen,
> So flee to the God of Moses,and do not betray his Faith
> By drinking fountain spills from Pharoah’s dirty water .
> So cleave to the One God and Ahmad, flee the tyrant of a body
Thursday, 10 September 2009
Wednesday, 9 September 2009
REVIEW OF MY 'NATIVE AMERICAN WISDOM
Native American Wisdom - A Spiritual Tradition at One with Nature
edited by Alan Jacobs
Watkins Publishing
ISBN 978-1-905857-86-9
Published January 2008 - Hardcover - 186 pages - $8.95
Whoever holds the key to wisdom in the full sense of the word, will you please open the door? We're in dire need of some as we're really stupid when it comes to running our lives. By "we" I mean people in general. Just look at what we've done to ourselves, our fellow humans, our animals, and to the planet on which we're supposed to exist! Are we dumb or what? Now, there are enlightened ones among us but, for reasons unknown (fear and/or ignorance?), we don't listen or consider their words or deeds. The words of others don't have to be just about religion either; it seems we're immune to the common sense gene. However, many derive comfort, security, and assurance from a multitude of denominations, and I say, each to his own and live and let live. The dustjacket of this book says, "Although there are major differences in the lifestyles of the numerous Native American nations, they share fundamental beliefs. The spiritual wisdom of these people is based on a love and reverence for Nature, a belief in a Supreme Being, and a spirit world which interacts with human activity." Makes perfect sense to me as they've been around longer than you and me, and certainly know a thing or two. Tribal words featured in this charming book come from the Apache, Sioux, Cherokee, Zuni, Comanche, Kiowa, Pequot, Onondaga, Navajo, Lakota, and more. I loved this quote: "Liberty don't work as good in practice as it does in speeches." In this little book you'll find one-liners, poems, prayers, songs, and more. I liked this line from Chief Luther Standing Bear: "The white race today is but half civilized and unable to order his life into ways of peace and righteousness." (1931). Ain't that the truth! It's refreshing to know that some people are grateful and are not ashamed or afraid to express their gratitude for the land.
Conclusion - Uplifting with an overall theme of peace and respect for each other and everything around us. As it should be. Basic common sense.
edited by Alan Jacobs
Watkins Publishing
ISBN 978-1-905857-86-9
Published January 2008 - Hardcover - 186 pages - $8.95
Whoever holds the key to wisdom in the full sense of the word, will you please open the door? We're in dire need of some as we're really stupid when it comes to running our lives. By "we" I mean people in general. Just look at what we've done to ourselves, our fellow humans, our animals, and to the planet on which we're supposed to exist! Are we dumb or what? Now, there are enlightened ones among us but, for reasons unknown (fear and/or ignorance?), we don't listen or consider their words or deeds. The words of others don't have to be just about religion either; it seems we're immune to the common sense gene. However, many derive comfort, security, and assurance from a multitude of denominations, and I say, each to his own and live and let live. The dustjacket of this book says, "Although there are major differences in the lifestyles of the numerous Native American nations, they share fundamental beliefs. The spiritual wisdom of these people is based on a love and reverence for Nature, a belief in a Supreme Being, and a spirit world which interacts with human activity." Makes perfect sense to me as they've been around longer than you and me, and certainly know a thing or two. Tribal words featured in this charming book come from the Apache, Sioux, Cherokee, Zuni, Comanche, Kiowa, Pequot, Onondaga, Navajo, Lakota, and more. I loved this quote: "Liberty don't work as good in practice as it does in speeches." In this little book you'll find one-liners, poems, prayers, songs, and more. I liked this line from Chief Luther Standing Bear: "The white race today is but half civilized and unable to order his life into ways of peace and righteousness." (1931). Ain't that the truth! It's refreshing to know that some people are grateful and are not ashamed or afraid to express their gratitude for the land.
Conclusion - Uplifting with an overall theme of peace and respect for each other and everything around us. As it should be. Basic common sense.
Tuesday, 8 September 2009
MEDITATIONS
A VERSIFICATION FROM THE MATHNAWI OF RUMI
MEDITATIONS
>
> Since the rose has withered and the garden lies forlorn
> From whom shall we breathe the fragrance of the rose?
> When God is out of sight, Prophets are his Vicars,
> Yet the Prophet and God are one without a second,
> They are two only if you worship the bodily form
> They're one for all who've passed beyond that perception.
> When you look at the form your eye has double vision
> Look at the eye’s light which grew single from the Self.
> If ten lamps are lit in one hall each differs in form,
> To see the light of each is well nigh impossible
> When you stare at the fully blazing candelabra.
> If you count a hundred freshly picked, ripe red apples,
> They become as one when crushed in the cider press.
> In spiritual matters there are no numbers or parts,
> There is no false division nor any individuals.
> Sweet is the oneness of the Friend with his friends ,
> Clutch and cling to the naked feet of this spirit,
> Forms are opposed to realisation of spiritual unity .
> Make headstrong form waste away with trial and tribulation,
> So beneath it you may discover unity like buried treasure,
> And if you fail His bountiful grace will surely conquer.
> My heart is His slave, He shows himself to our hearts,
> He mends the torn and tattered robe of the Dervish.
> We were single, and all from one substance without heads,
> We were one substance like the Sun, knotless like water.
> When that light took form it multiplied like shadows off a
> wall.
> Smash the wall with a catapault that the shadows will
> crash.
> I would have made these points with greater vigour
> But feared weaker minds may stumble from my rigour.
> The points are sharp as a razor’s edge,if you catch the
> sense,
> So turn within and flee from this dream of a world.
> Do not come without a strong shield against this keen
> blade,
> The warrior’s sword is never afraid of execution ,
> I place my scmitar in its sheath so none may mistake
> The true meaning of my munbling metaphors and discourse .
>
> Keep company with the followers of Reality to win
> That gift and be generous in surrendering your will to
> God,
> In this body, spirit exiled from the Self is a wooden
> sword,
> When sheathed it seems strong but when needed its use is
> firewood.,
> Don’t wield a wooden sword in battle, have one of real
> steel,
> The sword of Reality is the weapon of prophets and Saints,
> The wise Sage is divine compassion to lost human beings.
> If you would purchase a pomegranate make sure its ripe,
> Open and laughing so you can view its interior seeds,
> This happy fruit makes the garden joyous and blooming.
> Unblest is the openness of the red anemone, black at
> heart,
> ‘Though you be a rock, when you meet the Saint you’ll
> be a jewel.
> Plant the love of Holy Ones in your heart and avoid
> dispair,
> Don’t enter darkness,there are Suns blazing in the world
> of men.
> Follow the body and it will lead you into the prison house
> of clay and water,
> Give your heart to converse with an awakened Sage.
>
>
MEDITATIONS
>
> Since the rose has withered and the garden lies forlorn
> From whom shall we breathe the fragrance of the rose?
> When God is out of sight, Prophets are his Vicars,
> Yet the Prophet and God are one without a second,
> They are two only if you worship the bodily form
> They're one for all who've passed beyond that perception.
> When you look at the form your eye has double vision
> Look at the eye’s light which grew single from the Self.
> If ten lamps are lit in one hall each differs in form,
> To see the light of each is well nigh impossible
> When you stare at the fully blazing candelabra.
> If you count a hundred freshly picked, ripe red apples,
> They become as one when crushed in the cider press.
> In spiritual matters there are no numbers or parts,
> There is no false division nor any individuals.
> Sweet is the oneness of the Friend with his friends ,
> Clutch and cling to the naked feet of this spirit,
> Forms are opposed to realisation of spiritual unity .
> Make headstrong form waste away with trial and tribulation,
> So beneath it you may discover unity like buried treasure,
> And if you fail His bountiful grace will surely conquer.
> My heart is His slave, He shows himself to our hearts,
> He mends the torn and tattered robe of the Dervish.
> We were single, and all from one substance without heads,
> We were one substance like the Sun, knotless like water.
> When that light took form it multiplied like shadows off a
> wall.
> Smash the wall with a catapault that the shadows will
> crash.
> I would have made these points with greater vigour
> But feared weaker minds may stumble from my rigour.
> The points are sharp as a razor’s edge,if you catch the
> sense,
> So turn within and flee from this dream of a world.
> Do not come without a strong shield against this keen
> blade,
> The warrior’s sword is never afraid of execution ,
> I place my scmitar in its sheath so none may mistake
> The true meaning of my munbling metaphors and discourse .
>
> Keep company with the followers of Reality to win
> That gift and be generous in surrendering your will to
> God,
> In this body, spirit exiled from the Self is a wooden
> sword,
> When sheathed it seems strong but when needed its use is
> firewood.,
> Don’t wield a wooden sword in battle, have one of real
> steel,
> The sword of Reality is the weapon of prophets and Saints,
> The wise Sage is divine compassion to lost human beings.
> If you would purchase a pomegranate make sure its ripe,
> Open and laughing so you can view its interior seeds,
> This happy fruit makes the garden joyous and blooming.
> Unblest is the openness of the red anemone, black at
> heart,
> ‘Though you be a rock, when you meet the Saint you’ll
> be a jewel.
> Plant the love of Holy Ones in your heart and avoid
> dispair,
> Don’t enter darkness,there are Suns blazing in the world
> of men.
> Follow the body and it will lead you into the prison house
> of clay and water,
> Give your heart to converse with an awakened Sage.
>
>
Monday, 7 September 2009
PLIGHT OF POOR POLLY
A rich merchant had his pretty Polly prisoned in a gilded cage.
One day he prepared to pack his trunk and go to mystic India.
Through his generosity he said to his male and female slaves,
What shall I bring home for you, please tell me your heart’s desire!?
Each one craved for some precious object,which he vowed to fetch.
He asked Pretty Polly Parrot what she would like most from India?
She said, when you see the other free parrots tell them of my plight,
Say “ a parrot who is longing to join you is locked up in a cage
By the preordained will of some heavenly supreme command.
She pleas for help and mercy and begs to learn the means of escape,
Is it fair that I should yearn for freedom and soon die in exile ?
Is it just that I suffer in grief while all of you fly in green trees ?
Is this the fruit of faith ? I’m in jail while you’re in the rose garden,
Remember me, then pray and drink a cup of morning dew in the sunshine.
It’s joyous for a friend to be remembered when their beloved
Is the beautiful Layla and I am like her lover Majnun.
You, who dine with your adorable one, while I drink my blood,
Sip one cup of ruby wine for me if you desire fair justice,
Or at least shed one drop on your soft carpet of emerald green.
In memory of this suffering wingless bird who snores in the dust.
Where’s your vowed covenant and the land of milk and honey?
If having abandoned this slave because of some harmful service,
When you harm the harmer, the master is the same as his serf?
Yet the ill you do in wrath is sweeter than harpist’s music.
Your cruelty is better than felicity, your anger sweeter than life.
If this is your fire, then how dazzling must be your light,
If this is your mourning, how glad must be your celebration?
With regard to the ineffable delight of your cruelty
And your idescribable beauty, no one can plumb your depths,
I fear, lest you believe me and make my suffering less,
I am in love with the opposites of violence and gentility,
It is indeed a wonder that I can be enamoured of both,
If I can fly from the thorn of sorrow to the rose of joy,
I shall pine to moan like the plaintive lovesick nightingale,
What a marvellous bird to munch roses and thorns in one gulp!
He is a lover of the Universal, and is himself the Universal,
He is in love with his own Self and seeking his own love!".
Such is the plight of Polly. Where's he who can counsel the
birds?
Where is the weak and innocent dove that is waitimg there within
For the Great King of Kings and all his glorious host to arrive?
A VERSIFICATION FROM THE MATHNAWI OF RUMI
>
One day he prepared to pack his trunk and go to mystic India.
Through his generosity he said to his male and female slaves,
What shall I bring home for you, please tell me your heart’s desire!?
Each one craved for some precious object,which he vowed to fetch.
He asked Pretty Polly Parrot what she would like most from India?
She said, when you see the other free parrots tell them of my plight,
Say “ a parrot who is longing to join you is locked up in a cage
By the preordained will of some heavenly supreme command.
She pleas for help and mercy and begs to learn the means of escape,
Is it fair that I should yearn for freedom and soon die in exile ?
Is it just that I suffer in grief while all of you fly in green trees ?
Is this the fruit of faith ? I’m in jail while you’re in the rose garden,
Remember me, then pray and drink a cup of morning dew in the sunshine.
It’s joyous for a friend to be remembered when their beloved
Is the beautiful Layla and I am like her lover Majnun.
You, who dine with your adorable one, while I drink my blood,
Sip one cup of ruby wine for me if you desire fair justice,
Or at least shed one drop on your soft carpet of emerald green.
In memory of this suffering wingless bird who snores in the dust.
Where’s your vowed covenant and the land of milk and honey?
If having abandoned this slave because of some harmful service,
When you harm the harmer, the master is the same as his serf?
Yet the ill you do in wrath is sweeter than harpist’s music.
Your cruelty is better than felicity, your anger sweeter than life.
If this is your fire, then how dazzling must be your light,
If this is your mourning, how glad must be your celebration?
With regard to the ineffable delight of your cruelty
And your idescribable beauty, no one can plumb your depths,
I fear, lest you believe me and make my suffering less,
I am in love with the opposites of violence and gentility,
It is indeed a wonder that I can be enamoured of both,
If I can fly from the thorn of sorrow to the rose of joy,
I shall pine to moan like the plaintive lovesick nightingale,
What a marvellous bird to munch roses and thorns in one gulp!
He is a lover of the Universal, and is himself the Universal,
He is in love with his own Self and seeking his own love!".
Such is the plight of Polly. Where's he who can counsel the
birds?
Where is the weak and innocent dove that is waitimg there within
For the Great King of Kings and all his glorious host to arrive?
A VERSIFICATION FROM THE MATHNAWI OF RUMI
>
Sunday, 6 September 2009
SAGE WISDOM
This is a free versification from Reynard Nicholson's literal translation of the Mathnawi.
SAGE WISDOM
Whoever is awake to the material world
Is fast asleep to the spiritual world.
This wakefulness is far worse than sleep,
When our soul’s asleep to God, it’s a door
Closing, to prevent the entry of His grace.
All day we suffer from a host of fantasies,
Thoughts of loss, gain or degeneration.
For the Soul there is neither joy nor peace
Nor a way of progression heavenwards.
The sleeper has his hope in each vain fancy
And converses idly with these foolish voices.
The bird of the soul flies cheerily on high
While its shadow is speeding upon Earth,
Some fools hasten to chase their shadow
And rushing hurriedly become exhausted,
Not understanding that it’s a reflection,
Nor knowing from where it originates.
They vainly shoot arrows at this phantom,
His quiver soon empties from the long quest.
The contents of his worried life become a void,
Time passes in chasing after this grey shadow.
But when God’s shadow becomes a nurse maid.
It saves him from fantasies and illusion.
God’s shadow is the true servant of God.
Dead to this world yet living through Him.
Take hold of His hem quickly so your skirt
May also be saved at the end of your days.
Never enter this dark valley of the shadow
Without a guide who’s a true son of God.
Desert the grey shadow, gain the bright Sun
Hold the hem of the orb of Shams Tabriz.
If you don’t know the way to the bridal feast
Enquire into God’s radiance named l’Haqq.
If envy grabs you by the throat on the way
It is Satan who reaches beyond all bounds.
Because from green envy he hates Adam
And he’s at constant war with happiness.
On the way there’s no harder bridge to cross.
Happy is he who hasn’t made envy his friend.
The body is a mansion packed full of hate,
The family and servants are all tainted.
Yet Almighty God made the body to be pure
So sweep clean His house. The purified heart
Is a true treasure and Earth’s gold talisman.
If you indulge in guile, deceit and envy
Against one who’s without a hint of blame,
Then black stains swell up in your heart.
So rest as dust under the feet of a Sage
Amd scatter the dust on envy’s bald head.
Any fool who mtorments his body is unfit
For comprehending the spiritual life .
The nose catches fragrance leading to truth
That scent is the God revealed religion.
If he’s whiffed this perfume with ingratitude,
It comes and destroys his organ of perception.
Give thanks! be a slave to those who are grateful,
Be in their presence as one truly steadfast.
SAGE WISDOM
Whoever is awake to the material world
Is fast asleep to the spiritual world.
This wakefulness is far worse than sleep,
When our soul’s asleep to God, it’s a door
Closing, to prevent the entry of His grace.
All day we suffer from a host of fantasies,
Thoughts of loss, gain or degeneration.
For the Soul there is neither joy nor peace
Nor a way of progression heavenwards.
The sleeper has his hope in each vain fancy
And converses idly with these foolish voices.
The bird of the soul flies cheerily on high
While its shadow is speeding upon Earth,
Some fools hasten to chase their shadow
And rushing hurriedly become exhausted,
Not understanding that it’s a reflection,
Nor knowing from where it originates.
They vainly shoot arrows at this phantom,
His quiver soon empties from the long quest.
The contents of his worried life become a void,
Time passes in chasing after this grey shadow.
But when God’s shadow becomes a nurse maid.
It saves him from fantasies and illusion.
God’s shadow is the true servant of God.
Dead to this world yet living through Him.
Take hold of His hem quickly so your skirt
May also be saved at the end of your days.
Never enter this dark valley of the shadow
Without a guide who’s a true son of God.
Desert the grey shadow, gain the bright Sun
Hold the hem of the orb of Shams Tabriz.
If you don’t know the way to the bridal feast
Enquire into God’s radiance named l’Haqq.
If envy grabs you by the throat on the way
It is Satan who reaches beyond all bounds.
Because from green envy he hates Adam
And he’s at constant war with happiness.
On the way there’s no harder bridge to cross.
Happy is he who hasn’t made envy his friend.
The body is a mansion packed full of hate,
The family and servants are all tainted.
Yet Almighty God made the body to be pure
So sweep clean His house. The purified heart
Is a true treasure and Earth’s gold talisman.
If you indulge in guile, deceit and envy
Against one who’s without a hint of blame,
Then black stains swell up in your heart.
So rest as dust under the feet of a Sage
Amd scatter the dust on envy’s bald head.
Any fool who mtorments his body is unfit
For comprehending the spiritual life .
The nose catches fragrance leading to truth
That scent is the God revealed religion.
If he’s whiffed this perfume with ingratitude,
It comes and destroys his organ of perception.
Give thanks! be a slave to those who are grateful,
Be in their presence as one truly steadfast.
Monday, 31 August 2009
SELF INQUIRY
Hear this, comprehend clearly as transparent air!
I'm not what I think or imagine that I am;
I'm aware like a cat stalking his fare, I'm aware
I'm not this body, earthy pot of red blooded jam,
Nor mind, mere mechanical word secreting machine,
Or a 'me' who peeps from behind a measly mince meat ball,
A dreamer, deluded by pics which flick across my screen
Of Consciousness, an empty space for 'what is' to fall,
So I leave this torrid, troubled toxic world alone.
Where is the rightful place in 'who I really am?'
An illusive surface, a shimmer, why mourn or moan
About this sandy desert with its camel caravan?
Drug induced visions like Kubla Khan or Avalone,
Emanate from mind, like mists, when hot breath hits cold air.
There's no time, a clockwork convenience conceived by man,
Space and causality are concepts in the errant brain,
No substance, but atoms dancing in an aeon's span,
No mind, a measuring tape, used on this dreamer's train.
No good or evil, right or wrong, fashions of an Age,
Only a birds nest of thoughts, it's best left to lose.
"Nothing perceived or conceived is Real" says my Sage,
"You're not what you seem to be and no one to choose.
So called choice is illusion in the predestined plan,
Free will's only apparent, and ego's pride we use
To usurp Divine Will as mine; that's the sin of Man.
There's nothing, in Truth, for anyone to will or decide,
Know 'That', and be happy, end all thoughts of suicide.
I am eternal, as Consciousness, I am 'That',
Beyond concepts of Holy Father or Mother's balm.
Truth is heard by those who at the feet of Sages sat.
Remember the verse in King David's favoured psalm,
'Be still and know that I Am God' stay silent and calm.
Words are erudite, the real point they always miss,
The Holy Aim is beyond comprehension, I repeat,
The veil that conceals the source of speech is remiss
The other side of knowing is silence, peace replete.
When in mind, I think this world isn't a dream but real,
I feel separate from my Source, yet know all is well,
Unfolding precisely as it must; I trust and feel
No need to bargain with God, as far as I can tell,
All's well each moment, I know 'That' so I let all heal.
Nothing exists, not even these thoughts, they're a thorn
To remove thorns; in Truth there is no thing at all.
I rest, desiring nothing, I am thus unborn,
Empty to be Pure Self Awareness, for peace to fall.
My reason has been jolted, shaken to its inmost core,
By my wildly strange adventures, uniquely so bizarre;
Who am I? to be feeling there's no 'me'? shout hurrah!
I seem to be, intuition, that's flooding through the door,
Drowning my brain and sense perceptions, near and far.
Is there anyone here? Is Awareness my real identity?
Then thoughts broke in and ended my earnest Self Inquiry.
I'm moved again to play the sportive game of life,
Merrily dancing to circumstances piped by drum and fife.
I'm not what I think or imagine that I am;
I'm aware like a cat stalking his fare, I'm aware
I'm not this body, earthy pot of red blooded jam,
Nor mind, mere mechanical word secreting machine,
Or a 'me' who peeps from behind a measly mince meat ball,
A dreamer, deluded by pics which flick across my screen
Of Consciousness, an empty space for 'what is' to fall,
So I leave this torrid, troubled toxic world alone.
Where is the rightful place in 'who I really am?'
An illusive surface, a shimmer, why mourn or moan
About this sandy desert with its camel caravan?
Drug induced visions like Kubla Khan or Avalone,
Emanate from mind, like mists, when hot breath hits cold air.
There's no time, a clockwork convenience conceived by man,
Space and causality are concepts in the errant brain,
No substance, but atoms dancing in an aeon's span,
No mind, a measuring tape, used on this dreamer's train.
No good or evil, right or wrong, fashions of an Age,
Only a birds nest of thoughts, it's best left to lose.
"Nothing perceived or conceived is Real" says my Sage,
"You're not what you seem to be and no one to choose.
So called choice is illusion in the predestined plan,
Free will's only apparent, and ego's pride we use
To usurp Divine Will as mine; that's the sin of Man.
There's nothing, in Truth, for anyone to will or decide,
Know 'That', and be happy, end all thoughts of suicide.
I am eternal, as Consciousness, I am 'That',
Beyond concepts of Holy Father or Mother's balm.
Truth is heard by those who at the feet of Sages sat.
Remember the verse in King David's favoured psalm,
'Be still and know that I Am God' stay silent and calm.
Words are erudite, the real point they always miss,
The Holy Aim is beyond comprehension, I repeat,
The veil that conceals the source of speech is remiss
The other side of knowing is silence, peace replete.
When in mind, I think this world isn't a dream but real,
I feel separate from my Source, yet know all is well,
Unfolding precisely as it must; I trust and feel
No need to bargain with God, as far as I can tell,
All's well each moment, I know 'That' so I let all heal.
Nothing exists, not even these thoughts, they're a thorn
To remove thorns; in Truth there is no thing at all.
I rest, desiring nothing, I am thus unborn,
Empty to be Pure Self Awareness, for peace to fall.
My reason has been jolted, shaken to its inmost core,
By my wildly strange adventures, uniquely so bizarre;
Who am I? to be feeling there's no 'me'? shout hurrah!
I seem to be, intuition, that's flooding through the door,
Drowning my brain and sense perceptions, near and far.
Is there anyone here? Is Awareness my real identity?
Then thoughts broke in and ended my earnest Self Inquiry.
I'm moved again to play the sportive game of life,
Merrily dancing to circumstances piped by drum and fife.
Thursday, 27 August 2009
A CLOSE SHAVE
Skilled like a demon barber, Sage shaved my head,
Clearly sheared my sense of 'I' and 'mine',
Ego, slain by sharpened razor's edge lies dead,
I'm free to savour ecstasy, a heady wine.
Heaps of golden locks lie on his salon floor,
Sweeps aren't to be dissected or numbered.
Bald, I walk briskly from this barber's door,
Free from care and fear, unencumbered.
Having shorn my waving shining hair,
I wildly stamp a dance of riotous joy,
Prancing madly in the transcendental air,
Happy as a star struck adolescent boy.
Attend the barber Sage, dear lads and girls,
And loose your selfish selves, not only curls.
Clearly sheared my sense of 'I' and 'mine',
Ego, slain by sharpened razor's edge lies dead,
I'm free to savour ecstasy, a heady wine.
Heaps of golden locks lie on his salon floor,
Sweeps aren't to be dissected or numbered.
Bald, I walk briskly from this barber's door,
Free from care and fear, unencumbered.
Having shorn my waving shining hair,
I wildly stamp a dance of riotous joy,
Prancing madly in the transcendental air,
Happy as a star struck adolescent boy.
Attend the barber Sage, dear lads and girls,
And loose your selfish selves, not only curls.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
