Eschewing Obfuscation

You have religionists who are satisfied to hold "God" separate from themselves and remain essentially unconsciously self-conscious.

You have "readers of every esoteric literature" who are satisfied to assert that "I am God" without having ever removed their egos; and remain essentially unconsciously self-conscious.

You have materialists who deny "a God" in favour of an independent self in a chance universe, "full of potential" without themselves ever actually plumbing and plumbing that "self" and examining that ego, or developing the contemplative intuition to ever receive Knowledge – nor ever realizing the untold potential of the divine Human form; thus remaining for their part, essentially unconsciously self-conscious.

And you have those who, by whatever name or title they’re designated or which status they’ve achieved in this world or the next, actually do the Work of pursuing soul-knowledge, consciousness of Self, of examining the ego inside and out and expressing life beyond it, becoming "realized".  It is a Work of love, of devotion.  And this more than anything enables us to follow suit.

It’s not for one to judge, others or oneself, on this – but to be observant toward it, to avoid bullshitting and to eschew obfuscation.

Union Without A Mission

Be a magnet.

A magnet doesn't run after metals,

nor concern itself with those non-attracted.

It magnetizes, the metals come which belong.

Let evil hate me, it will run its course,

as will those who embrace it, these

may find me abrasive, I'm not concerned.

Others before me – and much greater,

have seen it all before.

Am I good? Only God is that, read your Bible.

Am I bad? There're worse.

Don't concern yourself with wasteful

self-conscious worry – there goes your life.

Reflect on the Self in all, conscious joy

in your belly is like soul on fire, a sun

penetrating, embracing, drawing.

Be a magnet, don't go to the world,

let it come to you.

Be the Union, not a missionary, we've so many of those.

Myself and Glad of It

I am so glad to be me,

no – make that overjoyed,

by God I am glad of it!

I don't wish to be anyone else

for better or worse, a blessing or curse,

I have so much to do, there's much to be done;

time is a luxury, and so am I.

I've but one wish toward

all those others about me –

extending to still more others –

a horde of them, a city, a continent:

I want each one, each and every one

of you to stop and love yourself,

rejoice with me in being you –

for as there's no other me,

there can be no other you.

When you have this, really –

when you have this, only then

will you have ground, the earth

will bless your feet, the air

will refresh your mental and physical wealth.

Only then will you grasp equality, basic sanity,

giving and receiving, becoming Human.

When you have this – only then will you

finally be in the position to ask:

What is this “I“ all about?

No one else can do that but you.

Self-Realized Santa

(San Francisco, Dec. '85 – prior to leaving for Army Basic, having failed to snag a job as Jumbo Jolly in any dept. store in The City – but also prior to “The Suit,“

where I did – and one better)

Amid the flashing, multi-colored chaos, the hustling and bargain-grabbing, the floor-walker bells popping off and the humming buzzing tide of parents and children drawn into this jungle of commercial mayhem, Tuesday afternoon's Santa Claus composes himself . . . and waits it out.

He is not bored or disgruntled with his job, pressed as he is by sticky-fingered, runny-nosed, often howling toddlers, not to mention the ones that are getting a little bit big for this. He is actually not watching the clock, in fact he is waiting for something else, he is sniffing out the crowd, this department store package-promiser, the brat-appeaser, stuffed elf. Ho Ho Ho . . .

One whining child gets to popone to the Wiz and receive a striped cane; then a quiet shy one, who mouths a big Thank You (for Mommy); then a ram-bunctious one who tinkles a little and hops off before he remembers his token candy (so he can drive his frazzled mother over the brink, since she'd agreed to drive him to see Santa). And on it goes, and the queue grows and diminishes, and then . . .

A girl of about five years, perhaps six and small, edges forward with her mother, a few yards down yet. He takes note. What is unusual about her, this girl, is not the precocity which movies are about, nor any visible confidence, poise, grace, ésprit which set her so adorably apart from the rest. What is unusual in her only he knows, what is rare in her only he will see.

He patiently takes each child on, he does his gig, he relishes the spontaneity when it's there, reassures nervous mothers with a gesture of his hand, waves each family on, then looks at the next bundle of 1980s mess squirming on his lap; he looks down into its face with a benign, casual indifference, reserved and pleasant, and sees hundreds of voices, all desiring for its future . . .

They are clutching the tiny hands rather more snugly this year, these mothers; they are aware, grotesquely aware of the growing number of posted facials reminding them to sharpen their radar against thsoe who covet small children. They are chilled, this bunch, as they give themselves cautiously over to this warm ritual of handing the tots to the old man in the red suit.

His eyes are moist and twinkling, occasionally he has a private word or two with the mother or guardian, as the case may be, listening like some country family doctor to the fractured twittering of trivial concerns. The photographer stands ever ready for those who need the souvenir. She does not look particularly nervous, this girl's mother, and the child is reasonably well-behaved. Yet even at this distance the clutch she holds her in is evident. The line is dwindling, he takes his own time, he is not rushed by all this nonsense, theirs or the store's. The photographer is having a cigarette.

He shifts his position while the next customer is coaxed to the jelly-bellied counter to place her order, brushing off cellophane candy-cane wrappers to make a fresh place for her. Her forehead is wrinkled with the weight of the responsibility she is entrusting to his care, as she'd put a lot of time into this beforehand. He nods and shares her seriousness for a minute and then lightly raises her off his lap to hear the confession of He-Man, or whatever this kid is. Power of the Universe. That's it, that's what he wants. OK, kid – you got it. … Then: she arrives.

There is a pause, a fraction of a pause, not a delay in proceedings but that pause which occurs when you open the door and there stands the guest you'd been expecting anyway, but you have that little pause, because that brief second is frankly timeless, and it is to be savored.

In one fleeting glance his earlier recognition of her is confirmed; not from her,

you see, not consciously by any means – but she is natural, guileless, and their eyes lock as his gaze penetrates into her skull and sets atoms into motion creating new orbits . . .

He leans forward ignoring the girl now, but rather motioning her mother over with a friendly but sober flick of his fingers. She checks the position of her daughter, and the Santa shrugs away her awkwardness with a simple gesture – no one's walking off with the child, who now sits at the step where Santa's great boots are planted. Santa motions the mother closer, still closer, and looks into her face. He says nothing.

Though his breathing is nearly undetected underneath that pasted beard, she is somehow aware that she stands within his breath, engulfed in a most sovereign atmosphere quite independent of the whole department store. And she is oddly comfortable standing with her face so close to that of this calm, sober-looking stranger – Santa or not – who has mesmerized her while taking no possession of her. Something, something now – gently opens in her and Santa speaks . . .

"I want you to listen carefully to each word I use, each thing I say, because it is going to matter to you greatly. As I share this with you, you must drop every untoward reference from your mind, suspend in other words, every innuendo and conditioned impulse to react, so that you can just get what I am telling you. Can you do that?" She nods and poises herself to listen; his voice is kind and it projects gently, his cadence is natural, steady, and his manner direct. He continues without breaking the rhythm of this brief interlude . . .

"I have already plugged in to this child. As your daughter sits with me I am going to open her subtle bodies up and enter her most sacred core, and I will place a seed within her; I am going to stimulate and activate her inner growth. And this seed will blossom in her at a later time, and she will experience her true and sacred Womanhood in a very beautiful and natural way, you may mark my words. And then at some future time, she will find her way to me and I will guide her through an intensity of training which will prepare her for the role she is to play on this planet, for the very hope and salvation of Humankind..." He pauses to let it sink in, scanning the aisle quickly to scope the growing new line, never turning his head from the woman, whose eyes are becoming moist with awe. "Are you getting this?" he asks, gently bringing her into the present.

She brushes a tear with her ring finger, draws back into place a blonde strand of hair. His eyes are incredible, but not threatening or vulgar. They are auspicious to her, and she nods with the movement of a young intelligent woman who doesn't require speech to cut through the confusion and the flood of chatter and claptrap she feels during this new pause, to say Yes, yes I do, strangely, painfully, poignantly, somehow definitely know you. "This is her destiny . . ." he concludes, and the contact breaks and dissipates back into the crowd, all subtly reabsorbed into the commercial onslaught.

He sits, Santa-like, playfully unconcerned, as this young mother thoughtfully raises her yawning daughter and with unpretentious reverence places her squarely into the hands of the Master.

http://samuelinayatchisti.blogspot.de/2011/12/suit-or-truth-about-santa.html

http://samuelinayatchisti.blogspot.de/2011/05/cinderallah-dervish-folktale.html

"Which Mantra, which Dhikr?"

 The best mantra to use, or the best dhikr, is whichever keeps you – and you exclusively, no one else – in closest, most initmate concentration on God, in this moment exclusively – and not what worked yesterday or what you think tomorrow will look like. Suppose you have knowledge and confidence in (A) through (M) so to speak, and they are all good, there is joy, there is release, there is love and fulfillment, there is focus, all that – and the balm for existential panic or fear or loneliness or grief or arrogance or anger – great, but you are only usng one at this particular precious moment. If you go with (A) don't think, maybe I should be doing (B)...this keeps it all in the superficial and complicated. Give us this day our daily mantra/dhikr, and lead us not into the temptation of leaving the present for some moment which isn't there, and where no need will be served, and the need of this moment will not be addressed..

In the process of life lived in the development of concentrations through mantra or dhikr and sacred inner work, siddhis may come to the practitioner, there could be power issues; but these will be likewise overcome for the Siddha, the Bhakta, the Jnani, when one returns again and ever again without fail to the repetition of the mantras or of dhikr -- of the Name, from which and from whom these siddhis came in the first place – so devotedly practicing further and ever further for the purpose of liberation of all sentient Beings, of realization of the Self, one is spared the pitfall of identifying with the phenomena or with being the doer of something.

What Is Being Looked At Is What Is Looking (Assisi-Frank)

(mid- to late-'80s)
Heart of human being accomodates all longing
and all deviations from longing.
Put aside the literature of ages,
go and feel the pulsation of the heart
transcending all ages
transcending all places
spanning vast ranges of the sane and the grotesque.

Every self is born believing,
every belief a longing to know the Self.
I have tasted a mother's salty tears
watching her child being dragged to the auction block,
herself led helplessly away to be probed and raped.
And the man clutching gut and groin
from kicks administered by smiling guards
watched his wife and oft-held children ushered into
the extermination wagon
while his mother entered a barracks with a crude and leering officer –
I was that man
long ago shattered and alone.

For all this human heart has travailed
yet this mind is free;
like the unnamed unheard-of sisters of faith
who braved every terror and abuse to succor the will-broken
children in the maelstrom,
for the sake of the love they carried in their own wounded bodies.

I have been shown in dream "the balm to heal the suffering masses"...




The Names of God will clear of all fantasy
that mind which seeks refuge in the stillness of the Self
residing in all;
residing even in that one holding the whip and the goad,
even the pimp and the cocaine boss,
the magistrate and the power-broker,
the drinking wife-masher or the barb-tongued wife,
the abuse offender and those in positions who give him cover,
yes, even the landlord,
evenso the child in my arms, as they all once were, reflecting

my Original Innocence.

Free of lust – through hard work;
free of greed and of anger – through hard work;
free of all rambling judgement idiocy by dull self-conscious mind;
free of religious arrogance and the effort of manipulation –
through hard work and through
Surrender's grace-bestowing power.

The heart which harbors layered knots of pain, horror, cheapened existence,
and the heart which holds to childish naive optimism –
both house the Self without even knowing it.
The heart which cares for neither pleasure nor pain
just sings the Beloved Name
is the very temple of that Self.

 
There is no dignity like Original Innocence,
no persuasion so subtle, so sovereign,
no generosity so free, genuine, fair.
One who's found it has a clear and forgiving mind,
a mind which can span the ages
and touch hearts in all times in all worlds –
and clean up any life which has just enough glimmer left
to remember what it once knew.

Practice is remembrance.
Kindness is remembrance.
Sincerity and integrity are remembrance,
all this is certain.
Original Innocence is reborn by turning;
this turning is begun and completed
through an act of surrender.
And with us the Guru has left this Principle for all time.

Bhajan, Kirtan – Goes On And On

When I sing Ram my heart
is opened, stilled and active both,
emboldened and awash in joy;
from the root of my spine to my crown

I am home, at home in this Body,
as if in a Temple full of powerful tones,
overtones and undertones, harmonies
which can really hardly be described.

When I sing Krishna I am
out of my skull with an ecstasy
curing ills, and maintaining health, longevity;
I need no radio, MTV, CDs or company,

I am never lonely because never alone.
Whether aloud or muttered or on silent tongue,
nestled in Love's bosom I am,
wherever these blessed Names are sung.

When I sing Shiva only the Self remains,
there is no what or who, no questions of matter,
but grounded in Body and from Body freed –
into dimensions of Body, which returns to seed;

I disappear, I manifest, I am here and I exist,
as I hear and as I'm real, so may I ever present feel
in this world as in every other: nourished by my Divine Mother.
Ah, there's a Love which can't be spoken, but only sung.

This Little Acre

(ca. 1986/7) 

Elixir sweet is the Will refined,

      it empow'rs the personality –

      it swells from heart and stills the mind,

      ennobling our reality.

Of the Self-in-all I sing to you,

      of the joy surpassing reason;

      come sing with me of life renewed,

      come season upon season.

In the expression of hospitality

introductions are an empty gesture

for charity is in the glance.

In the lovingkindness of heart

words are few because inadequate …

for Thought molds and cultivates

the feeling and consideration of feeling.

When one is in love one is in love,

and when that is greater than all considerations

the oceanic quality of the heart

dictates all boundaries,

carrying off all that's entrusted to it

to a place solid beyond imagining,

where no rises or depressions upset the balance,

where the virgin quantity of one's innocence

and profound effervescent beauty are restored.

While we still occupy this little acre,

                                 you and I,

be like a pump and draw this ocean

into a cup, absorbing it in depth.

For It Is He That Beckons

(ca. 1986/7)

ALLAH is a Communication –

from AH to AH . . .

When a child looks upon me – I disappear,
it is He that beckons:

AH L' AH L' AH L' AH L' AH

Show me the least gesture of beauty or of subtlety:
Yussuf beholds himself through my eyes . . .

AH L' AH L' AH L' AH L' AH

For it is He that beckons in the personal display
of nobility or of grace –
I hear His ways and would that I were his slave:

AH L' AH L' AH L' AH L' AH

And should I find and should I see the Majesty of His Person
reflected in my very Self –
Surely the way of perfect humility is the very threshold
of effacement in the sovereign and dynamic.

AH L' AH L' AH L' AH L' AH

Worth

This evening I heard the voice of thousands,
silently asking, "What is my self-worth?"
Ever harping, ever picking, seeking distraction
from this gnawing, desperate measure drenched
in our own illusion that there is a "self-worth,"
and that mine or yours might come up short.

And the answer which uproots the question
is also a question but a better one, namely:
What is my Self worth?

The answer to that question being:  pursue Inquiry.
That Self can neither be bought nor sold, nor
measured nor priced nor given nor taken.
What is this Self worth - to me, to you?

As Soul was before religion or psychology,
approaching and addressing the Self is
the stuff of clean sincerity, not vapid ideology;
of conscious desire, not self-conscious flattery.

Love will awaken the interest, Love will guide
and bring us guides, Love will sustain the effort,
Love will inspire and nourish and teach patience,
Love will reveal itself as the very Self that is sought.

Meanwhile

Speaking His Name – I speak yours.
Addressing Him in Song – I address you singing.
Losing myself in the vision of my Lord and Cherisher,
in the vision of the Self, of the Beloved – I am lost in you.
Now as I devote myself to this Friday evening's praise and melody:
should I but part my lips, my breath is fixed on our kiss,
my tongue is married to yours, and only honey may clothe
the words which issue from my mouth
whether sacred or common, to anyone or whomever;
the sweet red wine I drink – is your saliva,
the bread I partake of – is our Fucking.
My body sways with you, it can hardly keep still!  Emotion overtakes me,
I want to weep for yearning after you – then I'm good, I'll be alright.
The sense of separation passes; the determined, indeed pre-determined,
Union is cherished, assured, vouchsafed.
Like water through an aquaduct, blood through my vessels,
you are consciously inseparable from me, feeding me, keeping me alive
for that day when our bodies will join all dimensions in one
never-ending Act of our Lovemaking.   Meanwhile 
I perform this Shabbos-Kiddush, meanwhile
I perform this Puja, meanwhile
I sing. 

And Jesus Spat

(Jn. 9: 1-7)

Who has no self but in God, carries no thought
but the Divine impression unbroken, unprocessed;
comes or goes as the wind, you can't say whence or whither:
Friends, let that one spit!

You who have been blind since birth,
if one comes whose very breath is Healing,
and mingles that spit with the earth of the ground,
rubbing that over your eyes: Friends, let it be done!

The waters of that mouth are prasad indeed,
as is the Word issuing forth therefrom;
let that Stranger come, welcome those hands
which might rest thereon where the pain is!

This one knows where, better than you,
and sees whole and gives whole, rendering whole.
The embrace of one lost in God carries no price tag,
all your wealth could never acquire it -




an attitude of gratitude however is like a magnet,
that is the best of coin here, and innocent trust.
Be like that tenth leper, not the nine,
be like that Samaritan who shouldn't have known better, but did:

give thanks where it is due, return to that hermit in the woods
or the mechanic in his shop – wherever that one hangs out, go!
and render thanks for that spit or that hand or that embrace.
Prasad is best received, like the Eucharist, with humble thanks.

INDEPENDENCE

I Am my own worst enemy.
I Am my own dearest friend.
I Am whoever wishes me well, or ill.
I Am whoever praises or blames me.
I Am whoever is also indifferent to me.
I Am whoever would want to kill me, or provoke me.
I Am whoever remembers me, or doesn't.
I Am whoever comes or goes.
I Am whoever shares joy with me.
I Am whoever debates or argues with me, confronts me or takes me to task.
I Am whomever I Am addressing, now.
I Am my only pupil.
I Am never alone, I honor mySelf in each – never alone,
I Am all one.

No Sunset

The sun of this world is blinding,

if you stare into it long enough

with mortal eyes.

The sun of inner wealth

is brighter still and blinds as well,

but you will only know it with eyes turned inward.

Staring into that with longing,

with concentrated devotion,

you will be granted sight where once you were blind.

When I look at an image of this beloved Swami

I am moved inward, seeing with my heart

that sun of love, unborn, undying, never setting.

Warm, detached, constant, radiating Self,

simple and majestic, seeing all, feeling all,

and knowing only joy.

Lighting all worlds, transcending death,

burning, burning, burning, never extinguished.

Suffers not, judges not, residing in perfection.

All the worlds are held in its rays,

all life is sustained in its glance,

every form is nourished without asking.

The sun of this world is a metaphor of that sun,

given us as a reminder to return and to remember.

And what we call night is likewise always there,

but passive, no longer dominating -

as a dark room is merely space in the absence of light,

when the lamp is lit darkness knows to leave.

The sun of conscious love, with us from the beginning,

with us through the ages, radiating heart of original Self,

accepts any who come, full of beneficence.

There I will make my home.

I Am Whoever I'm Addressing Now

So, am I the enemy? - very well:
then I am "the Enemy".

As long as there's antisemitism
I'm "the Jew".

Wherever racism or bigotry holds sway
I'm that "Other".

Where there's exclusionism
I'm your "Outsider".

If you dream of Holy War
I'm every "Unbeliever".

I will never fit in nor comply with your ideology
whichever that is.
If you vote fear, then fear me;
I am your worst nightmare.

If you loathe difference
I'm as "Different" as it gets -
and also indifferent concerning that.

Where there is aggression in you
I'm your "Aggressee,"
so if you must have an enemy
you need look no further.

But if you expect me to die your "Victim"
you are in error and will be disappointed.;
for you have already lost,
I cannot be conquered.

I am you and I own it.

I have you in myself
and I have conquered you;
you have no existence outside of me.
You're out of business, your career is over.

I've taken you apart and know you.
I've shattered your paradigm of division and hate
and replaced it with Consciousness.

I am love, I am the Self.

Whatever you have done to the least of these,
you have done it to me.

God alone exists and is real, God alone is great.
So deal with it.

For My Children and Grandchildren: Trust Me On This

You might wonder what religion is, is there a use for it, which do you choose, where's the point, does "God" exist.  I am giving you, once and for all, the five essential things you will ever need to guide you on this, as it will affect your life and direction whether you accept this or reject it, take it to heart or let it go.  Call it: Religion without ego.  Trust me on this.

1. God is the source of all existence, and the source of yours, entirely.  By whatever name you relate to "him," for starters relate - as everything exists in God and God alone is existent.  So relate to it and celebrate and be grateful that you're here.

 2. Belief isn't faith but can get you there, and faith isn't experience but can mature and prepare you for it.  You could say - belief is a desire, faith is a trust, experience is a knowing.

3. Place two fingers on your carotid artery, left or right at your neck, feel the clear pulse coursing:  God is closer to you than that.  Take a long, deep breath through the nostrils into the lungs, and down into the belly, hold it, let it out slowly and consciously:  God is closer to you than that as well.  Trust me on this.

4. God is love, and loves you more than a mother loves her own child, and that's pushing the envelope.

 5. Your most profound expression of God or faith is, and will ever be:  love.  So keep in the heart and trust that.  Don't let big talkers mow you down.

Beloved Swami tells us:  See God in everyone.  And that the best form to worship God is every form.  This will make you strong and resistent to all poisonous influences.  Let the God-in-you love everyone, serve everyone and remember God.  And Beloved Swami assures us:  "Understand your Self, seek your Self and find your Self; all the sacred names or forms from East or West, all dwell within you; kneel to your own Self, honor and worship your own Being. Chant the mantra always going on within you, meditate on your own Self: God dwells within you as you."  Trust him on this, take it and go with it!

The Ball's In Your Court

Oh Friend, sit on the ground!

reach forward and place your hand firmly

on the bare earth . . .

And now:  reverse the question you've wasted

countless lifetimes asking.

You are not here to challenge or to prove

whether God exists or is real.

God by whatever worshipped name or form -

God exists, and alone is real.

So what is left?

You are here to challenge and to prove

whether you exist, whether you are real.

And the pain therein is really poignant.

When the ego becomes selfless,

through love, through grace:

the Self which remains will be the answer

which uproots the question.

You will know without effort

who exists and what is real.

In the meantime you meditate in action,

growing consciousness.

Have fun with it.

Source

To a trickle of water I spoke,
a droplet thereof I addressed:
behold the vast ocean, great river – and sea!
That all is there, in you, you're wet with That:
lifetimes and generations, form after form,
in all that you've weathered, your Father/Mother - and whether
you grasp this or not, it Matters not:
in every atom reeling, molecule, and cell is the genetic image
of your very Source -
(O Human, being – try seeing yourSelf in this droplet)
...so be great, or don't, it's alright,
a wave – a rave, a steam – esteem, a body Mass or a pearly drop:
you came from There, you return There, you are There -
so water you thinking?

The Invincible Woman internalized

(from "Notes From The Underground," Berlin 1998-9)


The Invincible Woman  in me whispers, and her whisper is as a light afternoon shower brushing the autumn leaves, or a gentle constant breeze snapping tightly against the ear in Longs Peak's boulderfield, or the steady fragrant current of a Rocky Mountain canyon stream - and she tells me:

"Seek me not outside yourself, neither in Aphrodite nor in Athena, nor Diana nor Hera nor Demeter.  For I indeed am all of these and I am none of them.  As each of these you have found me, recognized and celebrated me.  Now find me as none of these, find me in my essential form, invincible, and inside of your own maleness.  You have to surrender all of these forms so dear to you, develop your male form so it can sustain the discovery in relationship to me as I Am in you.  Let us not speak now of Mother or Dakini or Goddess, I am the Invincible Woman.  Then I can reveal myself to you in consciousness and the fulfillment of polarity.  Then will all Womankind be further blessed.  Then will all women everywhere find and assert their inborn sovereign dignity and power, their inborn sovereign confidence and grace.  This is a very great Seva.  Do this for me, don't put it off any longer."

She must be met in the belly, at the navel, then in the heart, and in one's very marrow.  All forms of her, all images of her manifestation, while ever sacred, must be surrendered into the belly's inner furnace, and surrendered once and for all.  The only way to fulfillment of that longing is to know her as Self and nothing other than Self.  This is love.  All one's seminal juices must be firmly directed there.  She alone and not her images may exist at that place.  One suspects very strongly, one is convinced, that to merge with the Invincible Woman inside, is to never again carry fear or loneliness, never again self-pity. . . . No fear of control by the female erotic power and therefore, having first known and honored it intimately, no succumbing to it.  One is free who belongs to that Invincible Woman inside.  No fear toward control by the male brute-power and therefore no intimidation from it.  One can afford to be open and disarming, who lives with the Invincible Woman inside.  She can take one apart and guide one toward real union.

. . . (against ingratiating weakness of resolve and likewise anger or aggression) the Invincible Woman will clear one of all this.  She will preserve one's sincerity, restore one's dignity, increase one's faith, and make one fearless in all situations.  And if she does this for the man in whom she dwells awake and in full liberty, imagine what she does for the woman in whom she is awakened!

This transformative experience, while set to writing, can hardly be spoken about without losing something of it. It actually refers back to the early adolescent Woods-Dream, the "Dakinis in the Cellar" - and the promise it held out to the dreamer.

http://samuelinayatchisti.blogspot.de/2011/08/dakinis-in-cellar.html