A War of Nerves

We are seeing times coming for which some of us were being prepared. Those studying in inner schools of discipline and traditions of spiritual development which today is often belied by the current patterns and trends of narcissistic pop-superficial "seeking".

A time of clearly deadening insanity has arrived and is accelerating, evidenced by what is occurring in EUrope at the hands of Brussels and of Merkel, of an entire post-'68er culture of flatulent political elites. An insanity driven to their call by a powerful and gravely compromised, dumbed-down mainstream media – and reflected in the images of plenty of celebrities who will promote anything to try to stay relevant to the further and ever further dumbed-down public.

It remains to be seen how far an abominable catastrophe of harrowing proportions has been averted by the defeat of Hillary at the polls and by putting a tether on the Clinton Clout and the legacy of Democrats. (This is not a pitch for the Republicans, however.)

We were being prepared for a time when unimaginable break-downs, an implosion of nervous systems on a mass level going on all around one – right before one – people completely losing it, would be so ongoing that it would gradually fail to shock anymore, or at least to surprise.

We were being prepared to strengthen our nerves, open our hearts and go to bat for the victims of such a madness, while frequency changes on the planet affect events in a most cataclysmic manner and to a most unspeakable extent.

Not an "End-Times" canard but a very real change of times – in vibration and tempo – which will test many wills for the preservation of faith, confront old perspectives for the preservation of truth, demand flexible spines and nerves of steel to see this time through, and to help others who are perhaps ready to wake up who have seen the abyss and choose not to go there, not be drawn by the herd over it, but to resist.

To prepare oneself inwardly and actually, to train in non-theoretical self-defense, to commit oneself to remaining humbly conscious and to strengthen the heart – this means to lose all fear of being politically incorrect, to lose all fear of saying what needs to be said, even in the face of mob opposition to one's right to do so and to join others in doing so. Come what may.

This challenge was made known to us by a number of beloved great Beings, living and teaching among us, eating with us and sharing with us, driving and training us, very much in flesh and bone, in whose presence one found spirit to be closer than one's own breath. These were the old souls, who came and gave freely, of the living streams of the heart.

The one whose challenge I am addressing here in this writing, was and for me remains:
my Siri Singh Sahib, my beloved Yogi Bhajan.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BMw9ivh-3AM

Lovingkindness

When love is drawn from its totality and applied in action there is no longer an abstractness to philosophize about.  Even kindness alone finds its limitation in one’s own self-identification and its "demand" upon oneself or upon others to necessarily "show" that toward everyone.

Lovingkindness draws its impulse and its power from love, imbuing kindness with a release from self in the fuller expression of one’s true nature.

The source of that nature is love, and ever was love.  The source drives the force of action, and guides it all, as does Krishna the chariot of Arjuna on the battlefield.

If I acknowledge myself to be a mere drop of water, then it's a matter of course that I draw something from a river current which is constant, which has no beginning or end.  And that river has its source in the sea, in the ocean by whichever name – likewise, wending its way through life’s terrains, gathering and losing and being wet, returning to that sea or that ocean by whatever name.

So neither orthodox nor heretic, nor the zealous fundamentalist nor the atheist, need impress me in the least; for, it not being "about me" I can concern myself with the source, practice lovingkindness without "being right" or "expecting" tolerance from anyone at all.  It is one of the sincerest proofs of real independence, if it is anything.

Lovingkindness is not developing a head in the clouds but a head on your shoulders, with two eyes focused straight ahead on the living being right in front of you, and a full-bodied love pouring from the heart getting you wet and everyone in proximity to you.  Wet with light.  It doesn't "belong" to you, so you don't have to sweat "owning" it or "proving anything.  Even proximity is but as limited as your own imagination.

My beloved friend Joe Miller often said, "what is needed are three things: common sense, a sense of humor, and more common sense."

This in turn cultivates a real and authentic generosity.

Spending more time with that source, rather than eating up one's valuable time and energy over "being right" or "expecting kindness" or spouting "tolerance", would profit the very depth of anyone actively appreciating the precious opportunities one's own life has presented one without going out and looking for anything to "confirm" one's self-identity.

And one would find more confidence in prayer, if one cared to discover the value in that.

Lovingkindness is not collecting clothes or money, or dragging care packages all over - one may do that of course, it's alright.  When the Beloved Embodiment in my life, of relying on the source, first communicated to me in three simple instructions:  love everyone, serve (or feed) everyone, remember God - that "serving" meant being conscious toward all and that "feeding" meant nourishing.  Food and goods are but forms of nourishment.  Christ said there is water from which to drink, by which none shall ever after know thirst.  And that by immersing in the source, streams of living water will flow from your belly.

It is also lovingkindness to take a stand, to hold the unpopular position, to not shrink from battle when faced with the gravest challenge on the field of endeavor from the very forces who are not bringing with them any manner of lovingkindness.

It behoves one to probe what taking Human form is about.

Who Should Believe...

Put a center in that gut, in the pit of that belly.
Maintained there, find your anchor: stable, sober, objective,
open to seeing, hearing, reflecting, forbearing –
without panic responding in depth, in that breath.

Heart can open without losing touch with ground, deep grounding ...
deep-ends on the quality of sincerity.
There where your ass is set is your asset.
Who should believe, but that desire has brought you here to manifest!

Rewards and Punishments

When you are sovereign in knowing that you are naught – your dignity
doesn't lie in recognition from this world's company, you can relax
and just love.

Evangelical Christians and loyal adherents of "The-Religion-Of-Peace"
are so hell-bent on seeing to it that heaven or paradise await them after death.
I could care less. God's sovereign Presence is my heaven here and now.

The zealous and the not-so-zealous may sell
their own loved ones to avoid hell. To hell with this shit,
I say, and if a rabbi tells me it's just a "long sleep" I guess I'll pass.

I've slept long enough in my lifetime, I'm staying awake for this.
So wish me to hell, I don't care – I carry God's love in my heart
and in my marrow, where I am doesn't matter, this will never abandon me.

Wishing everyone a beautiful and a blessed Fourth Advent.

"There Where Your Treasure Is ..."

I get taken for "ideological" when I tirelessly confront and expose ideologies to examination, in particular the most ideological – and dangerously so – of them all: "The-Religion-Of-Peace". I don't hold to any brand or form of "superiority" of persons – and you have this in Jews and in Christians (most particularly in America) and in some other religious designations. In “The-Religion-Of-Peace“ most dangerously so. It's the one common thread which appears to link them all under the apparent characteristic called "fundamentalism." The word has in it fundament and mental, so the problem is inherent, as spirit is not a mental exercise.

For this is at best a misnomer, as Jewish or Christian "fundamentalists" would do better to devote themselves to unconditional love as their own true fundament, which does not bespeak superiority. "The-Religion-Of-Peace" holds this fundamental supremacism in its very marrow. And not just theoretically but quite concretely and actively, as is obligatory, with force, coercion and deception inherently enjoined.

The guidance which I personally take as my rule is to love, serve and remember. And, to defend the defenseless, the innocent and truth. And not even the words, because then it's all concept again, or: "no-fun, just dumb-mental". I hold in image (not as cult but as devotion toward my fundament) those personal Beings who, embodying this, gave me this. If that makes me ideological – then only idiot-logically so.

"For there where your treasure is, there will your heart be also."

Let me share something with the reader, quite personally, to illustrate.

Back when I discovered my attraction toward healing, I'd made it my custom to approach lots of people, in lots of situations, from well-endowed to down-and-out, with towel and water and almond oil, to wash and massage their feet. In rooms, in parks, on the street, anyone and anywhere. Not once or twice, but over a long period. I was not on drugs. I preached nothing, I had no ideology and nothing to sell. I was internalizing and demonstrating John 13:1-17.

Shortly thereafter I began a 12-year period of development in a school pertaining to inner work and a demanding spiritual preparation. Everything that went on there, the invaluable teachings and the mickey-mouse which came with it, went toward a foundation of inner preparation for: now. There was a period where for two solid years running, without so much of a day's gap, we ran a Community Kitchen, serving lunch in an open place culled from entirely contributed food and foodstuffs from local supermarkets who could not use their surplus on any given day which were still fresh. The cost-free meal, prepared with love and sweat regardless of our other schedules and obligations, was made available to anyone who came. One did not have to be poor or transient. It was a coming together of anyone who came. And they came, and they ate. We were not on drugs, we preached nothing, we had no ideology and nothing to sell. The food was good.

While later living in San Francisco, that being 1985, I was often home-visiting caregiver to AIDs-stricken clients, among others. I had also at about this time opted to join the Army, something quite contrary to my concepts up to that point. I entered one domicile on Twin Peaks overlooking the City, to spend four scheduled nights with a guy whose stage of AIDS was as advanced as it gets. He sat woodenly in the livingroom as three friends of his partner created atmosphere over pinochle and chat. The partner was a very dear fellow who himself showed unmistakeable signs already of Karposi's-Sarcoma. I was immediately regarded as the ideologically homo-distanced hetero who's joining the Army to get more butch or something. This although they had nothing to actually go on. The client himself was in no position to speak but was still consicous of most of what passed around him. His partner expressed to me the client's wish, as a practicing Buddhist, to have the Tibetan Book of the Bardos read aloud to him, as is customary with those soon departing and after their departure. The partner was a bit overwhelmed with the task, and as I was already quite familiar with the book, its purpose and its use, I gladly relieved him of it.

For two nights running I read to my client from the preparation for dissimilation and the entering into the Bardos. The third night I showed, he was already laying on the bed and this was evidently it. Back then I did not work with aprons, gloves, masks; I just did the work I was there to do. We, his partner and I, laid ourselves on that bed on either side of this dying client. I to his right, his partner on the left. We each had our respective arm under his neck, as – leaning in to that sweaty, clammy, emaciated, decimated, wooden-stiff body as the person in it prepared for transition, with every unspoken fear or expectation or unfinished business – we two whispered together into each respective ear, the name Amitabha, the Buddha of Compassion, as is customary. Then he died, his breath going out as I was one sniff away from his cheek.

Left alone in that room at 2 a.m. with that body, I asked for a basin and such, and washed it, carefully, with dignity. When I left the room, my four day stint ended there with three – they all stood in the livingroom and received me into their embrace. We discussed amicably and in low tones about the deceased, much of it was not charming – but it was real. As real as physical care is and ideology is not.

"For there where your treasure is, there will your heart be also."

The Thought Of My Heart

There in the thought of my heart

I am with you, loving you and making love with you.

I am painting your lips with my tongue as would a slender brush,

my lips stroke and carress yours, bringing out a tender blush,

our tongues give themselves fiercely softly to one another in heady flush -

all finely intense and concentrated -

there in the thought of my heart.

This has no pause but is now and eternal, promised and delivered both,

here in my heart is every freedom open to you,

roam where you like be as you like!

There is nowhere to go and there are no limits.

Holding this kiss, holding, holding you me in this kiss and this
embrace of mouths,

we needn't speak of all else we're proceeding to do

with these two bodies and hearts,

there in the thought of my heart - we've long since given it word

and it is in the spheres.

Lovers do not go away.  They make the Beloved taste so real
it makes atoms reel

in every detail of Form in this world and quite some others as well.

You are my Beloved, in the thought of my heart you are my Beloved.

Deepener of Your Faith

I am neither Jew nor Christian, nor Sikh nor Buddhist,
and neither am I Hindu nor Muslim, certainly not atheist.
I AM the Deepener of YOUR Faith. That is my job.
Concentrate and behold, give focus there, don't sob
about your uncertainty or project your conviction
on everyone else – pay attention in self-reflection!
Trust the Sun in your breast, in your belly its fire,
go there – give in to its breadth! - breathe, radiate higher
into all spheres penetrating out, out – touching hearts:
burning forth, bringing health, knowing every cell every part,
loving every dimension of each, detached and indifferent
toward being right or being wrong, toward Orient or Occident –
sloughing all identity you probe the subtle, let guide divinity...
Compassion toward past, here is reality, birthing your future – now is eternity.
You have no idea – and that is well, you don't always have to know –
your ear atuned within, your eye as well, allowing this certainty to grow;
no time wasted over heaven or hell, but empathy and lovingkindness
count for everything, and with sincerity you will know what success
tastes like when your tongue repeats the sound of breath which is the Name
which came to you in the womb of her from whom you sprang –
and has been with you from the Beginning, before Time.

Heart Seeing

Jesus stands before me in the night:

I tell him, "You shouldn't have come.
Now I know with my own eyes
that you're there, that you exist.
I didn't need this.
The faith in my heart had already sufficed."

Jesus steht vor mir in der Nacht:

Ich sage ihm, "Ach, Du hättest nicht kommen sollen.
Jetzt weiss ich bescheid mit eigenen Augen,
dass Du da bist, dass es Dich gibt.
Ich hätte es nicht nötig.
Der Glaube in meinem Herzen hätte schon genügt."

What Would Swami Say?...

Were you ever in love?
Can you imagine a beloved, your beloved,
can you relate to that?

Madly in love with this beloved,
you sing and you sing and you breathe
and you sing some more, on every tone
you're in the presence of this beloved,
and your beloved is with you, never leaving you.
This beloved is unborn and undying,
imparting health and wholeness, lots of
nonsentimental evelasting love.

Whatever the circumstances -- you might get placed
in solitary confinement for being politically incorrect,
and make that your temple.
If you were gagged and bound you'd hum
the beloved's song; if they drugged you
or put you under, your beloved would sing to you.

Were I to make a list of all the variations of my song
to this beloved, I'm afraid it would be long.
And long is the slow melody
of the great Shiva homage, offering refuge,
imparting expansion of crown and heart and matter,
and much earth as well in a highly etheric manner --
making the entire space palpably sacred.

That is how I'd received it first over forty years ago,
hardly anyone sings it like that now.
Yet it's still all there, and I'm still in love.
This is my religion, sealed in faith.

Sovereign Presence

They stood over me glowering in disgust,
arrogant and assured of victory;
no point in discussion, they don't discuss.

"Your mantras and repetitions, bowing to images,
won't save but damn you," they said, "you'll never
see paradise, only burn in hell if you don't embrace what we are."

"It's alright,“ I said, “I'm not booking to paradise anyway –
and hell would be embracing you, so what could be worse?
I'm not going anywhere," I said, “but I'll tell you where we most differ:

We may both be prepared to be killed for our convictions,
but I will never be prepared to kill for mine."
"We'll send you to hell," they repeated, "but we serve the one true God!"

Reposing in the breath, trusting grace, I replied, "Neither
heaven nor hell await me when your sword falls,
only the Sovereign Presence, and I'll tell you now where I'll be:

In every face you have before you, in every eye you regard,
even as I'd placed myself between you and your victims
and looked you straight in the eye this very day:

I will be there looking back, witnessing, watching, reminding,
beckoning, haunting – you will have no rest. Sleep
will avoid you, no comfort in victory, that will be
snatched from your hands the moment your sword falls.

For you will never be rid of me, I'll be where I am now,
here in the Sovereign Presence, in mantra and in worship,
until that time your heart returns from the dead."

There Is Not A Day Goes By

There is not a day goes by, nor a night, that the thought of my heart
is not immersed in Prayer and Presence, in concentrated lovingkindness
toward and embracing and enveloping and for the deliverence and healing:
of all victims of perpetrators and predators, of victims who later could
themselves become perpetrators, and of victims who remain victims.

Not a moment actually goes by without my holding close to my breast

in prayer and in yearning, those daughters in Nigeria

who are my own concern, and women and gays and Christians and children
throughout the abetted and vetted cultures of tyranny and violence, who are
either persecuted, terrorized, tortured, murdered or "executed" -
while Islam may have no monopoly on such outrages,

it certainly has a corner on that market.

Children who are mistreated and abused systematically, kidnapped,
sold for sex in a most unkind cult and culture of pädophilia, more widespread
and abetted than one cares to imagine - networked, as with satanic covens

(which one dare not mention);

these occupy indeed my politically powerless days of which there is not one

to which I don't dedicate hours to Prayer and Presence.
Where in Scripture is spoken of "not merely persons but

powers and principalities,"

we can speak today of lobbies, networks and tyrannies, systems of
overweening presence and power and designs on absolute control.

Therefore:  Prayer and Presence, the presence of real light,
and the prayer of faith - to fight for the light against the night, with
faith in the face of all daunting odds, of power which is of the world, of

indifference and of decadence, of sloth of heart.

Of all the tea-candles I burn in a week, the one constant is the
six-day oil candle which burns and is replaced, that this flame is
never extinguished, but burns 24/7, burns undeterred for those
who belong to ourselves, those whom we want to see free.

So for the hundreth time I am invited any reading this,

to join me in the following:

http://samuelinayatchisti.blogspot.de/2012/01/candle-for-farthing.html

Even Then, Even Then

"So – where do you live?" I was asked.
"In the Heart of every living Woman," I replied.
"And … what's when they're entirely occupied with Smart-phone texting?"
"Even then, even then."
"Waait – but aren't you really in Berlin, last I'd heard?"
"That's only for appearances."

http://samuelinayatchisti.blogspot.de/2014/02/light-comes.html

Being With Yourself

Prayer is not the words but

the Word as it makes sovereign your tongue

(evenso whether spoken or sung);

blind is faith not, but conscious –

and there is no faith without this.

Prayer is consciously speaking

the divine intention, its healing impulse –

if prayer it is.

The tip of that tongue is

creator, sustainer or destroyer –

it can idly maim or murder as easily as

it can concern itself with what is sacred,

consciously whispering ceaselessly

the Beloved’s Name

into action.

Prayer is the language of the heart

on the tongue

in action.

Prayer is being with yourself

more intimately

in compassionate friendship.

Prayer in action.

Meditation in action.

Rest in action.

Faith is now, not maybe;

here, not the "hereafter";

responsibly transcending

all time and space –

inheriting the earth.

Hanuman Springing

No dollars no sense
I haven’t a goddam nickel
I can count on –
this non-cents has got to stop!
Yet there is this love so rich,
at moments unannounced
I do sense such wealth,
Hanuman springing from my chest
swallowing the sun!

Opening exerpt from "Sam's Notes From The Underground, 1998-9, Berlin"

In the privacy of your heart, seek the stilllness

and learn to surrender yourself to it.

In the inner stillness choose your own atmosphere.

In your own atmosphere learn to praise God according to inspiration.

Praising God you write your own future.

There you will find yourself, you will make your way.

Walking The Walk

(feeling Sheikh Hassan of Nablus)

Friends, I'll tell you –
there are days and there are moments
when I don't know who I am.
When on the intake and the outake
of one breath after another,
I hear distant cymbals and a drum –
and the vast space within me,
mad and sovereign, intones a heady chorus
of God is Alive, He is Everywhere Now.

Friends, let me confess –
there are days and there are moments
without a nickle in my pocket.
When one leg walks and the other leg walks,
and the left says allah-hayy, da'im-hu,
and the other leg likewise,
with a stride and a knowledge
of the truth and the reality of this,
with this mad love toward you and you and you
sharpening my glance:
and this heart – this heart abreast
with every heart which comes to mind,
beats with a power half my age.
There is fear toward no one, nor cold in winter,
only sovereign, only sovereign love and joy,
moving and beating with every step, peace
with every thought, with every breath -
there is no religion in it, only faith.

Friends, coursing through my arms and
into my hands and my fingertips
is this dhikr, this hadhrat, this focused adoration!
Neither do I own it nor am I entranced,
it is as natural as holding this cat purring
or driving to my patients or getting the groceries.
It's the balm addressed in my dream in the open field
that night nearly four decades hence, the balm
for suffering humankind.

It holds the atoms together and blesses,
it commands and it radiates the desire
for your well-being and anyone else's.
Friends!  Walking the Walk of the Beloved,
you pick up only the Beloved's scent.

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.

"Getting Religion" II

Religion is like a body –
like a body it has a head,
a heart, a gut, a yoni and a lingam.
And an asshole.

Religion is like a body –
the head is for thinking-too-much;
the heart is for bringing light into the world,
circulating divine nourishment into all organs,
manifesting love as Human so this world might survive
in knowing joy through that One Breathing Truth;
the gut is for drawing the darkness out of its scary corner:
to do the work of offering it into the light;
the lingam is for positive penetration of Consciousness
into the Earth; the yoni is for warmth and depth, bringing forth life.
The asshole, in over-abundance, gives us jihad and all manner of control issues.
(Every body has one of these – only in religion there are ever so many.)

Religion is like a body –
in which head defines and calculates, feels separate from body;
whereas heart is in that body, nourishes it constantly, earthy and divine.
Head thinks thoughts, writes a theology, says heart doesn't think;
heart indeed thinks – but in dimensions of Unity head cannot grasp.
The asshole is entirely thoughtless, narcisstically striving to
dominate and to rule with unquestioned authority.

The Bringers of light – for whom religions were named, systematized
– these always were first of the heart,
feeding the body as only heart can.
They taught in heart, knowing there would be heads later.
And they knew that religion is like a body –
there would be assholes.

When Sufis give themselves over to zikr,
or Yogis to nada and laya, the Yogas of sound –
when these are practiced devotedly in homes,
in temples, in caves, or in ashrams;
when choirs move listeners and members both
to inner heights which only heart can offer:
then is religion like a body well-served.

(O pious egos! Ablutions will never remove your dirt,
a clean heart will: clear your hearts not of taste of pork –
but rather of envy and intrigue, of bigotry and loathing,
of supremacism and subterfuge, of primitive posturing.
If enemies would just finally love their enemies, then
"the enemy of my enemy" just might well be my friend.)

Then you can think with your heart, act from your heart,

heal other hearts through your heart, as God so intended.

For God is Love, and this Love brought us into manifestation.

Right.

(on Wanta Jampinjinpa of the Walpiri Community)

I briefly heard an Aborigine,

watched his face and felt his timbre,

how he softly told of moving and acting,

thinking and feeling with the earth of

this world, the surroundings...

And invariably every second phrase or sentence

he would end in all but a whisper with, "... right."

Mild, sovereign, humble – but reflective, not self-conscious,

rather like an afterthought, matter-of-fact.

As he spoke before the camera,

punctuating his simple and generations-rich

statement with that barely audible "... right,"

he was doing more than talking, he was giving Teaching.

He could have been Native American,

Native this, Native that, but he's Australian,

Native of there – and whether they all do this

or just he does this, what came across

were all those thousands of generations

of living in close Wisdom with the Earth and her creatures,

all the Knowledge and Heart and Being, in that "... right."

And all that he wanted was, for us to finally get it … right.