Pulse and Breath

Take two fingers, either hand, and place them on your neck, either side. Right there on your carotid artery. Feel something? God is closer to you than that – every beat.

Now take a breath, inhale once, hold it for just one second, and exhale. Easy enough? God is closer to you than that.

Need I say more? Good - I'll hand this back over to Kabir, version by Robt. Bly:

"I laugh when I hear the fish in the water is thirsty.

You don't grasp the fact that what is most alive of all is
inside your own house;
and so you walk from one holy city to the next with a confused look!

Kabir will tell you the truth: Go wherever you like,
to Calcutta or Tibet;
If you can't find where your soul is hidden, for you the world will
never be real!"

Carpe Diem

I am reeling with gladness without reason -
in me is a king rising to his feet to receive the Guest in woolen robe;
I am smiled upon from unseen lips
and I sniff the scent of incoming life.

Friend, you've flown by day at altitudes well above all clouds,
you know that the sun is constant, indifferent to climate -
and ceaselessly sourcing in its giving.

Clouds are beautiful, fluffy or dark – and they come,
and they go, joy or bummer – like your moods.
Don't be the clouds, be the sun!
And Friend, may that light ever shine within your heart,
even as you shine within mine.

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.

C-Food

Contact what you love and hold That in devoted focus.

Carry That which you love every moment in your heart,

on the breath current, in your step;

That will be with you now and in the hereafter.

Come-Union.

What you name "That" or "some other" That, isn't what matters;
let no one dictate to you what "That" is or in what form.
Digest the C-Food and leave the shells behind.

Reflection

I speak to my impatient, righteous indignation
as to an anguished mother:
You are not here to make the world better.
You are an agent of kindness, of light,
of ineffable joy, of God's Pleasure,
a witness to the day here and now, and hereafter.

You are an agent of awakening consciousness,
of surrender.
Don't be the pray-er, be the prayer!
Be what you would have, and you are that.

You are here to love without hope, giving hope;
without recognition, giving succor.
Be the light from which you came,
and the world will be better for 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?

For Mevlana (II)

Our Work is a labor of love -

   it hasn't gain or profit for a spearhead;

   it goes back to gratitude

   so deep it's timeless, bottomless . . .

Whether one is fed or another is fed -

   it doesn't matter anymore.

We work because we see no separation,

   not because we do:

but work we must, for it's all we know.

Our Work is a labor of love -

   when the "workers" have dissolved

   into the fruit of that labor,

this Work will return to the realm of Ideas . . .

Love only is real.

(April 1987)