Saturday, September 14, 2019

Pivot of the World


Standing still, you become the pivot of the world, you become a leader, you become whole and holy, and you come to peace beyond all logic and understanding.

Friday, September 13, 2019

Soft voice of wisdom

these days
filled with technology
filled with noise and people
you can hardly hear yourself
or a little child next to you

listen, listen, listen
to the soft voice within
it’s the voice of wisdom

Thursday, September 12, 2019

Go Now, Go Now

Everything changes
nothing abides
Go now, go now
into the nowness

Wednesday, September 11, 2019

Waiting Line Enlightenment

Every long waiting line provides opportunities to be either impatient or patient. Sooner or later impatience drops away into surrender to waiting without expectation. Gradually you become free. You may even laugh. Waiting lines - pathways to enlightenment.

In Our Heads

Our minds are trainable. But we must also discipline our bodies with gentle breathing and movements to get out of our heads. Academic people - students and teachers alike - suffer from being too much in their heads. 

Monday, September 09, 2019

Oneness Consciousnesses Cultivation


Take five minutes now to bring mind to oneness. Do this often during the day. Ideal is five times. But, each day is different. No need to be dogmatic. Some days, no meditation at all. That's okay. The desire for meditation will come back again. You will miss it. Watch how things change with and without meditation.

Sunday, September 08, 2019

Unbounded Knowledge

Universities and colleges put boundaries on knowledge. All the arts, letters, sciences are bound within divisions and departments. Of course there is too much knowledge for any one person to grasp. Still, I wonder if we could better serve education by keeping in mind that the fragmentation of knowledge is a convenience not a reality. Real knowledge is unbounded. The mind is happiest when it glimpses the interconnection of all things.

Wednesday, September 04, 2019

Fields of dreams

Our lives are like fields of dreams within a luminous empty screen of pure consciousness. Within those dreams come a few thoughts, insights, and realities that are eternal – that are not dreams. Such thoughts are true comfort and wisdom within the uncertainties of life.

Tuesday, September 03, 2019

Settle the Mind


Settle the mind;
the Unconditioned Self arises.
Illusions become transparent.
Deep reality shines through.

Sonnet

Putting all your love into something leaves you empty; expecting love to be returned so as to fill the void which has been created. 
Love everything to the fullest extent.
Just don't forget to direct that love inward too. 
You can't give what you don't have.
Love yourself.
This is how you can love others.

Monday, September 02, 2019

Life Lives Us



We don’t live life, life lives us.

It’s an error to think “I’m in control”.  Don’t even think about it. Live naturally.

A young person may say, “I’ll never get married.” Than they are soon thereafter, married with a child or two!

Another youth says, “I’ll never be so conservative when I get old.” But when they get old they do the things, are things that they had rejected. 

The seasons of life express themselves through us.

Sunday, September 01, 2019

The Cloud - by Shelley

I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, 
From the seas and the streams; 
I bear light shade for the leaves when laid 
In their noonday dreams. 
From my wings are shaken the dews that waken 
The sweet buds every one, 
When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, 
As she dances about the sun. 
I wield the flail of the lashing hail, 
And whiten the green plains under, 
And then again I dissolve it in rain, 
And laugh as I pass in thunder. 

I sift the snow on the mountains below, 
And their great pines groan aghast; 
And all the night 'tis my pillow white, 
While I sleep in the arms of the blast. 
Sublime on the towers of my skiey bowers, 
Lightning my pilot sits; 
In a cavern under is fettered the thunder, 
It struggles and howls at fits; 
Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion, 
This pilot is guiding me, 
Lured by the love of the genii that move 
In the depths of the purple sea; 
Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills, 
Over the lakes and the plains, 
Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream, 
The Spirit he loves remains; 
And I all the while bask in Heaven's blue smile, 
Whilst he is dissolving in rains. 

The sanguine Sunrise, with his meteor eyes, 
And his burning plumes outspread, 
Leaps on the back of my sailing rack, 
When the morning star shines dead; 
As on the jag of a mountain crag, 
Which an earthquake rocks and swings, 
An eagle alit one moment may sit 
In the light of its golden wings. 
And when Sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath, 
Its ardours of rest and of love, 
And the crimson pall of eve may fall 
From the depth of Heaven above, 
With wings folded I rest, on mine aëry nest, 
As still as a brooding dove. 

That orbèd maiden with white fire laden, 
Whom mortals call the Moon, 
Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor, 
By the midnight breezes strewn; 
And wherever the beat of her unseen feet, 
Which only the angels hear, 
May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof, 
The stars peep behind her and peer; 
And I laugh to see them whirl and flee, 
Like a swarm of golden bees, 
When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent, 
Till calm the rivers, lakes, and seas, 
Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high, 
Are each paved with the moon and these. 

I bind the Sun's throne with a burning zone, 
And the Moon's with a girdle of pearl; 
The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim, 
When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl. 
From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape, 
Over a torrent sea, 
Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof, 
The mountains its columns be. 
The triumphal arch through which I march 
With hurricane, fire, and snow, 
When the Powers of the air are chained to my chair, 
Is the million-coloured bow; 
The sphere-fire above its soft colours wove, 
While the moist Earth was laughing below. 

I am the daughter of Earth and Water, 
And the nursling of the Sky; 
I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores; 
I change, but I cannot die. 
For after the rain when with never a stain 
The pavilion of Heaven is bare, 
And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams 
Build up the blue dome of air, 
I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, 
And out of the caverns of rain, 
Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, 
I arise and unbuild it again.