birthday poem

In this uncreated emptiness

- an unfurling, unfolding
energy-locus trembling with
sensations so varied
they appear to hold
no common currency -

experience swings

from melting tenderness
and wide-eyed wonder
to the creaking pain
of bodybits worn and stressed
(there’s a tutu pirouetting
on satin points in one scene;
stomping across the stage
leaden-hoofed in another)

In this uncreated emptiness

there’s a seeing, a knowing
a luminous awareing of every tonality
and every texture
every nuance of light and shade
shimmer and flicker
conspiring to create an apparent world

there’s an immaculate stillness
unchanging, unmoving, unaffected
by the stories told by
pleasure, pain or perfection

there’s a brilliant beingness
in which every dance
listed in life’s repertoire
is danced by be the one

whirling
crazy lover
inexhaustibly romancing its insatiable
self

emelle says:
off with the training-wheels,
away with the Zimmer-frame
I raise my glass to Life!

Beloved, let this heart beat long enough
to whirl a few more orbits of the sun
dissolving, giddy and swooning, into your arms
which are
none other
than
my own

~ miriam louisa

love’s the ultimate sly squatter

~

how could it come to pass that halfway
through my sixty-eighth orbit of the sun
Love
would find me?

how, when I was without need
or hunger or even a shy dream that
Love
might find me?

perhaps Love, like me, is a homeless vagrant;
like a mysterious night moth,
It seeks out the empty, glowing
innocent heart
and quietly moves in

emelle says:
Love’s the ultimate sly squatter

~ miriam louisa

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I want to die comforting someone

Mags Deane has kindly given me permission to repost this jewel – which touched me to the quick – from her blog.  In the post, called Tenderized Heart, she writes:

This is one of my favorite pieces of writing, from Jeannie Zandi.

I like to come to it when my heart is looking for some softening.

May we live for this dear hearts.

There is nothing between you and I.  My heart is tenderized to the extent that when your pain rises, I feel it in my chest, and there’s simply this love that doesn’t have a two.  Because that extra one, that “me” and “mine”, is over, it went when the will was broken by life’s refusal to do it “my” way.  So there’s no longer anything between us.

In that, this love rises that knows the beauty and the heartbreak of our shared humanness, the heights we can soar to, the depths we can sink to, the heartbreak that we must bear because we often cannot embody what our hearts wish to embody in all its beauty and perfection, the love that we are and have the potential to express.  We long to be love in every cell and we fail so miserably, and it hurts us to the core.  We’re so beautiful, and so brave, and so screwed.  We can’t get away from the unconscious aspects of ourselves and we can’t commit ourselves entirely to the dungeon.  We are all crucified on that cross of humanness.

And for this there is such a rising of compassion and mercy in the empty heart that has taken that crucifixion to the end, such a sweetness and a desire to give whatever kindness or assistance one can to these brave and beautiful creatures – you as a servant are born.  And then God moves us deeply to see that everyone is not only Her creation for me to give myself to, everyone is actually Her.  The feeling rises that says anything I have I will give you, oh brave children of God, oh sweet faces of Her.

I could never repay the debt I have to the Beloved for the gift of being allowed to see Her face, to see that everyone has always been Her, and that I’ve spent years treating them and myself, which is Her, as objects or enemies, or merely walked by so many in need or failed to look upon Her face with the love that is so obviously due Her.  What was I doing?  What was I thinking? As Donovan sang in Brother Sun, Sister Moon, “preoccupied with selfish misery”.  That’s what I was doing.

And an awareness of every moment of this selfish obliviousness is there, alongside the clear sight that all are so worthy of our love and kindness.  We know there just aren’t enough years to praise Her name, to love Her tender face in the faces of our brothers and sisters.  There is no bad guy!  There is only the embodiment of Her, on the cross of heaven and earth, angel and creature, struggling to live up to Her heavenly gift under the weight of this unconscious conflict and self-hate.  There is nothing so compelling as that and to offer whatever we have to that.

This is something that rises when you get broken.  There’s this wealth of gratitude, this feeling that the debt can never be repaid for the beauty of Her in every being.  I couldn’t possibly give any of you enough to serve the liberation of the love that is hidden in your heart.  Ammachi says I want to die comforting someone – she’s hugging herself to death and it’s her joy, because everything in her says I am here to be given to You who I am as well.  That is the feeling when we’re emptied out. It’s what we are underneath the conflict.

And it keeps getting deeper.  We keep getting more sensitive, more transparent.  Pretty soon we might as well sit inside everybody’s pants, it’s so intimate.  You have a feeling across the room and I feel you.  And it’s my joy to have you guys fill my body with your angst.  I’m dying to help you with that.  I’ll meet anything you have.  You have a cold?  Give it to me.  I can’t even imagine the joy Christ must have felt to die for his God in the form of his brothers and sisters.  What else can I give?  All I’ve got is my life, sure.  What a joy it is to love you, to be this love, to know you as love, to break the bread of love with each other, to give you, my most precious, whatever it is I have to give, which is never enough to glorify your beauty and Her name, and to liberate the dove of gorgeous tender love that lives in your heart.

And guess what?  All the while She is loving Herself through you.  THROUGH you.  So you get loved as it moves through your body.  Your entire body is radiated by God’s love as you apparently love.  There’s only Her radiant love.

So, yes, that’s the only thing worth longing for.  If you have the longing for this love, yeah!  Stoke that fire, burn in that place where you want it so bad.  Don’t calm that down!  It’s worth it.

~ Jeannie Zandi

these words are clumsy feet

.

The one who grieves -
who finds it is their ‘work’

The one who’s sad -
who aches for yesterday

The one who awares -
who beams this unlit light

The one who woes -
who keens to love’s goneness

The one who weeps -
who melts in holy love

who – or what – is that One?

These words are clumsy feet
(dual by default)
dancing the dream

The  Beloved rests
unmoved
impartial
in the wings
caps in lap:

choreographer, director
actor and audience

absorbed within
Its one-wo:man act
and never leaving Home
for even half a heartbeat

~ miriam louisa,  bowing to she-knows-who

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for as long as wanting wants

.

for as long
as wanting wants

anything – anything
even
not-wanting
stillness is abandoned
great silence is silenced
peace is merely a story

.

for as long
as wanting wants

there will be a wanter
an insatiable grasper
an inexhaustible seeker
deaf
to the savage wisdom
that whispers
you are that
which you seek!

.

for as long
as wanting wants

and the wanter
believes
it has more substance
than a thought;
believes
it’s real, with an agenda
(noble, naturally)

Heart
is divorced from its
Beloved.

~ miriam louisa

beloved Beloved

.

beloved Beloved

.

How can You be so evident
and yet
completely missed
as we search for You
insatiably?

.

How can You be so simple
and at the same time
so subtle
that overlooking You
takes priority?

.

How can You be so clear
and nakedly
present
yet only be referred to
in riddles?

.

How can You be so Total
so inescapably
everything
and yet
be nothing knowable
or nameable?

.

~ miriam louisa

who moves you?

.

Who moves you?

When you let go of the steering wheel,
when you relax your agenda,
your busy planning,
who moves you?

Who grows the hair on your head?

Who pushes the sprouts up from the ground?

Who moves you?

Right now That is asking you to dance.

Are you willing?

Ready for a red hot tango with ….?

~ Chameli Ardagh

Part of a very beautiful heart-whisper from Chameli Ardagh.

Please go to her awakeningwomen site to read the whole invitation – and juicy writing galore.

a b i d e … r e s t … m e l t

What if there was a world you could slip into without effort of any kind, a world where you had no name, no status, no history?  A world where you didn’t have to know anything about striving to be richer, healthier, more creative, more attractive, more lovable? Imagine a world where the words enlightenment, awakening, freedom, salvation, were yet to be thought-up.  What if that world was real and ever-available, no conditions ever attached?

And what if that world was the Real World, for it was – unlike the dream world one normally inhabits – ever-present and changeless?  What if that world – which would be more accurately called ‘world-ing’ – was one’s natural home and substance?  What if IT was closer, more intimate than anything one could conceive?

Wouldn’t that change everything?

IT is here, right now, in just this.  Just this everythingness and whateverness.

Abide.  Rest.  Melt.

The Oneness we fondly call Beloved is waiting: bouquets in one hand, a big broom in the other.  You will be taken, you will be loved, you will be cleansed and re-formatted.  And you will eventually  - it might take a while, depending on the extent of your self-delusion – find it impossible to return to the old world.  In fact it ceases to exist for you; it has been absorbed by the new View.

What if all it took was a backing away from beliefs of any kind – even poetic expressions like the previous paragraph?  What if thoughts of any kind were the only obstacle to Truth?

Wouldn’t you want to find out for yourself?

You are warmly invited.  Admittance is free … but costs everything.

~ miriam louisa

thank you for the hairy ones

This little blog was launched two years ago, on Mothers’ Day 2009, and dedicated to my sweet mother, Miriam. I’m a little late this year – it’s already Monday in this part of the world – but a post is pressing this morning, a prayer of gratitude for all mothers, including the miraculous and long-suffering Earth that is truly our lifelong womb.

.

.

Beloved Life

Thank you for Mothers

Thank you for all your awesome
ways
of replicating yourself
from simple cell-division
and eggs a zillion ways
to womb-birthed, pouch-held
babes

Thank you for the hairy
ones
the crusty, the creepy,
the slithery, the feathered ones,
the ones we love and
those that scare us silly

Thank you for the ones we call
human
our own, who built our scaffolding
from their own cells so that
the Light of your Awareness
would have a home

Thank you for their
generosity
regardless of our opinions,
our grievances, our stories, for
they made it possible for you
to create yourself
and to Know yourself

and to Know yourself
from birthing unto birthing as
Beloved

~ miriam louisa
Photo: Slavka Gough, Bali, 2011

you might wonder why you ever hungered for Truth

Do you really want this?  Or do you just want your fluffy ideas about IT to ice your life with sweet pink sugar?  It’s oft been said that the reality of this eyelid-ripping calamity called awakening turns out to be the last thing imagined by the erstwhile seeker.  I cannot argue with this.

When the Beloved gets you by the short curlies dear seeker IT surely will turn you inside out and shake you all about.  IT will sweep through you like a triple-dose laxative.  You will find yourself doing all sorts of unexpected things – things you’d never have been party to in the days when you knew so well what it would be like when . . .

When this savage wisdom enters the lifestream you call “me” IT will re-align anything that’s out of order – dysfunctional, dis-eased – without you having to visit your therapist.  IT will have you performing rituals of cleansing and forgiveness on your knees – yes, you who loved to hide behind the nondual façade and ask but who could err and who could be hurt?  IT will, as my Aussie mates like to say “Rip you in three and plait you.”  To plait is to braid, and Truth has a different twist to your Life skein than you could ever have imagined.

You might wonder why you ever hungered for Truth.  You might even furtively look for a way out.  But Truth’s flow is a one way surge and there are no exits.

Be very sure you really want this.  If you do, be ready to lose everything you think you are and IT is.  If that sounds extreme, you aren’t ready for Truth’s embrace and for the sweet peace that truly “passeth all understanding.”  Which is no problem at all, because whatever you are ready for is the play of Creation, creating.  To Truth, you see, it makes no difference at all.  The dance goes on regardless.

~ miriam louisa

Note – Truth/IT/Beloved/Creation all refer to the same ineffability in this post.