unimaginable: unfurling unlit light


In the deep darkness of night – no slumber in sight – bum sits on cushion, eyelids draw down of their own accord, breath flows in breath flows out.  Beat of heart, song of great silence.

Out of infinite velvet blackness points of energy emerge.

They spiral into appearance, and as they do so they take on mandala-like forms.  Some are glorious flowers.  Others are crystalline and geometric.  Others are snowflake-like, a blend of organic curvaceous-ness and geometric patterning.  Still others are spirals, simple vortexes, or radiating arms like the spira mirabilis.  There is no color, only milk-white light playing in the black vastness.

The energy forms appear to move towards the witnessing Awareness, spiraling and expanding, and then they move right through and into IT –

an endlessly unfurling pulsation
emerging, spiraling, flowering, and flowing,
penetrating and dissolving into
the unknowable Knowingness
that is ceaselessly watching.

~ echoes from emptiness

when I talk to you


When I talk to You
do I talk to an object?

You are the Beloved,
my known ‘Beingness’

But is Beingness a ‘thing?’

I look and I find You displayed
wherever my senses land
wherever my thoughts lead…

You never hide
but You cannot be found
or defined

Yet You only display your creation
– w o r l d –
via this energy pattern called ‘me’
– an infinity of ‘me’s!

And I – (with open awe and wonder)
realize that there is no I
that can be anything apart from You

When I talk to ‘world’
in every shape and form
I talk to You



~ miriam louisa

echoes from emptiness


think on this, whispered the candlelight


folded up on my zafu
venus rising, a brilliance
above the coral horizon
where soon the first
radiance of a new day
will emerge

legions of bats, black
against indigo, are
winging their silent way
back to their favorite
over-day treetops



but it’s still dark enough
for my candle to be
queen of the shadows
and she whispers to me:

“If the light of your awareing
wasn’t brighter than my own,
how could you see me?

I am but a shadow-play
of the unviewable, unlit
Light that you are!

Think on this.  And when the
sun climbs over the eastern rim
and reaches into this tiny patch
of sacred space, undressing
the dark,
think on this again.”

– miriam louisa

echoes from emptiness

sometimes compassion is a big stick

There’s been a surprising amount of interest in a recent post on my blog at echoesfromemptiness.com

(Visitors to that site will be aware that the postings are notes that were penned several years ago as she-who-writes was feeling her way into an uninvited and unexpected view of life.)

The post is called hope is the enemy of peace.  It seems to want to be aired here as well – who knows why.  There’s nothing I’d change with the benefit of hindsight, however a few sentences have been added.


Morning Report:

pain, sinus, head-cold, cough, temperature,
toothache, knee-collapse
body demands attention and is receiving it

there is no desire for any of this to be other-than-it-is:
just now, like this, right here.

and this is the peace that was hungered for, sought
in every hopeful thought.

It’s a big say, but it can’t be denied:

hope is the enemy of true peace

for hope-full thoughts abandon actuality
projecting an idea-l scenario and
sabotaging the movement of an
incomprehensible Intelligence
which knows without knowing
and acts beyond right or wrong.


Peace is present the moment thought stops churning out its versions of a better me, a better you, a better world … sometime soon, hope-fully … and this unknowable Peace is the source of unscripted – therefore wholly creative – action.

To contribute to radical – not revolutionary – change, give up hope and rest in Peace.

Peace will show the way.

And be prepared: it might very well be a way that seems un-peaceful to the hope-generating thought machine.

compassion is a
big stick.
~ said His Holiness the Dalai Lama
speaking at Krishnamurti’s memorial service in Chennai, India.

~ miriam louisa

echoes from emptiness

From time to time, notes from this series of scribblings have been randomly posted here.

They have been stewing in the morphogenetic pot for seven years awaiting their form and time – and title.  I liked the recent incarnation: “Slow Death by Zafu” but feedback indicated it was a touch morbid!  Wee-me is touchy about relinquishing its solidity, unsurprisingly.

Yet it never tires of seeking the very love it would melt into – if only it would melt.  The notes are really about this inevitable melt-down, and the consequences of it as it unfolded in the day-to-day life of she-who-scribbles.

The notes are now officially titled “Echoes from Emptiness,” and they have a site of their own where they are being (retrospectively) posted from the beginning – day 1.  The whys and wherefores are set down in the “about” page.  If Emptiness wishes, some might still be posted here.


I hope you’ll visit!

– miriam louisa

Posts from ‘echoes from emptiness’ reblogged here, to date

looking at life without looking for a way out


this is what I found out, not from a book or a teacher,
but from looking at life without looking for a way out:

the root of all ‘evil’ and of all tragedy and of all pain
is the belief in a solid, separate


in victims and victimizers;

what happens should not happen;

there is a ‘me’ to suffer;

that a way must be found to avoid such suffering

the extent to which this might seem callous and cold
is the extent of one’s addiction to belief in
self as somethinganything

but please, don’t believe me for one minute

please look for yourself


~ miriam louisa

echoes from emptiness


don’t look for me in my story


I have (re) turned to face the faceless
and find myself


I can write letters from home
but cannot again


Don’t look for me in my story
I am not there


is my unspeakable name
and all stories


in this that I is


~ miriam louisa

echoes from emptiness