thus spake the heart-whisperer

Dear One –

– you will never be more at home
than in the ceaseless energy
of your body’s wild word

– you will never know purer peace
than in your blessed breathtide

– you will never find more happiness
than in this miracle-moment

– you will never find truer love
than in your own forgiving embrace

– you will never be more creative
than when you disappear

– you will never know life’s purpose
outside of simply living it

– you will never be more free
than before you contemplated freedom

– you will never be more awake
than within the quiet murmur
of your soft, animal, secret senses

– you will never find your self
apart from your changeless
inescapable
light of being

.

~ miriam louisa

.

the Presence of the absence of ‘me’

58

creativity
humility
heaven
peace
trust
love
joy

.

seven words attempting to describe one thing

a thing that can never be an object,
and therefore, can never be described

how then can It be found?

it can’t – it’s never been lost!

seven words all amounting to the same no-thing:

the Presence of the absence of ‘me’

.

~ miriam louisa
echoes from emptiness

.

the illusion isn’t a problem

When there’s intimacy with the Real
the illusion is no longer a problem.

You notice, appreciate, and marvel at the way worlding arises;
the way energies appear as feelings, thoughts, forms, plays of consciousness;
and the way it all melts back into the Real.

The illusion isn’t a problem, it’s a gobsmacker.
A miracle.
The pinnacle of exquisite creativity.

You are on your knees in awe,
and crisp, crackling JOY
is bursting the seams of your bodysuit.

~ ml

.

silver singing silence

It’s three weeks since we ended six weeks of Noble Silence and still this brain struggles to emerge, to re-enter the great noise called World. I confess it willingly – I am utterly addicted to this silver singing silence, this heavenly quiet mind.

Retreat is such a blessed gift to oneself and the world. Radical withdrawal from mental habitude, a halt in the rut-laying wheels of thought and, perhaps, a fresh unfettered flow of neuronal activity – new insights, deeper, vaster, clearer perception, creative ecstasy. A five-star spa treatment for the mind.

I speak personally; I’m aware that for some retreatants keeping silent is as much fun as having teeth drilled, and the possibility of sinking into its embrace seems remote. I say “seems” for this isn’t an insurmountable obstacle. It’s just one that requires perseverance and patience – and healthy doses of kindness towards oneself. A mind that has run amok for decades will never respond meekly to quietude! (She who writes has intimate knowledge of this!)

Silver singing silence … so sweet. Beyond bliss. Why do I write “silver”? Because there’s a sense that the background of silent Awareness is a glistening sparkling silvery shower of water – clumsy words these, for what I’m trying to describe is not an experience. It arises in the absence of an experiencer. In the same way “singing” is a word that comes up in an attempt to express the sense that a host of angelic voices are raised in an endless “Ah!” of praise, a chorus that resounds within and without the energy field called body. Why aren’t we told that this beyond-bliss lies on the other side of the frequency barrier called thought? Hmmmm. Actually, sages and saints have gone on record since time immemorial reporting such states. But we seek experiences and so remain trapped in the world of thought.

~

I met a Lama and made a friend. I confessed to him, poured out the secrets of my hidden inner life. He listened kindly. He knew. He never tried to adjust or re-word, but only to sharpen, clarify and deepen my understanding. He gave me an odd practice: “Blow the conch!” Release timidity and shyness, bellow the primordial Truth!

Have you ever tried to get sound out of a massive Tibetan conch? Day after day you huff and puff with nothing to show for it but your own hot air and giddy hyperventilation. Then, when you’ve exhausted all your clever lip-tricks and breath techniques, you just sit with the darned thing. You’re sure you’ll never get a sound out of it; you just breathe your OM and give in.

It was at that point when a rogue thought came up: What if I had to use this thing to save my life? What if it was my only tool of communication with the world? Goosebumps. Hair stood on end.

I blew. It boomed.

The shock of it!

And so I speak to save my life. I write these things on my little blog for the sake of Life, for the immense and incomprehensible Presence that powers the ‘I’ in all beings. I speak because I must, because this silver singing silence demands it.

BOOM!

– miriam louisa

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song of the gilded dawn

This Unlit Light: Michael Walsh - Golden Dawn, Derwentwater

 

My Song

I am the song of the gilded dawn
gently heralding the day,
and the pristine azure sky, calling birds to flight….
Calling birds to take flight!

I am the smell of coffee happily
warming the morning,
and dappled streaks of sunshine across the breakfast table.

I sing as softly billowing clouds,
floating lightly overhead.
Roses are my melody and violets my refrain…
And violets my lilting refrain.

I croon as the sweet, pine-filled air that floats down from the ridge,
Cooling and soothing at eventide,

And starlight fills my lullabies…
STARLIGHT fills my lullabies,
as I slip into the soundless song of night.

~ Carol Travis


For any human being, the most significant light in their life is the light they give, not the light they receive.  And the act of seeing itself isn’t just an act of receiving what is coming from our world.  It is a giving act; it is a creative act.

We paint the world with our spirit, and our spirit is carried on the current of our seeing.  Have you ever noticed that?  … We can wake up in the morning and feel the wonders of the day and therefore see them.
~ David Karchere


Source: Emissaries of Divine Light

Image source: http://www.western-lakedistrict.co.uk


 

what gets your attention creates you

My mother’s mother was a wise one. She understood the dynamics of the thinking machine. She was aware that her thoughts were not her or hers, that they arrived uninvited and that not all deserved to be made welcome as guests. Talking about such unfamiliar notions in the early 20th century, a farmer’s wife on a high country New Zealand sheep station a hundred miles from anywhere brought sideways glances and cast her as an outsider. (What’s new, huh?)

She liked to say, “Stand porter at the door of thought.” Perhaps she’d read that somewhere, or even made it up herself, whatever – it was etched in pokerwork on my fresh young hard-drive.

My mother was a chip off the old block, philosophically speaking. Her favorite aphorism was, “What gets your attention gets you.” Come in after school with a bellyfull of moans about how one had been bullied or unfairly punished or cheated on, and that’s what you’d hear. Hmmm. She should’ve been called Kali, my mum.

So, unlike most kids (I suspect) I grew up with a healthy skepticism re thoughts, thinking, and even the ‘thinker’. When I came across the teachings of J Krishnamurti there was huge relief, because all through the years of my early education I had met no one outside my family who was remotely concerned about the way one’s thinking unfolds one’s experience.

But it would take the passing of many moons before the nonduality teachings of the Advaita sages would reveal the baseline error in both Granny’s and Mum’s pithy sayings, and explain why, in spite of their apparent wisdom, they actually made little difference. One was still locked into the effects generated by thinking – both one’s own, and that of others.

The error lies in the unexamined assumption that there is a separate self who can take up the role of that “porter”, or who can be ‘got’ if attention fixates somewhere it shouldn’t.

This morning, while mulling over delicate family business, the aphorisms reshuffled and restated themselves in a fresh cluster of words.

Thoughts are arising here.

The ones that receive attention create me.

 
Granny and Mum would know exactly what I mean. They’d be chuckling away like two crazy crones. Good company for this one eh?
 

the awakened eye

the awakened eye is the eye that perceives without labeling
– we could also call it the innocent eye,
or the eye of beginner’s mind

[This is where I put on another cap – the one that’s splashed with color and whiffy with linseed oil.  Since some of you might well be artists too, I’m posting these links for you.  I hope you’ll visit the website and its blog.]

Many artists and artisans have understood that the practice of drawing, and engaging in creative encounters in the visual arts, can – by making explicit one’s conditioned responses – open the mind to another way of seeing, a way that transcends habitual dualistic assumptions.

Nondual awareness occurs when consciousness is no longer divided into subject and object; when an inexplicable wholeness pervades and one’s actions flow seamlessly from and as that Oneness.  Yet we have no language with which to speak of this seamlessness – even the phrase “encounters with nondual awareness” (the site’s subtitle) invites confusion, for, within the encounter there is no entity separate from that nonduality.  Logically and experientially it is impossible to speak of subject and object, and yet speak one must.

Throughout history there have been – and still are – many wise teachers who speak of this transcendence of duality as one’s original nature – an a-priori ‘beingness’ which we seem compelled to simultaneously seek and reject.  Their teachings are sometimes referred to as advaita, which means “one without a second” – or more simply, nonduality.  Regarded in this wider context the awakened eye is synonymous with the awakened I.

the awakened eye website and its blog have been conceived as places where ideas and teachings on this topic put forward by artists, educators, scientists, philosophers, sages and saints, can be accessed; a rich and varied smorgasbord of offerings.  No claim that the visual arts have exclusive rights to either the ‘eye’ or the ‘I’ that awakens is being put forward – they simply happen to make up my personal creative milieu, the playground in which I first encountered the mysterious merging and began a lifelong attempt to make sense of it.  Writers, poets, athletes and performers are similarly familiar with this experience of merging, often referring to it as flow.  Indeed it seems so common in human experience that it can hardly be seen as unusual.  Why then, is it so elusive for most of us?  Why does it vanish the minute it’s stalked?

Read more at the awakened eye …

Your comments and feedback are very welcome.  Enjoy!