Tag Archives: echoes from emptiness

when I talk to you

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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

Beloved

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~ miriam louisa

echoes from emptiness

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echoes from emptiness

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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.

echoesfromemptiness.com

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

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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

‘me’

that
believes
in victims and victimizers;

that
believes
what happens should not happen;

that
believes
there is a ‘me’ to suffer;

that
believes
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-body
self-as-idea
self as something – anything

but please, don’t believe me for one minute

please look for yourself

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~ miriam louisa

echoes from emptiness

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don’t look for me in my story

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

absorbed

I can write letters from home
but cannot again

depart

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

nameless

is my unspeakable name
and all stories

happen

in this that I is

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~ miriam louisa

echoes from emptiness

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strewth and crikey

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the apparent, assumed (and therefore experienced) self
is nothing more than a constellation of attributes
– all acquired –
around an identification

how it comes to be,
how it can be transcended,
and what might occur when it goes,
are more speculations of that assumed self

seen with ruthless directness, it all goes

only naked inescapable awareness remains

~

a silver shimmering silence sings
through this spacious beatland
called body-brain:
Lover tells me it is the Word of the Great Light

strewth and crikey –
I can’t extricate myself to argue!

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~ miriam louisa

echoes from emptiness

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‘I’ is the only player

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there has been rain in the night
and the earth’s breath
is fresh and fruity this dawn

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what am I?
I am Awareness
that ‘I am’ not
and only ‘I’ is

intellectual acceptance of this
isn’t difficult;
self thinks it has understood something
and is pleased

but as acceptance percolates down
into the darker layers
something called me
isn’t so happy

the battle of battles begins
the outcome is inevitable –
winners in every corner
all bets collectible

turns out there was
only one Player!

.

~ miriam louisa

echoes from emptiness

image source unknown

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where could loneliness be found?

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The sea is sighing this morning.  Its murmur is the continuo that cradles the voices of my sangha-souls:

– brisk yap of startled dog

– honk of ibis, strutting on stilts

– warble of magpies’ morning choir practice

– chatter of pink galas, busy on newly-greened grass

– laughter of lorikeets taking breakfast in the scarlet bottlebrush

– and beachside, the cackle of kookaburras hunting crabs.

Pink and white oleanders show off under the big gums and a huge sulphur-crested cockatoo paints a streak of white as it swoops across the park, suddenly silencing the sangha with its raucous shriek.  They listen; a second passes.  Then they all strike up again.

On my shady balcony, tubs of color:  impatiens, caladiums, violets, maidenhair ferns.  And, oh delight!  A shiny green sleepy-eyed frog has taken up residence in the water reservoir under the ferns!

I live alone and am often asked whether I feel lonely.  Where, I wonder, on this magical and miraculous Earth could loneliness be found?

.

~ miriam louisa
echoes from emptiness

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