coming out : ‘fessing up

sitting, this early autumn dawn…
already the tropical heat steams:
low clouds are resting on the mango tops
and on my head, thick after an airless night

sitting, greeting, bowing to
each whining thought’s futility
in the presence of this
impartial
immensity

this me-matrix,
this emelle-character,
has been tossed too far
off the mainstream GPS
by whatever brought her here
to expect acceptance
by the old herd

sometimes, though, there’s a glance
back, over the shoulder
and a sigh sighs – it wants
the best of both worlds:
understanding and encouragement from the old
friends, the frayed remnant of family
as well as this wild unchoreographed dance
with the unknown

but it’s a no-brainer and anyway
back-tracking isn’t an option

a great sentient silence wraps itself
around this spaciousness
and there’s just this
total fulfillment
smiling, smiling

emelle loves this fail-safe Lover
with her life

 

there:

it’s outed

 


emelle = ml = miriam louisa


‘I’ – liberated from the ‘am’

wee-me thinks
it has a story
but – it is a story!

‘I’ is the One
that knows this

 

I, Consciousness
I, Knowingness
I, Awareness
I, Unlit Light
I, Beingness
I, Lover

I

liberated from the ‘am’

 

~ miriam louisa


the song of the sacred is your own heart’s song

Whatever inspires the mind

is of the perfume of my Beloved,

whatever fires the heart

is a ray from my Friend.

~ Rumi

.

Such a sweet verse from Rumi; a powerful teaching disguised as a love poem, in the great tradition of saints and mystics.  The language of duality – subject and object – is employed to point towards the inseparability of mind, heart and changeless Reality.

The belief that the Beloved (Lover – Reality – Awareness – Consciousness) is removed and remote from the functions of the mind is reflexive.  Yet upon scrutiny we find that it’s simply not our actual experience that mind is apart from, and independent of, Awareness, or whatever we like to call the Absolute.  Mind and all its miraculous activity appears within and by way of Awareness, and cannot ever exist elsewhere.  It’s simply illogical to presume otherwise.  So … and this comes as a shocking realization … mind’s dance is the dance of the Lover.  Hence Rumi can say, “Whatever inspires the mind is of the perfume of my Beloved …”

Whatever lights you up, whatever you are passionate about, whatever gives you that bliss Joe Campbell talked about – that’s Lover, heart-whispering.

“Whatever fires the heart is a ray from my Friend.”  A ray!  A ray of Light, unlit and unborn Light!  Yet how often do we rationalize the heart’s urgings as impractical, childish, too expensive or downright dangerous?  In the great race towards acceptance and worth – the “Like me! Like me!” syndrome, the heart’s quiet firings are left to splutter and die.

And that’s one reason I like that little video on “How to be Alone.”  At first glance it might seem superficial, an expression of ‘self’-survival, and a reinforcement of the illusion of separation.  But think about it: think about the fears and avoidances that go with ‘alone-ness.’  Might they not actually be fears and avoidances of one’s heart’s whisperings?  Might they not be a denial of Lover’s perfume and light?  How will you know?

Return to top.  Read Rumi again.  Your heart will tell you.  It knows when it is opening and flowing and flowering.  It knows when it’s being dumbed-down.  For she-who-writes, the best place for looking into heart-land is at ground zero – on the zafu.  We’re all different, but the task for all of us is the same: we must find our way back to our own heart’s song, and stop insisting that it is other than the Song of the Sacred.

What if the Beloved wants to live alone awhile?  To sit on a bench and knit and chat with complete strangers?  To dance unpartnered in a bar?  To write poetry (or a blog) that no one will read? To sit and gaze at a bare wall all day?  To say No or Yes when it usually says the opposite?  To paint or draw, or strum a musical instrument for hours?  To pull the phone jack out of the wall and turn off the computer and the Droid?  What if It wants to weep and grieve?  What if It wants to set out on a long solitary journey without any financial support?

What if It simply wants to be whoever You are, right now, doing whatever You are doing?  Wouldn’t that change everything?

~ miriam louisa

bombs and birthdays and ashes

What on earth do bombs and birthdays and ashes have in common? Well, while my Dad was celebrating his birthday back in 1945 as a soldier in the New Zealand armed forces, the city of Hiroshima was being obliterated. I always wondered what it would be like to have one’s birthday coincide with a horrific historical event such as that, but when I’d ask him about it he would simply reply, “It was the war, dear,” shake his head, and shut down.

Yesterday it came around again: the sixth of August. Hiroshima Day and the anniversary of Dad’s birth back in 1913. And two years exactly since Mum and I, with a few dear friends, walked out onto the Urangan Pier and scattered Dad’s ashes onto the turning tide.

 

Urangan Pier, Hervey Bay, Queensland

 

Dad was a dyed-in-the-wool Kiwi. He always wanted to return to homeland Aotearoa and we were on the verge of making his wish come true when he took off. It wasn’t a sudden death. He was, after all, 95 years old.

We deliberated about how best to get his ashes back across the Tasman Sea to New Zealand. A sailor friend came up with the suggestion that we scatter them onto the turning high tide from the Urangan Pier. This being Queensland, Australia, the next landfall would be New Zealand’s West Coast, his favorite haunt. It was a quiet happy ceremony, topped off with a picnic lunch on the beach.

This year, however, I was alone. No little Mother with her twinkling blue eyes. Her absence still takes constant adjusting to, even though more than a year has passed since she left.

It was a divine day, typical of winter in this part of the world. I bought a parcel of fish and chips – Dad’s fave tucker – and sat on the beach right about where this photo was taken. The chips didn’t need salt. Tears were streaming. And they were both sweet and salty. Fragments of this dream decade arose and floated around in mind, bits of deliciousness, bits of frustratedness and weariness and huge upswellings of love. It was all there, and it was all welcomed and named, and allowed to stream out with the tide.

(And this is what I want to share because I think it is so important, and because it took me so long to understand and accept, and because ignorance of it caused so much suffering: not one feeling or emotion or thought can be separated out from the aware-ing in which it arises. The full embrace of one’s experience is the full embrace of the Lover. It is the intimacy we seek. It melts the mind into the heart.)

Punakaiki, West Coast, Aotearoa New Zealand

 

A few months ago I stood there, on the rocks at Punakaiki on the West Coast of the South Island, and fancied I could hear Dad’s unmistakable cheery whistling rising up from the swirling kelp forests.

– miriam louisa

 


Top image: Urangan Pier –  Neil Paskin © 2007
Punakaiki image – Open Source


looking for the perfect lover?

Are you looking for a relationship in which you will feel unconditionally accepted and loved, where there’s complete consistency that you can trust, where jealousy, competition and pride don’t rear their ugly heads, where absolutely no effort is required to sustain or maintain the dynamics, where there is no sense of separation between you and your beloved, and where you are 100% free to be ‘who you are’ and express your ‘self?’

If I told you that you could have it all would you believe me? Would you check it out for yourself? Would you suspend every desire and every story about your past, present and future? Would you suspend the need, the compulsion, to be ‘in a relationship?’ Just for an experiment, just to investigate?

Would you settle on your zafu, or whatever landing/launching pad you prefer, and look – I mean really look – at what’s looking? Look into what’s knowing and experiencing this livingness that wears your name?

The look-ing is the Lover.
The know-ing is the Lover.
The experience-ing is the Lover.
The wide-awake spacious Aware-ing that is ‘I’ is the Lover.

Die into the inescapable presence of the Lover, beloved.

And then you will know that ‘relationship’ is an obsolete notion.

There is only the Lover.

~ miriam louisa

I love you, Lover

This morning Lover let me slip away from its fierce embrace
long enough to write a letter home.

I picked up my pen.
Dear Lover, I wrote, dear love of my Life

Thank you for being the only constant, unchanging friend I’ve ever had. Thank you for never abandoning me or betraying me. Thank you for never being jealous or manipulative. Thank you for never constraining or limiting me in any way. Thank you for all these unfailing gestures of generosity in spite of decades of ignorance and ingratitude, and I want to say

I’m sorry for all the times I turned away from you, in my own *wee-me* capsule, imagining love and happiness could be found in the objects of the world. I’m sorry for all the times I failed to recognize your Unlit Light in every sentient being – in family, in friends, in strangers – human and other. I’m sorry for the billions of times I believed my thoughts and feelings were real, even when I understood them to be mere bubbles arising in the ocean of Being. I am on my knees, I am drowning in contrition, and I want to say

I love you. I love you Lover. I love you Life. I love you.

And when the writing stopped
Lover let me back in and I had the strangest feeling
that I had never for one second
been away.

~ miriam louisa