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

the fallacy of finding oneself

Have you been sucked into the lie that what you really ARE is something you need to find, or discover, or recover?  And then heal or train or perfect?  It’s commonly touted by earnest souls with a course, program, book or DVD to sell.

I was an eager member of their audience in my dreamtime march toward betterment.  It was all good fun and perhaps helped shape the ‘me’-ing being into a more accomplished/productive/compliant ‘person.’  But none of it led me to my ‘true’ self.  It just created different versions of the wee-me that was a totally addicted seeker.

Meanwhile, the Self I was seeking simply watched, utterly unaffected.  One day I stopped being busy with the me-ing long enough to cast a glance over my shoulder, metaphorically-speaking.  And there IT was.  Already perfect, already total, already all I had hoped to know and to be.

The shock of it! Of realizing one had fallen for the fallacy of separation when no such estrangement could ever be possible for one second…

The sweetness of the relief! Of knowing that nothing could ever be done to bring one closer to – or take one away from – this intimacy…

The joy of it!  Of knowing that the wild creative awake Beingness that one longed for is here, and always has been:

doing Life ITs own way and calling ITself “ME”

– billions, trillions, of versions of IT,

all called “ME”!

~ miriam louisa

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it’s totally beyond me…

Sitting this morning at summer’s window
wondering
what quirk of destiny’s unfolding
led
to the conviction of separation in
a human mind

How is it possible to so thoroughly
believe
in something (a solid independent ‘me’)
that has never been able to be proven
to exist?

How is it possible to turn this
phantom
into a seeker who desperately
desires
to be free of itself and its stories? (huh?)

How is it possible to
avoid
the in-your-face obvious and
inescapable
truth
that the present presents with
every nano-second of aliveness?

How could anything so
simple
available
uncomplicated
and unavoidable
turn into a mystery, a concept
that would fuel galaxies of
religious and philosophical
thought-worlds?

It’s totally beyond me…

(literally and figuratively)

But it’s bloody marvelous all the same.

.

~ miriam louisa

.

Truth: it’s got us by the short curlies

Awakening is a space that opens in you.
If that space is infinitely open, then Truth can reveal itself continuously,
in a way that is always somewhat unexpected.
~ Adyashanti

Understatement of the century, says I with a droll grin.  Who’d have expected Truth to turn up as just exactly this?  Who’d have expected Truth to turn up as just exactly what is, here and now?  Who’d have expected that Truth would be ceaselessly waiting for me without expectations?  Or conditions?  Or qualifiers?

Who’d have expected that someone as crazy, mixed-up, diseased, addicted, selfish, ancient, depressed, deluded, ego-consumed, unworthy, ____  (insert pet beat-up label) as this creature called me would turn out to be Truth in apparent disguise?

Who’d have expected Truth to be naked and silent after all the years of assuming It would come blazing and whistling and shouting hallelujah?  Who’d have expected It would be so intimate that separation is impossible?  Escape impossible?  (It’s got us by the short curlies dear hearts, whether we like it or not.)

Who’d have expected that the only thing apparently standing between me and Truth was my belief in the myth of separation?

~ miriam louisa

gobbled by the gap

Last week was a bit strange. I guess I’m slowly learning what many others have discovered before me, which is that the more one reaches out towards this – immense unknowableness – the more it seems to advance. These are crazy words, for there is no reaching and no advancing and never any separation, but how to speak of it?

Adyashanti says “Truth is a sleeping giant, which once aroused and awakened, becomes an unstoppable liberator.”

Unstoppable. That’s what I’m learning. Extend invitations at your peril!

So, what happened last week? Well, I wrote a few fairly innocuous words about minding the gap. I wrote about how the gap between thoughts was succulent silence and the flowering of pure Aware-ing, about it being my version Graceland. Well I must have left an arousing calling card, for the next thing I knew the gap got me good. I was cast like an aged ewe upon the zafu. It wasn’t that I was in bliss-bunny land, or that I was tired. I was simply … hollow. There were no bones in my bodysuit.

Hollow like bamboo. Thoughts bubbled up through the hollowness occasionally like echoes from outer space. There was no intention to remain hollow, or not. But there was a gentle sort of curiosity. The sensation was of floating, buoyantly bodiless – as though held in a gravity-free womb.

It went on without interruption all day, over night, and all the next day. I had been gobbled by the gap.

Don’t be fooled – there’s nothing human here. She-who-writes is a gap-scat in disguise.

– miriam louisa


Image source: Osho Zen Tarot –copyright Ma Deva Padma