love is what’s left . . .

Apologies, dear friends, for my absence these past weeks. I’ve been beavering away very one-pointedly at another of my online passions – the awakened eye website and blog. The project saw a couple of hundred pages transferred from the original self-hosted website to the WordPress blog associated with it – literally weeks of (joyful) work. The reason? Simplification – downsizing – economics. Please zoom over and have a look at the new site. Feedback appreciated!

I’ve also been putting together a little essay for an online publisher about the “journey home” as it has unfolded for the emelle character – a project that turned up some surprises for her as she joined the dots of the decades. (More about this later.)

One thing I noticed as I examined my own experience over those decades, was a reluctance to use words like “love” when attempting to express the freefall into thusness. Maybe it was my education, which alerted me to recognition of terms that are merely conceptual referents. Maybe it was an awareness of how this word has lost its true meaning as a result of being mouthed ad nauseum by new age adherents and god-botherers in general.

Rupert Spira’s take on love is big enough for me, though. The following is part of a reply he wrote to someone who was courageous enough to ask for clarity about the real implications of this belief-burdened four-letter word.

Whatever is not present right now is not worthy of the name love and is likewise not worthy of our desire. Forget it. Whatever is not present now, even if it is one day found, will by definition one day disappear.

Why go for something temporary? It can never fulfill you. Let go of everything that can be let go of, everything – and anything that appears can be let go of – including all your, my and everyone else’s ideas about love.

In fact, as soon as we look for what is present, it is gone. We cannot focus on or even think about what is truly present. We can only think about an object, about the past, about the future. In other words, we can only think of a thought.

Thought can never know or find the one thing that it almost constantly seeks. It can only dissolve in it.

The mind dies as it turns towards love like a moth in a flame.

Let the mind dissolve in the understanding that it simply cannot go to the place of love and yet, like a fish in the ocean searching for water, it is already swimming in it.

Let everything pass by.

Remember William Blake:  “He who binds himself to a joy does the winged life destroy.”

The ‘winged life’ is love itself.  It is apparently destroyed by our looking for it as an object, by ‘binding’ our self to an object, which means to the past or the future.

Let go, let go, let go.

Let your tears be the river into which everything you know is offered up, all your longing, everything.

Someone once asked Mother Meera if it was okay to offer everything to God or whether only ‘positive things’ should be offered, and she replied: “A child offers its mother a snail, a stick or a stone; the mother doesn’t care what is offered; she is just happy to have been remembered.”

Offer everything. The love you seek is all that will remain behind.

Rupert Spira

Yes. Love is all that’s left, but it’s not like any kind of love you imagined. It has no object. It has no opposite. It is a simple, open acceptance without condition, of all that appears. It is no other than your natural self – whatever you are called.

calling in the all

Since the One is already here and
inescapably so
there is no need to seek it
or to call it in.
The One is busy being One
whatever one chooses
to believe, or pretend,
want or not-want.

There is no need to summon
the One
to the hearth of the heart:
it is that Bright
eternal flame, unlit, undying
(some call it Soul)
apart from which we have
no being.

It casts its eyeless eye around
the hearth’s welcoming glow.
It notices the pillows are plumped
and the kettle sings.
It smiles upon the cluster of
creative, competent, contented
luminaries who have gathered but –
many chairs are empty.

Too many chairs are empty!
Too many tender embers of the One
are absent – worse,
they haven’t been invited to this gathering
of Soul-celebration.

Call them in! The cry echoes through
the clay embodiment
where all those unwelcome embers
languish in exile.

Call them in! Assemble the entire company!
Welcome them all
without reservation or condition;
sit them down, give them tea,
make them comfortable, thank them
for the priceless part they have played
in the journey to now.

Let them know they are loved.

And in they straggle: the timid, the traumatized, the ashamed, the guilty, the grieving, the manipulator, the opportunist, the mute, the defensive, the secretive, the hypocrite, the liar, the sentimental, the stubborn, the light-fingered, the greedy, the stoic, the fearful, the arrogant, the immodest, the undeserving, the critical, the insatiable, the self-righteous, the confused, the impatient, the narcissistic, the lazy, the lost, the untrusting, the ungrateful, the exhausted, the incompetent, the mean, the jealous, the utterly deluded … in they straggle.  Some have been banished for so long in the mind’s push towards spiritual or philosophical perfection that they have forgotten the existence of a home hearth.  They creep in, cringing.

The chairs fill up and the tears flow – tears of forgiveness, tears of contrition, tears of loving appreciation.  Unimpeded, the flow opens out into a current of ecstasy.

And as the clamor settles, the fire in the hearth leaps into life, igniting all these precious embers until the entire company is burning with the Bright.

For this is the ultimate alchemy:
acceptance that the all and the One are One
and never was any ember not a member
of the One Bright beingness
for whom distinctions and differences
have never been a problem;
the One Bright unassailable beingness
known as incredible You.

~ miriam louisa

All know that the drop merges into the ocean,
but few know that the ocean merges into the drop.
~ Kabir

the breathing of the soul

Michael Leunig knows how to pray. I love his outpourings and the cartoons that accompany them to perfection. The image I’ve used here isn’t the one that goes with the prayer in the book mentioned, but I am currently without a scanner so am using an etching of his that’s been hiding awhile in my computer. To me, it says everything.

.

.

God accept our prayers.
Send us tears in return.
Give freedom to this exchange.
Let us pray inwardly.
Let us weep outwardly.
This is the breathing of the soul.
This is the vitality of the spirit.
For this we give thanks.

Amen

.

Michael Leunig: When I talk to You – a cartoonist talks to God