Tag Archives: Spirituality

i’ve a new name for it

8 Nov

–the vast neutrality.

 

hungry for this now

11 Jul

mooji2

what is reflected in these eyes?

we all are.

we are this and are in need of nothing else.

This sort of gaze is unusual in our world.  This picture arrests me.  Not because of who this is.  Mooji is a good teacher for me, but it is his eyes that I am drawn to.  I see a clear mirror in this picture; perhaps no more words are needed.

i seek this, hunger for this lack of pretense.  This blog helps me to see my words reflecting layers of story clouding just how close this clarity is.

I, too, am getting sick of words.

i lack nothing.  I have never lacked for anything.

But I do Ask, Why are the pictures above and below unusual?

pattismithw.s.burroughs

Patti Smith and William S. Burroughs

There is a certain nakedness here that arrests me, in this shot, as well.

Why do we not all see each other for real, young or old, pretty or plain; why do we not look each other in the eyes and see ourselves and grab hold like it means something?

never late

10 Jul


On_Time_by_TIME_24

i aim to accept  all that is – as it is – all the time, but intigrating such a basic truth to the deepest flow is a seeping in process. One such truth of acceptance is that I am never late – ever.  I never again have to have that internal feeling of running late.  It just doesn’t exist.  Wherever I am, I am always right where I am supposed to be – and even if it looks to an outside observer that I am not on time, I actually am right on time.

When I believe my lateness to be true, my stomach churns, my heart rate increases, I am shaky.  Worse than the body is the mental constructing – imagining the reactions of those who are waiting, writing stories of excuses,  or indulging the worst case scenarios of the judgement from others.

That is helpful – body stress, mental stress, wigged out emotions!

I often have found myself with these physical symptoms of stress to varying degrees.  But gradually I began to see that the messages of the physical and mental body are showing me my thoughts about being late are incorrect.  I can release that stress immediately – there is no late.

This stress drop-kick is a bit like when one wakes up sick and clears her schedule – everything can be released just that easily.

Now, I do not think that, universally, I know anything.  What about thoughtless people who leave others hanging,  slackers who clear the decks to watch tv, what about societal expectations, jobs, commitments?    There is no late here either.  To me it seems that the natural consequences of the slackers’ untimeliness creates the perfect conditions for their experiences in their lives.  If they get fired, broken-up-with, dismissed, left out because of perceived inconsiderate use of time, they will get what is best for their learning – or perhaps they are giving lessons to others suffering with fixed and hurtful rigidity as well.

The new flow – as it comes in more and more – is playing with us in connection to the clock and flow of time.  Have you noticed?  I hit a time crunch vortex a few days ago where 11 am compressed in a tesseract wrinkle to 4 pm – making the 5 hours feel like 20 minutes.  I know the linear minded will say this is just the perception within me – and that is true – but perhaps these experiences creep in showing us about our believed entrapment within an imperceivably flexible force.

The clock is not a measuring tool for my worth, my perfection, my adherence to the rules; the clock is a guide to help me move from one thing to another, or to recognize and release things that do not flow with my natural rhythms and desire for the life I wish to create.  The clock actually helps me to recognize a crunch or discordancy with who I am flowing to be.

time warrior

the greatest fall

18 Jun

falling-down

Talk of spirituality can be such a turn off.  I know that feeling of squirm inside when someone speaks about spirit.  Squish and uck!

Such a personal and internal thing – the soul beneath the experiences – the self in a cave behind the waterfall flow of life.

When it is spoken of, pointed to, preached about, proselytized outward, sung across the mountain – I turn into goth girl, sarcastic and cynic – blue about the lips.

I apologize for bringing it up if it makes you squirm.

In my journey, the floor has been yanked from underneath me over and over again.  Just a few: the death of my brother when I was 14, loss of religion, loss of the conditioned aspects of life – roles – and a near death experience that brought me to a brink and made me choose to live.   When there was no ground beneath me,  what helped get me back into a body, back into the journey?

Voices and words of teachers that I found on my own had a place for me.  Every teacher is just a pointer, showing his own way to a deeper thread, which he himself will tell you is unknowable.

I was just finishing typing this post and the doorbell rang.  Some lovely southern ladies with hats and dresses came by and gave me a pamphlet for a convention about their religion.  Hello.  Didn’t even know the doorbell worked!

 I hold gently the words as I gradually begin to relax and float down the stream, dissolving little bit by little bit into the water.

Today I get to meet my friend visiting from far away for a downtown Charleston bimble and explore!

Today I choose to live.

Sometimes people say they can smell freedom.
They say they fall more and more into the embrace of That which is unspeakable.
And I have to acknowledge that this is not merely an intellectual thought or conviction.
It is a deep inner thing; a felt experience in the Heart beyond words and thoughts, and yet I have to tell you that what you are falling into Is and was already here—unchangingly.
It is what you already are and no distance is involved.
Has anyone ever heard of a falling where there was no distance?
This is the fall where there is no distance.
It’s the greatest fall; the falling away of delusion.

Mooji

10th of June, 2013

now for something completely different

9 Jun

I refuse to make myself a resume,

As much as the mind continually wishes to do this.

A pulsing of life in a body moves from experience to experience.  Even if it choses to stay in bed with the covers to its neck, the experiences come – through the light in the window – through the thunder outside, the mosquito in the ear, the pounding at the door –

All of the moments can be stitched together in such away to make a story – an attractive one – a funny one- a pitiful one – all still story.  The story adds layers upon layers which the deepest part of you knows is false.

dancing in  this world of ours of falseness – of suffering projected out into judgement of others’ worthiness – no one takes me seriously!  really?  why should they?   What has that to do with a thing?    Wanting others to view us in any sort of a way is all the act of resume building.  This conglomeration of bones tissue blood memories preferences achy fingers bruised shins sagging breasts twinkling eyes – is nothing.  In this realization of nothing lies great freedom.   There is no charge – no combustion – there is no thing here to get a rise out of.  My back may rise, yet know the hissing is just a fun game of pretend.  Look at my claws, meow.

I have taken the daily beating of the worst sort of sadistic suffering guards – and I learned to shower them with love.  If you expose your pain to me – even if you think you are wounding – I kiss it.  I know it.  I give because I need no reason – I am an empty vessel tapping into the thing greater than me – empty out the identity and you can know the universe and secrets within – and have no wish of personal gain from that.  Others think they kick me while  I could tell them wonders that I see in their buried parts – I can read the iris of their eyes and the lines on their palms, but they know not.  I kiss the bleeding wound, dank with infection and sully my lips none.

You can take and are a taker – this trait is obvious for all to see – has been all along – and in your peek upon my breast, you reveal your own.  In your wrath and prickliness, you reveal your soft underbelly – and desire to transcend your animal nature by diving deep within it – go on in head first, I shout.

I am coming to see the irony of the artist’s journey – the desire to be something to do something ties you to the flesh and to your experiences and to your pain.  Trust the alchemy of this – and know all are accepted in the lap, all are allowed to suckle – there is no shame – there is not wrong but an infinity of choice – to engage or to provoke or to accelerate or to stagnate for a bit – matters not – free choice –

All water flows to the amassed mysterious sea – or evaporates into the hot air, to be rained into the sea, again and again.  the games of who is good or who is talented or who has read enough to be deemed intelligent or who can name that line, “east is east and west is west, and never the twain shall meet,” in 30 seconds at the drunken literary dinner party – only to realize all is lost in the haze of chest beating and booze, let us fuck on this couch while my wife sleeps in the next room – she is hard of hearing – bravado.  if inspiration is borrowed, that is taking too, without permission.   And one says it sucks, one says it speaks, matters not, but that it was a choice of how to pass the time.  we are all floating in the same mind space oblivious and sharp edged – for now.  some awaken and merge and care not where one begins or another ends,  who creates or who absorbs,  or who is top or bottom; the merging is deeper than the mind can fathom.

* I feel the need for a disclaimer – All poking is at me or versions of me – boring, safe, predictable.  I allow myself to push publish as I flow into different spaces.   I find the format of a blog, which allows for free expression, also becomes a confine of identity at times.

glory be

7 Jun

sunrise over ashley river

in the middle of the night – it all becomes so clear.

Sleeplessness can be the same as sleeping.

I do not know what is on television,

I have no news except the sky – a storm arrives

without

a name known by me.

I can easily escape this bed, this house, this little body shell –

I am as big as my whole city, silent

watching the clouds roll in on eye level.  The lightning

illumines the billowing mass insurgency of storm.

wind whips – I have no body, yet I am here.

sky dome cracks in two, crashes down,

the vacuum of space sucks out all the filth of man-

who cares where it goes now.

A night can pass this way.

Clockwinder, I see the mystery of

Birds awakening before the light.

Why now do I shrink?

Back in this woman body,

listening with human ears,

the rattle of the shutters,

the bending of the trees;

glory be.

Thoughts knock on every door;

one little crack and in they rush,

silly men in suits.

I do not follow them,

or read from their notepads.

The meeting at eight is cancelled, you know,

Loosen the ties, get thee to the beach.

Choke yourself on salt and surf,

and let the rip tide take you out.

nothing left to lose

4 Jun

Just now, I sliced a purple onion to put in my garbanzo bean salad – have you looked at one of those lately?

– How utterly beautiful they are –

Red_onions

But the slicing brought a deluge of tears so strong, that I shut my eyes and continued to cut by feel only, slice, slice slice, above the whoosh of the dishwasher.  The tears stung and cleaned me out – even if onion induced – nothing feels better than a good cry.

Now I have those onions carmelizing in the pan; will that be good in a salad?  I don’t know, but I will try.

I am moving forward without so much definition of just what exactly that means.

Moving is such an opportunity for release and reinvention.  We are only going 8 miles or so.  Boxing up, throwing out, I am seeing what it is that constitutes our lives; all of this activity gives perspective.  We are a collection of stuff.  We are a collection of shared experiences.  We, my daughters and I, while away a bit of time together – and then things change – some so gradually you hardly notice, and other things disappear overnight.  AH!

I found some old journals full of anguished thoughts.  I visited my dear younger self in her sorrow.  These sorrows in that time, as well as joys, did pass.  The self I visited  then is no longer the me of now, and the future me will look back at the me of now with loving tenderness.

past future selves

The journey is important, but not in the way the mind wants to make it so.

Getting the sticky parts out can be a bit uncomfortable and embarrassing to the self that can be embarrassed.  The real self recognizes there is no shame in the journey.

I forget.  I expose my shadows in the mirror of my experiences.   I fall down mind spirals that I no longer think are possible.  When I return, what is left?

Nothing left to lose.  It is insane to believe in loss.

The world of self-esteem,  Own it, girl, strut your stuff, I’m all that 🙂 has a hard time with some of these ideas.  The loss of identity in some ears sounds like the opposite of a healthy outlook.  Funny!

Stripping down to the real thing is the opposite of adding on or building up  –

what is here is all that

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