Existence with resistance is a living Hell. Agony and Ecstacy, two sides of the same coin. The intensity of acceptance in every moment is fire (to the egoic mind-made self). Set ablaze, the ‘little me’ cannot survive this funeral pyre, and will scream and wail and moan and gnash its teeth… until its dissolution is totally complete. What rises from the ashes is a humbleness beyond comprehension. Indescribable joy. Compassion without end. A love that knows no bounds. And an ego so ethereal and light that it moves at the beck and call of Self with nary a thought, nor a moment’s hesitation.
God grant that I may be so consumed! That I may recognize… only, always: Heaven… on Earth.
All there is is this… and that…
being
the one appearing as two
nothing appearing as everything
the absolute appearing as the particular
emptiness appearing as fullness
the uncaused appearing as the caused
unicity appearing as separation
subject appearing as object
the singular appearing as plurality
the impersonal appearing as the personal
the unknown appearing as the known.
It is silence sounding and stillness moving
and these words appearing as pointers
to the wordless
… and yet nothing is happening.
~Tony Parsons
A beautiful song plays,
unheard by you
who listen instead,
to the noise of mind.
No matter,
the music
never ceases.
The eternal melody
plucks at your heartstrings.
Hear it,
and weep.
God speaks to each of us as he makes us,
then walks with us silently out of the night.
These are words we dimly hear:
You, sent out beyond your recall,
go to the limits of your longing.
Embody me.
Flare up like flame
and make big shadows I can move in.
Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.
Don’t let yourself lose me.
Nearby is the country they call life.
You will know it by its seriousness.
Give me your hand.
~ Rainer Maria Rilke
Longing is the core of mystery.
Longing itself brings the cure.
The only rule is, Suffer the pain.
Your desire must be disciplined,
and what you want to happen
in time, sacrificed.
~Rumi
The Essential Rumi, Coleman Barks
No greater gift to God have we
than gratitude for what is
. . . as it is.
Gramma, do you miss me when I’m not up here visiting with you?
No sweetie, you don’t even exist for me when you are not up here visiting, except as a thought in my head. And the thought of you isn’t who you really are.
Huh? What do you mean?
Well, when you are not up here visiting me, where are you?
Um, I guess I’m at home in my house, or in school, or on the bus!
Yes, and so if you are there, and not here, even if I have a thought of you, where are you? Which you is the real you? The thought I have in my head about you, or the you that is at home, or in school, or on the bus?
(Long pause…) *I* am real where *I* am! And the thought you have is just … is like… a dream then, isn’t it?
Yes, precisely.
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