Being

The perception of “story” fades and floats out of reach. From this place I sense my inner life as distinct from its painful, confusing outer manifestation, filled with drama and dilemma. This is where I need to live and breathe all the time.

The shocks and traumas I have carried inside are dramatically played out on an external stage, where the ego wanders destitute and mad in a sub-current of endless despair.

But there IS an escape, a true escape, that comprehends these external dynamics as historical, not eternal.

They are to be accepted, and the feelings they touch released, resolved. They are to be allowed full expression within the awareness of a greater Life that is not diminished or compromised by them.

That greater Life embraces all possible human experience; nothing is to be shunned as unfit or unworthy, shameful or defeating.

The range and depth of these testifies to the richness of being.

And being is not disturbed or threatened

by anything.

Learning to Love

Learning to Love

The challenge is this:

What is hidden inside must be exposed and examined
Before right action can be taken.

Pain is apparently an effective agent of motivation for exposing and examining what is hidden inside.

It is important to be ready to learn, to adopt and accept a higher paradigm and potential.

To see in oneself how the ego’s three modes of “wanting, frustrated wanting, and indifference” (according to Eckhart Tolle) have operated, and to seek instead to learn to love without manipulation.

This means, so far as it has come to me now, to love without hopes or expectations. To love without anticipating a return on that love, to love as though – or even though - no physical, emotional or mental sharing was to be the receipt.

I want to learn this.

I am willing to expose and examine what is hidden inside
so right action can be taken.

I want to be a light,

I want to lift burdens rather than add to them.

I want to learn to love.

Live Without Wanting

"The purpose of this session is not

To give you what you want,

But to teach you to live

Without wanting."

Trust

Trust

The distant stars speed through space,

Yet appear unmoving to our eyes.

Their seemingly constant orientation

Reflecting infinite patterns of cosmic meaning

Into our tiny, vast human experience.


The grand work of the Universe thus proceeds

Unceasingly, unerringly, patiently.

Each increment of the soul's spectrum

Being allowed its gradual growth into fullness,

What was known transforming into unknown -

What was unknown into known.


Oh Peace! Oh Heaven!

Let me trust the Great Unfolding

As it courses through this life!


Let me trust the Great Love holding,

As a dear and beloved angel,

My little light.

Beneath the Waves

Beneath the Waves

Let me drift
Beneath the clamoring, clattering waves,
Beneath the shouts and shocks of superficial surface
To the cool green below
The mysteriously comforting depth
The tranquil truth, the reassuring reality, the solicitous solitude
Let me sink, fall and dissolve
Into the peaceful particles at the bottom
Secluded from the turbulence above, engulfed by loving liquid arms
Let me be a gentle ripple
Within the vast, mesmerizing current of cool, calm consciousness
A ripple known and loved by the Great Water
Infinitely small, yet possessed and protected by what is
Beyond all measure and limit

In my peace, in my sanctuary of serene, embracing hope
I shall think of you my friend
You whose disparate though unified particles
Mingle with my own
Whose similar ripple
Passes through my own
Whose cherished aspect
Resonates with my own
You who are so intimately familiar
As to no longer be considered completely distinct
I shall look to your mirror
And wonder in awe at the miracle
Of Boundless Love
In the Great Water

The Last

Wilson spent
His last day working on the engineering network
His last hour putting together a fantasy football team
His last minute instant messaging on the Web
His last second eating a donut

Wilson spent
The last day
The last hour
The last minute
The last second
Thinking there was more time to spend than there was

Now everyone in the office talks in whispers
Faced for a few searing moments
With the unrelenting fierceness of life
And of its eventual absence

Bewildered by an authority greater than their own
That can remove someone from occupation and friends
Without asking permission
And never bring them back

And everyone in the office dolefully reflects
In those few searing moments
That eventually – too soon –
This unrelenting authority will seize them as well

And they will helplessly repeat
The last day
The last hour
The last minute
The last second
Wilson spent

The Eleventh Hour

The Eleventh Hour

They thought they saw reality
As they sat and watched TV
Where egos flaunt and preen and fight
The same routine every night

They lived inside their paper dreams
Where life is only what it seems
Where nothing can be understood
And feeling numb is feeling good

They viewed from dark mentality
Pictures no one else could see
And spoke of beings strange and grand
That left no footprint on the sand

They played games without the rules
Learned lies and riddles in their schools
A shadow land of shadowed souls
Filling up their hearts with holes

But who will take them by the hand
And lead them to the Promised Land?
Who will show them to the power
Waiting in the Eleventh Hour?

They fought and bled for history
Believed in things they could not see
Struggled to overcome the odds
Of worshiping a thousand gods

They lived alone and died in fear
Grew angry if love came too near
Yet longed for what they could not find
In the vacuum of the mind

They wasted their few days in vain
Hiding from the grief and pain
Of working hard for happiness
And getting paid in crappiness

They dissected what they had
Divided into good and bad
Some to keep and some to chuck
Based upon good old dumb luck

But who will take them by the hand
And lead them to the Promised Land?
Who will show them to the power
Waiting in the Eleventh Hour?

They were what we all became
In the final dying flame
Of time’s desperate ending beat
Beneath the sun’s unyielding heat

They were the cosmic first and last
The future dissolving with the past
Those born to learn they need not die
Offered wings and taught to fly

They were this world’s best and worst
Humankind’s most blessed and cursed
The sinking, leaping generation
Destined to come to true salvation

But who will take them by the hand
And lead them to the Promised Land?
Who will show them to the power
Waiting in the Eleventh Hour?

The Gift of Freedom

The Gift of Freedom

The image of Jesus on the Cross has come to mind several times today.

The Bible says that in the Garden of Gethsemane Jesus prayed in agony:

“Father, if thou be willing remove this cup from me: nevertheless, not my will but thine be done” (Luke 22:44).

In this scene Jesus is presented as opposed to Crucifixion; as buckling under God’s imperative and going to the Cross against his own will and better judgment.

But there is something about this view that doesn’t feel quite right.

It seems too human in the way most of us are – self protective and reluctant to suffer for others.

Maybe . . . when Jesus looked at that Cross on the distant hill, maybe he actually felt JOY about it.

Maybe he even felt gratitude for what was about to happen.

Because His death was going to change the world.

His Crucifixion was going to bring freedom to numberless people living in bondage.

People that Jesus loved.

“Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13).

Is there a greater gift than freedom to someone you love?

And though the cost that gift is “death,” maybe it is possible to be grateful,

Even joyful,

That it is within our power to give.

Let Go

Let go, let go,

It's off to work we go!

The Experiential Universe

The Experiential Universe

In the old days I thought it was grand to string ideas together on words, based on the conceptual world view that was my current fave and rave.

I even thought it meant I knew what I was talking about.

Now I am pretty sure that not much of anything I say is true.

And there’s a kind of relief in that. Less attachment to image, for one thing.

So mostly what goes on here is the attempt to describe personal experiences as they unfold.

For instance, it might be possible to speak of “loss” theoretically, but I don’t know a damn thing about loss theoretically.

What I know is how loss feels as it burns through nerves and synapses, leaving a path of fiery agony in its wake.

In these days I am being treated to a mix of cool and exciting sensations that I never expected to have.

Along with loss there is overwhelming jealousy, irrational anger, icy cold fear, mind-boggling confusion, and quite a few others for which names have apparently never been assigned.

Those "preverbal" ones have their own unique effect – you don’t know what you are feeling, except that it seems indescribably awful in its intensity.

This situation is actually slightly humorous in its own way - like some kind of silent dialog or banter with the Universe.

“Well, you said you wanted to become enlightened,” says the Universe. “More aware.”

“Right,” you agree. “But those things are supposed to feel good!”

The Universe laughs.

“Become aware of what’s going on inside you,” it says. “Feel it.”

"But that doesn't feel GOOD!" you protest.

“How do you know?" the Universe asks.

You pause and reflect.

Right.

Wasted Life

Wasted Life

A friend wrote of “a terrible, vivid sense of having wasted my life.” The shame she felt about this was intense.

It is an experience many could relate to, no doubt.

It may be a natural development in the process of spiritual awakening to become aware of a perceived "wasted" life. Still, to view this in terms of past actions (taken or missed) leads to useless guilt and shame.

The more important consideration, and the one more difficult to detect is this:

Are we are wasting our lives in this very moment?

In the preoccupation with doings that so characteristic of daily life, detecting whether or not this is true can be difficult.

So here are some suggestions which may be useful:

Are we still repeating the same patterns over and over, the ones that were behind the "wasted life" of the past?

Do our thoughts follow in well-worn grooves of attitude and belief, of conceptual identity?

Do we think the same things over and over, with perhaps only a slight modification in form?

Are our emotions like clockwork, always triggered predictably by a given stimulus?

Do we get upset, indignant, outraged, jealous, angry, fearful, etc. on cue?


If any of these questions are consistently answered yes,

It is just possible we will wake up in the dead of night some years down the road with a terrible, vivid sense

of having wasted our lives.

Releasing the Story

Releasing the Story

Over the past months the theme of “letting go” has appeared more than once on this blog. Seems like it always presents itself in a slightly different light or emphasis whenever the message of release is coming.

What are we letting go of?

At first blush that is usually some outer thing – could be a relationship, a situation, a conflict, one’s feelings about any of that, etc.

The journey of letting go gradually seeps deeper until we begin to perceive that it is not merely an aspect of the story that needs to be released, but

the story itself!

. . . in fact,

the whole story making process.

The story is all about attachments, mental and emotional attachments, to things that seem to be “other than me.”

That’s why we are attached to them.

They aren’t us (supposedly), but we want them (or don't want them, which is also an attachment).

So they must be controlled in some way, like the Star Wars tractor beams that force reluctant spacecraft into the Death Star’s ominous hull via unseen energy fields.

Without the story, the attachments fade. Without the attachments, the story becomes thin and transparent.

But why does any of this matter?

Because the world is a miserable place filled with miserable people. Unhappy, unfulfilled people, who think that their personal story is all they have, and if they are going to find peace and contentment it must be through it. And that their story is dependent on the world's story.

So that the world must be made better, greener, more perfect, or whatever utopian scheme seems plausible by means of people who totally believe in their personal stories trying to change the world’s story.

But centuries of people who totally believe in their personal stories trying to change the world’s story have not made it better, greener or more perfect . . .

. . . because the premise is unworkable.

We can’t change the story from within the story.

All we can do to make the world better is go beyond the story.

Both our own personal story, and the world's story.

And this - I believe - is what letting go is leading to.

Where-words

Where-words

The Magician took me into his lair. It looked like an old warehouse to my unschooled eyes. Brown wooden casks were stacked from the damp floor to dark, musty beams above.

While I pondered his strange locale he handed me a small brown container.

"You'll be needing this," he said.

"What's in it?" I asked.

His bearded visage twinkled. "Where-words," he said jovially.

I opened the round lid and peered inside. "I don't see anything."

"Where-words are transparent," he explained. "You can't see them, but you can feel them."

I reached a finger into the container and touched something soothingly cool.

"But what do I do with them?"

The Magician began walking away as though I should already know.

"Put one on when you don't remember where you are," he shouted over his shoulder.

"The Where-word will tell you."

Suddenly he was gone, his lair was gone, and I was . . .

God knows where.

"Good time for a where-word," I said, looking around nervously.

Reaching into the container I put a Where-word on my chest.

Immediately my body was filled with minty cool delight from head to toe.

The world was suddenly and clearly wondrous and perfect.

Not only that, I was an essential, indispensable part of the immensely complete and satisfying beauty that extended from infinity to eternity.

"Oh, right," I said with relief.

"I'm here."

The Cliff

The Cliff

I sit with hospice patient, Michael, who is dying of prostate cancer that metastasized to the spine.

I am here to be with people facing the certain finality of their earthly days.

A finality we all are facing, obviously.

But someone in hospice care is terminally ill by default, with a life expectancy of six months or less.

Michael doesn’t seem to understand that he has come close to the Cliff’s edge. He says he expects to be healed but it is a slow process, much slower than he would like.

I wonder how much closer he will need to get before the unlikelihood of remaining in this world becomes obvious.

And before the world beyond this world engages his serious attention.

Maybe it never will.

Maybe he will take that last step over the Cliff without ever having given a second thought to the vast mystery into which he falls.

I hope not.

I hope his heart will swell open to the fathomless, even as his spirit yearns for its liberation.

And I hope he will share with us some vision of the enfolding night and the radiant dawn as these overtake him.

For truly, I have a hidden agenda in being a hospice volunteer.

I want to draw near to that ultimate Cliff myself - but voluntarily, with eyes, heart and mind open.

And long before the old body, trembling, cannot help but tumble into it.

I want to welcome the enfolding night and radiant dawn when their moment comes.

I want to offer conscious thanks for these days and nights that have been mine,

With all the suffering mingled with joy that has infused my perfect life.


So I sit with hospice patient Michael,

And watch for that wondrous spark of recognition to illumine his face.

Pumpkin Head

Pumpkin Head

This morning I am asking again, is there anything in me today?

Anything to give? Anything worth giving?

Can I come back to the keyboard and type words that people might see?

I feel empty, dry as a bone.

I feel like one of those pumpkins whose insides get scooped out.

And then children carve a face in the empty pumpkin shell,

put a candle inside,

and call it a Jack O’Lantern.

Yep, that's how I feel today.


Suddenly it occurs,

Wow, that’s actually a beautiful symbol.

The pumpkin head whose personal mind has been removed

and replaced by spacious light?

Whose smiley face illuminates the night?

Yes!

Sword in the Heart

Sword in the Heart

Last night I saw, “Seduced and Betrayed” with Helen Hunt and Bette Midler. It takes quite a movie to hold my attention past fifteen minutes, but this was an amazing treatment of the enigmatic and paradoxical way human relationships unfold through contrary circumstance and apparent mishap.

The Piscean (in terms of two fish swimming opposite directions) movements of the soul were depicted in an insightfully touching yet non-sentimental way.

As the plot developed, awareness deepened in the main characters from unconscious reaction to conscious choice, culminating in the knowledge that even in committed love a person will hurt his or her dearest ones - and cannot help doing so. And that this is part of the wondrous mystery of intimate human relationships.

At the very end a Jewish fable was related of a father telling his son to jump, and that he would catch him. So the son jumped, and when his father caught him he felt love. And when his father did NOT catch him he felt something more: life.

Interestingly, the character stories portrayed in the movie were almost as convoluted, complex and improbable as my own real one – but not quite.

I also believe love means willingly bearing your heart to the sword of your beloved, but success in this requires practice. Perhaps pain appears in our lives as just that - target practice. And you can’t hit a target you don’t see.

It seems the way to be at peace with uncertainty and unresolved situations is to become fully aware of them. Once consciously embraced they no longer have the power to affect. They appear simply as aspects of the miraculously complicated and impenetrable life God has granted.

But if the prospect of bearing your heart to the sword is daunting, if the many contradictions and seemingly irreconcilable aspects of life present too much threat of pain, the tendency will be to push these under the level of awareness.

Once in the subconscious they are able to influence and affect freely and ceaselessly, bringing suffering into your experience - perhaps in unexpected ways. Thus the agony you hoped to sidestep comes regardless, but remains inaccessible to treatment.

Sometimes God catches us and we feel love. But sometimes He appears to miss.

That "fall," where God's catch wasn't there, is the sword aimed for our very heart.

We know it will hurt, so the choice is whether to avoid or accept it. To push it out of awareness or to make it as conscious as possible.

This is the life lesson that our deepest relationships bring to us over and over

. . . until we get it.

Trust

I am learning it is possible to not live in fear, to not expect the doom of loss.

I am learning it is possible to trust.

What is the worst that could happen? Well, it's already happened.

You weren't loved unconditionally.

But . . . no one ever HAS been! We are all in the same boat, searching for someone who has the ability to love us unconditionally.

Yet, no one can. No one outside can provide what can only come from inside.

Once we get that, the sense of fear diminishes and the desperate need to find security in this world eases.

And one day you realize . . . it's over.

The seeking for safety, for that mythicial longlasting superhuman affection from some other body is over.

Then Trust comes forward.

You look inside and ask, what has been there all along?

SOMETHING has been, and something still is. Something that has NEVER abandoned you.

Do you feel it? Of course you do. So . . . trust that.

Be with it. Surrender to it.

Love it, and let it love you in return.

Problems Solved

Your 'problems' will be solved through you,


but not by you.

Laugh

"OK COUNT, THIS IS REDICULACE!
I CANT CONTAIN MY SELF ANY LONGER!
WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!"


Ha! That produced a laugh!

Which is kind of a rare commodity these days.

Well, OK I guess some explanation of the dry spell is in order.

For me this has been a time of facing inner shadows – dark scary ones. And when they are hovering I just feel backed into a corner and damn near speechless with apprehension.

And every so often I think it must be great to be one of those happy go lucky sorts of people who manage to sing and dance through the days and have clever things to say no matter what.

Or else I think, OK this is what’s happening now: the world is going through the wringer. So don’t beat yourself up for feeling like crap.

Or else I think that this blog, much as I actually love it, is just a reflection of my dysfunctional egoic state that serves no really beneficial purpose to anyone.

Or else I am so overwhelmed with a sense of catastrophic and claustrophobic doom that there is no motivation to do anything anyway.


Wow! And someone really wants to hear more about that stuff?

God bless you, man!

And thanks for the laugh!

The Graveyard

The Graveyard

I walked in the graveyard under a filmy moon. The spirits had risen from their tombs and floated uneasily in the night air.

“Who are you?” I asked one that hovered over a stone cross.

“I am Delight,” it answered.

“And you?” I asked another.

“Joy,” it replied.

As I looked upon the restless spirits they began to spontaneously name themselves:

“Contentment, Simplicity, Selflessness, Honesty, Hope, Trust . . .”

Below each, a corpse lay buried and decayed in the earth. Never having been released, their spirits haunted the unhappy past.

“What can be done?” I asked, seeing my name above the cemetery gate.

“Have you never heard of Christ?” they asked. “He who resurrects the dead must descend into hell to rescue them.”

I recalled the Savior’s words:

“Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”

For hours we communed together, I and the spirits of childhood. Then dawn began to edge the horizon.

“Now I know where you lie,” I said to them. “You shall be remembered and mourned.”

A sigh of gratitude passed through the gathered ghosts.

“And in God’s time,” I promised, “the Messiah shall come.”