a bet against nothing

 

Karen Divine - iPhone photography

 

The suitors came a-courting –
some to convert; others
to conquer.

They built their bowers
and cast their glittering nets
but

it was a bet against nothing
and nothing always
won.

 

See, I was taken at birth by
a groom I could never meet;
wed for life to Its presence

(inescapably cradled,
unconditionally
loved)

our consummation flowering
in my disappearance –
afresh in every instant.

 

My groom is the keeper of nothingness:
the nothing that can’t be named
or owned, yet

overflowingly fulfills.
It is my constant consort.
And so, tonight

I drink my wine and dance
alone.
How could I be happier?

 


Image:  iPhone photography by Karen Divine

Karen’s work is featured at my website the awakened eye


mooning melts the night

 

Utagawa Hiroshige (Ando) - Wind Blown Grass Across the Moon

 

xxxii

a moment arrives

without a need of the past

the full moon rises

 

xxxiii

a thought bubbles up

a preference is posited

the moon doesn’t mind

 

xxxiv

the bubble bursts, pop!

awareness has no center

mooning melts the night

 


Image: Utagawa Hiroshige (Ando), Wind Blown Grass Across the Moon
Woodblock print
Collection, Brooklyn Museum, New York


memo from IT to ITself

 

IT is not understood until IT is forgotten

 

IT is not understood
until IT is forgotten.

When IT is forgotten
IT can express ITself.

When IT expresses ITself
you won’t recognise IT.

If you think you recognise IT
you are mistaken.

Realising you are mistaken
about everything

 

cracks open

 &

deconstructs

 

your many-layered
me-isphere

revealing IT to ITself

perfectly.

 


“IT” in this context = reality, big R.
This post might read like a madwoman’s rant, but those who have free-fallen into Unknowing will simply smile at the play of paradox.
Such is IT’s way.


Image sourced from Facebook, where credit was not given. Please advise if it’s yours and an appropriate link will be added.


plus ça change…

WordPress wizards in training

The ingenious wizards at WordPress have shifted things around again. They no longer offer a sampling of blogs using the themes they offer – a pity, imho, as it’s always interesting to see the way a variety of bloggers turn a particular theme into a personal platform for their writing.

The changes mean this little blog is no longer featured as a “great blog using the Manifest Theme.” Overnight the stats shrank like unmentionables doused in a shower of icy water.

There’s a sense of relief that the folk who turn up here nowadays are more likely to be interested in the content of this blog rather than its theme and design. Yet this is mingled with gratitude that the exposure generated by the WP link may have delivered a few web-wanderers – who might otherwise have scooted on by – to these pages.

When all is said and done, all that remains is emptiness. And emptiness is not about to be silenced. So if you are a stalwart subscriber to this blog, fear not. She-who-transcribes-the-downloads isn’t about to clock off because she’s been sidelined by WP. She thrives on anonymity, and it’s a constant source of amazement to her that Life makes sure her offerings land exactly where they are able to be received.

Nothing, nothing is required of her but to offer what’s given.

And she wryly observes that the Changeless remains – well – unchanged.

plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose

 


Image source.


(love loves a vacuum)

 

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (1864-1901), Seule 1896.  Oil on cardboard. H. 31; W. 40 cm  © RMN-Grand Palais (Musée d'Orsay)

 

xxix

God came to visit

she snuck in as a ‘flu bug

oh – what an honour!

 

xxx

resting in retreat:

with no idea of ‘body’

can illness be found?

 

xxxi

gutted and legless

I’m utterly emptied out

(love loves a vacuum)

 


Image: Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (1864-1901), Seule 1896.
Oil on cardboard. H. 31; W. 40 cm
© RMN-Grand Palais (Musée d’Orsay)


the God game

How to play.

 
[Since participation isn’t optional, and there’s no Players’ Manual provided, what can one do but invent a good story?]
 

1

Go hide yourSelf [aka Primordial Awareness, Divine Light, Truth, Reality, Original Self, Godhead…] from view – somewhere so obvious and so simple, it’s guaranteed to be overlooked.

2

Call the shadow cast by your hidden self-shining Light “world”: an infinite array of mirrors reflecting every imaginable experience; a mind-field so intricate it can entertain for lifetimes…

 

Mirror Room (after Da Vinci)

 

3

Forget you had any part in this arrangement [crucial, repeat, crucial] and set out into the “world”, wearing an infinity of cunning disguises, to find yourSelf again.

4

Spend as much time as needed [i.e. aeons of now-ness] entertaining and satiating your seeker-self and eventually

5

stop.
shut up.
surrender and fall

back

 

down

 

in

 

and there,
which is now-here,
beyond time and space
behind the mirrors
out of your mind

 

meet yourSelf as your every perception
thought
and
feeling

 

love yourSelf as the font and the fabric
of this seething, sensuous
and wholly divine
dance

 

know yourSelf
– your own dear flawed and fantastic self –
as the Light
you hid so darned effectively
it took a lifetime of forgetting

before you could remember

again

 


Image: Mirror room built for the Da Vinci, the Genius traveling museum exhibition, based on one of his sketches. The mirror room was just an idea for Da Vinci, a way to see all around an object (or one’s self); the technology of his day couldn’t come close to creating mirrors of this size. I wonder if he fully realised what the experience of being in such a room would be like, the dizzying way reflections of your reflection would stretch off to infinity… did he perhaps reflect upon the all-inclusive Awareness in which this immense view appeared?

Source


 

silence has found me

This poem was originally posted on one of my other blogs in 2009. During some cyber housekeeping I found it again and it spoke to me with the same intensity expressed six years ago. It wants to be shared here on ‘the echoes’. With love.


 

Johann Heinrich Füssli - The Silence

 

silence has found me

its ruthless simplicity
has culled the clutter
from closets
I never knew existed
in the corridors of my brain

its unstoppable tide
has drowned the demon
that danced through my days,
demanding:
control, adjust, fix!

its throbbing roar
has muted the mutterings
of protest,
the pleas for reprieve,
from the screaming ‘me-me!’ myth

its yawning vastness
has swallowed whole
the impostor who once laid claim
to this luminous lifestream:
t i m e

its perfect love
has melted all that I took
to be me
in its crucible of fiery
Grace

and the receptors in these cells
heard the words
the whole world hungers
to hear:

you are loved!

how could it be otherwise
when separation from your essence
is impossible?

 

be silence

and Know

 


Image – Johann Heinrich Füssli, The Silence, oil on canvas, 1799-1801
Source – Wikimedia Commons


Reblogged from this unlit light