echoes from emptiness

Tag: nonduality

the shock of seamless intimacy

 
Miriam Louisa Simons: the shock of seamless intimacy

 

when the myth of separation erases itself

from the mind’s story-trove

one free-falls into a view (there’s no choice about it)

that’s viewerless

the shock of seamless intimacy is usually hair-raising

devastating, humbling

no separation! outside & inside – same!

repeat: same!

- – -

all those stories one tells oneself about oneself

and the mythical others

all those resolutions made in the aching lostness:

practice! diligence! discretion!

all those stern exclusions: the egotist, the phoney

the ignorant, the ‘evil’…

all those fantasies about embracing

some Unknowable Immensity

aye

all those comforting conclusions; certitudes acquired

along a streaming lifeline

gone – synapses wiped

- – -

only this Nothing that excludes nothing

remains, on Its knees

utterly undone

fully full

and excruciatingly sweet

- – -

 


Image source unknown. Please notify me if it’s yours, so credit can be given. Thank you.


perhaps it is time?

 
Photo art by Christoffer Relander
 

would you believe me
if I assured you that
you can never be too old
(or too young)
to meet the unborn
deathless Bright
that is your actual identity?

would you believe me
if I whispered that you
and the world appearing
within that radiant
Knowingness
are inseparable
except in thought?

would you believe me
if I said, No, it is not
too late
to turn in, to dive down
into your immensity
and feel loved again by
your own shy Life?

if your days feel deadened
by weariness and futility,
if your world seems fragmented
and full of pain,
I implore you: please
don’t believe or not believe,
but glance, with thoughts
on hold,
at the ever-present invitation
to check this out for yourself
 
perhaps it is time?

 


Multiple exposure portrait by Christoffer Relander


creation is a selfless selfie

Miriam Louisa Simons: Lanzarote aquascape

 

the seeing of It:

the ripples and reflections
the surface and the cool depth
the sun-snatching edges and the calm continuo
the tones, textures, colours

 

the watching of It:

the naming and the recalling
the emotional embroidery, the visceral memories
(pain and pleasure both flushed my cheeks
on that windswept isle in the Canaries)

 

the knowing of It:

all that unfolds before, behind, within and throughout me
as this world I call ‘mine’
shimmers fluidly in a center-less, owner-less
wideawake Aware-ing

 

I am Not,
but the Universe is my Self.

– Shih-T’ou, A.D. 700-790


Image – swimming pool reflections captured on a long-ago vacation; Lanzarote, Canary Islands


 

have you seen my mind?

I’m not sure what it is about full moons, but they seem to turn on a tap of poetical scribblings here. June’s full moon: it’s cold and audaciously bright as it rises behind the tropical foliage that protects my terrace. Three haiku fall from my pen…

- – -

Bats flying across the full moon, NSW, Australia

 

here’s a state of Grace:

bats flying across full moon -

my webbed wings, aloft

-

what a paradox -

my greedy seeking has ceased

yet nothing was found

-

have you seen my mind?

I can’t find it anywhere

though it’s right in my face!

-

 


Image source


joy

Dervish Dancer
 

there is a joy
that’s neither an emotion nor a feeling;
that’s unaffected by unkind words
spat from spiteful mouths;
that’s unwounded by hurtful gestures -
off-handedness, rudeness, scorn

there is a joy
that pulses on regardless
of the world’s apparent disarray -
the distress, the abuse and denial -
a joy from which one is choicelessly
propelled into impartial action

there is a joy
that has no opposite, or cause;
it can’t be cultivated or contained,
bought or sold,
given or attained,
yet you’ll never escape its presence

there is a joy
that trashes all your
“teacup ideas” of transcendence;
that sets your wild fearless heart
spinning like a dervish
amongst the sorrows of the world

 


Image: Rumi on Facebook


raking rocks on the emptiness allotment

 

what I’ve noticed
since the free-fall into foolishness
is that
only a phantom called ‘me’
with its program of personal purpose
and its visions of attainment
– whether altruistic or mundane -
could demand of Life
(when the shit hits the fan)

but why?

why me?

?

 

Painting by Ingo Leth: 2011-004 the spirit of zen, 2011, acrylic paint on linen

 

a space-filled nobody
(the absence of a ‘me’body)
makes no demands;
it doesn’t mind what happens

it has no agenda beyond
the health and well-being of the organism
(all organisms actually)
and no fantasies of an improved future

it just streams on regardless
from now to now to now
often wearing a quiet smile
and surreptitiously
inviting
more playmates to rake rocks
on the emptiness allotment

(the home base, dears,
of radical activism)

 


Painting by Ingo Leth


whatever It is

Image: Black Hole 7 by Fabian Oefner

 

whatever It is
that delivers these words
(unreachable by mind’s intent)
through this form

that’s what I pray to

 

whatever It is
that cracks open this heart
(circumventing mind’s cynicism)
to bathe me in bliss

that’s what I call love

 

whatever It is
that heals this weary wounded body
(unaided by any out-sourced effort)
restoring it while I sleep, oblivious

that’s what I hold sacred

 

whatever It is
that births and sustains creation
(immeasurable by mind’s technologies)
unfindable, yet apparent wherever my senses alight

that’s what I bow down to

 

whatever It is
that is moved by grace
(which is just another word for the unwordable)
to pray, to bow, to melt into the sacred

that’s whatever It is

entertaining Itself

 


Image credit: Fabian Oefner


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