The days draw out. Two full-moons ago the sun’s ascent was blocked by the lillypilly hedge. Now it marches up from the ranks of the tall eucalypts, searing my face with its sharp rays and it’s not yet 06.30 on the clock.
the coming, the going
the appearing, disappearing
the in-breath, out-breath
the being, the not-being
only this inconceivable
In the deep darkness of night – no slumber in sight – bum sits on cushion, eyelids draw down of their own accord, breath flows in breath flows out. Beat of heart, song of great silence.
Out of infinite velvet blackness points of energy emerge.
They spiral into appearance, and as they do so they take on mandala-like forms. Some are glorious flowers. Others are crystalline and geometric. Others are snowflake-like, a blend of organic curvaceous-ness and geometric patterning. Still others are spirals, simple vortexes, or radiating arms like the spira mirabilis. There is no color, only milk-white light playing in the black vastness.
The energy forms appear to move towards the witnessing Awareness, spiraling and expanding, and then they move right through and into IT –
an endlessly unfurling pulsation
emerging, spiraling, flowering, and flowing,
penetrating and dissolving into
the unknowable Knowingness
that is ceaselessly watching.
folded up on my zafu
eyes wide open
senses alive, alert
brain like a tuning fork
resonating, singing –
the pitch is off the scale
(can you hear the grass growing?
can you bear the pressure
inside a swelling dewdrop?)
sitting, breathing, being:
– the dawning of a soft new day
– body breathing itself sigh by sigh
– the hub of heaven’s heartbeat
shining sunbeams on skin
where just a breath before
was cool darkness
waking up is just like that
a mosquito has breakfasted on my unwitting ankle; fingers reach to scratch
a truck roars past, penetrating the last sigh of night’s silence; the toilet upstairs flushes and fills, birds are squabbling at the birdbath
crystals are rainbow-dancing over the slowly emerging outlines of the sanctuary wall; candlelight is flickering, the rising sun is painting primrose lozenges of soft light
in my celadon teapot green tea is steeping; a wisp of vapor makes the invisible visible
at home on this zafu, breathing is rising and releasing without effort or control; brain is fasting
wideawakeness and suchness are inseparably embedded: now! this! here!
a a a a a h . . . .
About the image:
Tonoscope image of the vowel ‘a’ in sand. The tonoscope was constructed to make the human voice visible without any electronic apparatus as an intermediate link. This yielded the amazing possibility of being able to see the physical image of the vowel, tone or song a human being produced directly. Hans Jenny called this new area of research cymatics, which comes from the Greek kyma, wave. Cymatics could be translated as the study of how vibrations, in the broad sense, generate and influence patterns, shapes and moving processes.
for what appeared to be decades,
(but were only eyeblinks of eternal everness)
I sought the Beloved:
I looked in Your eyes
I looked in Your books
I looked in Your ideas
I looked in Your philosophies
I looked in Your inspirations
I looked in the beauty and horror
and I looked in the secret drawer
of body’s senses
when I stopped looking?
joy knows no bounds
in the pre-dawn hours
the earth seems held in the embrace
of an otherness
that can only be called sacred
it’s like a held breath,
a halt in time’s march –
then, the peach-hued sunrise
is called forth
by the feathered guardians
of the dawn
and the breath flows out
into the glory of Gaia’s first day