[From a letter to a friend.]
For decades I had read, been taught, and believed that the Real, by definition, must be omnipresent, omniscient and omnipotent. But I still believed it was something objective that I had to find, attain or ‘receive’.
What I had to do, I thought, was find where ‘it’ was hiding – or more to the point – why my perception couldn’t perceive ‘it’. Which sounds easy, but dozens of years were spent traipsing around the spiritual circuit without getting one millimeter closer to my quarry.
It was a light-bulb moment for me when it sunk in that if the Real was totally accessible to me (and everyone), perhaps I should persistently ask myself
What’s the one thing I can’t get away from? Ever?
And there it was – here it is. Inescapably intimate. Closer than my heartbeat.
Whenever protest or confusion arose, I’d just switch over to the Great Escape Routine again. And laugh myself silly.
Well, you do have to laugh, don’t you? Imagine. All those years of seeking and sadhana, of surrender and self-inquiry, and here I am, prisoner of the Presence that I am.
Prisoner of the real dinkum Real.
Vast Presence is always perfectly still.
And yet – as happened today – when a child is injured outside one’s gate and lies screaming in shock and pain, there is action. It is action unclouded by confusion, by conceptualization, by choice. Action simply acts. The child is held and comforted, first aid is applied. She is protected until her mother arrives.
Vast Presence does nothing but be present.
Isn’t it curious that we strive to live in the moment when it’s impossible to find any-where or any-when else but the vastness of the Present, this very moment? We are prisoners of this perfect Presence: there’s no need to seek it, and no possibility of escape!
See also – I’m prisoner of a presence
How very odd it is, that the enlightenment we so earnestly seek is the only thing we can never escape!
The wideawake awareness
of all that is
all that is
all that is
to strive for freedom
most in the know
prisoner of a Presence
that can never
where would I go?
the adorables known as my parents celebrate 67 years of marriage today!
she who identified with the idea of ‘daughter’ can no longer find herself in the idea
but nevertheless, daughter-ing happens
later, an image of the old ‘me’ arises, just like in a dream:
a vacuum cleaner, sucking greedily, insatiably
sucking experiences and teachings and philosophies and beliefs into a bursting bag
me, me, mine!
the bag began emptying on a summer’s evening in Alicante,
(full moon rising, magenta bougainvillea against palest indigo sky
the Lover known as Death silently keeping company)
and once underway, reversal was impossible
with the departure of the last dust-balls,
the bag and the vacuum cleaner disappeared
Lover never left
[this post is a duplicate of the ‘about’ page]
A small, weary, middle-aged woman sits on a zafu. She is hobbled by an old injury that will soon require surgery. She is thousands of miles from her work, her colleagues, her friends and her sangha. Her brilliant life is reduced to ashes.
She is withdrawn but not sorrowful for she accepts her circumstances, and she deeply loves the two sweet friends – her parents – she has crossed the world to care for in their ancient age.
She has inquired deeply into life’s mysteries and questions. She has been blessed to be taught and mentored by great spiritual souls. The zafu is her friend.
She stops, perforce. She sits. She stays. This time there is no escape.
She enters Emptiness.
~ ~ ~