memo to mind

Dear team-member:

 

It has come to our notice that you’ve been indulging

in speculation, prediction,

definition and generalisation

about

what it will be/is like after “awakening” occurs,

how to recognise an “awake” human being,

and even the degree of your own “awakening.”

 

 In other words, you’ve been snoozing on the job

and entertaining yourself in an indisious dream

in which you assume some kind of god-identity

and dish out judgement.

 

Not good teamwork, comrade Mind!

 

Speculation only serves to separate,

and we all know this team is a seamless unit;

seamless, spacious and silent.

 

What is your life about, anyway?
Nothing but a struggle to be someone.
Nothing but a running from your own silence.
– Rumi

 

We note that you get very edgy around silence.

(Your earnest claim of being no one

shatters silence as effectively as any “struggle to be someone.”)

 

Arthur Boyd, Sleeping Woman with Dragonfly and Watching Figure, c.1964

 

Dear comrade,

have you noticed

the iridescent miracle

hovering at the window of wonderment?

 

Are you aware

of the Beloved’s presence,

eyes bloodshot from its sleepless lifelong vigil?

 

Have you marvelled

at the way the life-stream flows on, inevitably,

without minding (without minding).

 

– – –

 

Please reconsider your function and report back.
Thank you.  You are a valued member of the team.

 


Arthur Boyd (1920 – 1999), Sleeping Woman with Dragonfly and Watching Figure c.1964
Pastel on paper, 48.5 x 63.0 cm


Apologies to Arthur Boyd for hijacking his artwork for poetic purposes.


 

early this morning

 

Miriam Louisa Simons - Stained Glass Morning, Missa Gaia Series

 

p e a c e

palpable as the presence of a Presence

yet utterly ineffable

a benediction without diction

beyond the grope of thought

a blessedness without symbol

not experienced as other but

immanent

– inescapably so –

oh!

 

silence

 

immaculate all-adoring silence

 


Image: Miriam Louisa Simons – detail, Stained Glass Morning
Missa Gaia Series,
1987-88. Painting on silk, stitching.
Private Collection, Auckland New Zealand

wonderingmind studio


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


surfer chick

 

Echoes from Emptiness: tunnel surfer

 

I’ve been there
crouched low,
riding a tunnel wave

but it wasn’t in that
rolling roaring wetness

it was in this
silent
unfathomable
ocean of Being

 

imagine my amazement
to discover – here
in this human form –
an aging amphibious
void-surfer

 


Image source unknown – if it’s yours, please advise!


this savage wisdom somehow soothes

362

reality

[aka

confusion
disconnection
resentment
frustration
cowardice
grief]

isn’t optional

reality

[aka

clarity
intimacy
gladness
ease
courage
joy]

isn’t optional

if I scream for a break from this full-on life
with all its dualistic extremes
I’ve gone and forgotten
again

 that reality isn’t optional

and how extraordinary to find that this
savage wisdom somehow soothes
and silences, softly,
sweetly,
the voice of she-who-screams

 ~

are we listening?

361

To listen and to hear are as alike as oil and water. We often think we are listening, when all that’s really happening is that we’re hearing a download of noise from an external source, data which our memory (thinking) sorts into stories that gel with our own worldview.

The art of listening involves bringing relaxed word-free attention to the moment’s fullness – whether it’s a friend sharing confidences, a ghetto-blaster thumping, a kookaburra cackling, the water murmuring and the breeze sighing over its surface. In the same impartial way, this listening notices the constant commentary being broadcast inwardly by thinking and feeling – the whole movement of “me”.

It’s interesting to find that when this quality of listening is present there’s really nothing to say because opinions are absent. There’s nothing to say, yet everything that matters is being said. In the absence of words, something else has space to speak, something inextricably intimate that we recognize as Love.

~