The world needs you more than ever. In this time when despair is valued over clarity, anger wins over mindfulness we need souls like you who will not bow down to likes, legacy, and cultural creation. You alone could give voice to the dark times. But when I call your name there is only noble silence. Inspired from Shozan Jack Haubner
One night I climbed the hill behind the house and looked down on a simple dirt road where I was surprised to see long lines of people shuffling into the distance. Their difficult breathing and their coughing were probably caused by the cloud of dust their march had created. "Who are you and why is this happening?" I asked one of them. "We are believers and must keep going," and then he added, "our work is important and concerns the self." "But all your dust is darkening the stars," I said. "Nay, nay," he said, "we are only passing through, the stars will return." Mark Strand
"Haven't we have been down this path before? I think we have. At the end of this path there will be a door. The door will open to a world with the old rainbows that we chased. We will find the bluebird singing to us by the moon river. There will be a little child waiting for us in the boat holding the midnight flowers."
"Yes, my dear, we have seen that too, but you must hold my arm and close your eyes."
Become totally empty Quiet the restless of the mind Only then you will witness everything Unfolding from emptiness See all things flourish and dance in endless variation And once again merge back into perfect emptiness- Lao Tzu
I have grown tired of the moon, tired of its look of astonishment, the blue ice of its gaze, its arrivals and departures, of the way it gathers lovers and loaners under its invisible wings, failing to distinguish between them.
One summer when she was still young she stood on the roof and wondered where he had gone, that owl who sat by the tree, watching, waiting for something that would never arrive. Gone with the owl are the stories of the summer where he wandered out into the miraculous night, the memories of the traveler into the sea of dark or the idleness of the lonely soul. She realized that the owl may never return back. Undone by sorrow, she found solace in prayer, and others, like ourselves, who lost their owls chose to follow wild dogs through the dark woods, nursing their bruises until they return to stars or ashes.
Gravity doesn't even apply to you. Wait till you see the faces of those who thought we were finished. Listen to me. Let's go back one more time and show them what we're capable of. We have to end it on our own terms... with a grand gesture. Flames. Sacrifice. Icarus. You can do it. You hear me? You are... Birdman! Birdman, the movie
I loved you; and the hopelessness I knew, The jealousy, the shyness - though in vain - Made up a love so tender and so true (Translated by Genia Gurarie, 11/10/95 , Pushkin)
In the empty hours of cold Sunday evening the thought of to be loved again the way it happened many years ago arises again. The desire to comfort the soul that lies beyond the mountains renders the heart again. The yearn to dive down with the yellowing light that lowers itself in the hour before dark emerges again. The reflection to trace down the path that we promised to walk surfaces again.
She stood beside me for years, or was it a moment? I can not remember. Maybe I loved her, maybe I did not. What does love mean anyway? There was a house and then no house. There were trees but none remain. When no one remembers, what is there? You, whose moments are gone, who drift like smoke in the afterlife, tell me something, tell me anything.
A round sound was polished until it became a smoother sound, which was polished until it became music. Then the music was polished until it became the memory of the night.....
"You do not know anything about music. You do not know ragas. You do not know mantra, madhya, and taar. Stop writing about music, you fool." advised the pundit.
"True. Even the blinds do not know the color, until the night comes. Tarr of vivid red, madhya of remembered green, and mantra of boundless blue comes to alive in his mind when the darkness wipes the difference from the pride and prejudice of the daylight. I will listen through the colors of my mind and scribble it in the paper. Forgive me." I replied.
I walked down this path before. The cloud strokes the hair of the mountain before traveling to another country. The mountain stands still and wait for the cloud to return next time. In the perfumed heat of a summer morning the silent snow of thought melts. River carries the message through the ancient path to the cloud. The cloud returns back for a while with the mountain until she leaves again. The mountain stands still and waits. "What can we learn from it?" asks the child. "Wait, till the silence where we all meet." replies the traveler.
Behind each word, there is another word. And hundreds more, behind that one. All these unsaid words, he says, contain his true self, which has been betrayed by the superficial self before her. "Will you ever understand me?" asks the boy. Mark Strand, modified
The king is upset. His room in the castle is cold, so was the room across the hall, and all the other rooms as well. He needs to blame someone. "Why the room is cold?" he quizzes the servant. "I am afraid the God is gone. The wind yellowing the trees, then baring them brown. We are at the end of our journey. World is going to end." the servant replies. "You immigrants ruined this. You ruined everything!" the king yells back. "Are n't we all immigrant on the face of the earth." the servant whispers.
The empty heart comes to a empty nest from a busy day at the office. And what is the empty heart to do but empty itself of emptiness. Sweeping out the unsweepable takes an effort of mind, the fruitless exertion of faculties already burdened. Poor empty heart, old before it's time, how it struggles to do what the mind tells it to do. But the struggle comes to nothing. The empty heart cannot do what the mind commands. It sits in the dark, daydreams, and the emptiness grows.
Sleep, shelter me. Back into the promise of the dark where I belong. Sing, your favorite song. Until I fall into your empty arms. And I promise to dream old paths and white clouds where we will meet again.
It was all there. It is still there. Luminous sunlight. Melted teardrops. Frozen forms. Smiling flowers. Knowledge of the unborn. Nothing changed. You asked for flesh. You asked for future. You asked for certainty. I know the sun will rise tomorrow. I know I will wait for you.
He has merged with the level where all experience is one. He is the solitary hero of that beyond essence, to whom all phenomena brought to silence, radiant with the vision of gnosis, who has realized the ultimate reality, who has attained the bliss of understanding, and who has relished the highest awakening.
Hymn to the five voids, from the book Tantra Illuminated
To him whose elastic and vigorous thought keeps pace with the sun, the day is a perpetual morning. It matters not what the clocks say or the attitudes and labors of men. Morning is when I am awake and there is a dawn in me. Henry David Thoreau
Live. You must live in the present, launch yourself on every wave, find your eternity in each moment.
There is no another land; there is no other life but this, or like this.
Laugh. Laugh until tears come out of your eyes. There is no world for the penitent and regretful. Laugh in the virgin light of the morning. Laugh in the boredom of the afternoon. Laugh in the silence of darkness.
Listen. Listen to the sound of silence. Listen to the morning mist talking to the grass. Listen to the music. Listen to your inner voice. Listen before you speak.
I am there, waiting, still waiting, still. There beneath the stillness of water. There above the mountain where the cloud kisses its hair. There in the colors bleed through the leaves. There in the blues that comes before the black. I am there, still. Come to me.
I like walking with her. A silent walk in my solitude. She is my silent and sympathizing companion. I walk with her in the mist of early mornings, in the tiredness of twilight, or in the darkness of the night. She is beautiful. Yet not too distinct and obtrusive. She will mesmerize you if you pay close attention. Yet not demanding any diligence.
Every fish that swims silent, every bird that flies freely, every doe that steps softly. Every crisp leaf that falls, all the flowers that grow on this colourful tapestry, somehow they know. That if man is allowed to destroy all they need. He will soon have to pay with his life, for his greed -Don Mclean
Look up more than down. See more than say. Listen more than speak. Hope more than dread. Believe more than criticize. Yes more than no. No more than maybe. Laugh more than cry. Love more than hate. See. More. See
I like walking down that path. At twilight. In the early morning. Light is battering against the leaves. Silence whisper through the air. That is for me great pleasure: not sex, not food, not worldly amusement. I like the sound of leaf falling. I like the quietness. Suddenly I hear the sublime notes and melody of sweet voice. Where does the music come from? I know you are always with me.
Solitude and despair are the invention of man. Nothing in nature plunge itself in despair. Look at trees. It is fall and they are pompously getting ready to get rid of all of their old leaves to welcome new in the springs. Imitate trees. Nothing lasts in life. Even the most excruciating and psychic pain. LET IT GO.
Long Long ago, before I was a tormented artist, afflicted with longing yet incapable of forming durable attachments, long before this, I was a glorious ruler unifying all of a divided country-so I was told by the fortune-teller who examined my palm. Great things, she said, are ahead of you, or perhaps behind of you; it is difficult to be sure. And yet, she added, what is the difference? Right now you are a child holding hands with a fortune-teller. All the rest is hypothesis and dream. Louise Gluck Read the book
Storm Reyes. Lived in Native American migrant worker camps. Her parents were alcoholics and she was beaten, abused, and neglected. She learned to fight with a knife long before she learned how to ride a bicycle. When you are grinding day after day after day, there's nothing to aspire except feeding your hungry belly. You don't dream. You don't hope. One day her life changed.A bookmobile came to her migrant camp. The bookmobile staffer asked Storm what she was interested in and sent her home with a couple of books. she took them home and devoured them. She didn't just read them, she devoured them. And she came back in two weeks and had more questions. And he gave her more books, and that started it. The experience, she says, was life-changing. That taught her that hope was not just a word. And it gave her the courage to leave the camps. That's where the books made the difference. She left the camps when she was a teenager and attended night school. She ended up working in a Pierce County Library System for more than 30 years. For more than 100 years public libraries in this country have provided all members of the public with free access to knowledge, information, and opportunity. Public libraries have evened the playing field for all. Our own Kingsport public library was started by five women in 1919 when they formed the Kingsport Book Club.In 1921 this group approached the city of Kingsport to open a library with their collection of 400 books.The City was not interested in their proposal. That did not dampen their spirit.They ran the library in multiple different locations until City agreed to take over in 1928. In 1961, the library is moved to its current location. Now the billion dollar question is in this digital age where all the information are in our fingertips, do we still need libraries? Entire books are downloaded in minutes. Classics from Moby-Dick to Shakespeare's tragedies come virtually free. Forget about the information coming in word from. Videos now can explain everything from plumbing work to website design.So, let's ask: Do we still need public libraries, with their miles of dusty bookshelves, decimated reference departments, and rules of decorum? Yes.
We still need to read, study, and communicate in a non-distracting environment. And we still need what urban technologists call "third places"-that is public spaces other than home. Human need to mingle and socially interact with others to remain strong in a community. What can be better place than library. No wonder why Starbucks is so crowded in every nook and corners or urban places. Libraries are haven for thinking, dreaming, studying, striving and - for many children and the elderly-simply for staying safe out of the scorching heat. Like good librarian, Tony Marx of the New York Public Library has some answers. He said "Public libraries are more important today than ever before. Their mission is still the same-to provide free access to information to all people. The way people access information has changed, but they still need information to succeed, and libraries are providing that." Rightly so. We have an obligation to support libraries.If you don't value libraries then you don't value information or culture or wisdom. You are silencing the voices of the past and you are damaging the future. Reference: 1. Callings: the purpose and passion of work 2. The journal of David Thoreau, 1837-1861 3. realclearpolitics.com 4. Neil Gaiman in a beautiful piece titled “Why Our Future Depends on Libraries, Reading and Daydreaming.” 5. npr.org
After fleeing the giant cannibals, and greatly relieved to still
be alive, Odysseus is eager to return to home. However, in the small island of
Cierce, a feminine God he felt lost and disoriented. He feels the need of help
from outside his normal masculine goal orientation-he needs to meet his
feminine side as ally and Friend. He needs to confront Cierce. The story of
Odysseus and Cierce provide the chemistry of Odysseus's metamorphosis from
arrogant warrior to loving father, tender husband, and awakened seeker.
In this story of the male psyche, females represent what
psychoanalyst Carl Jung called the anima. As the masculine archetype
acts in the outer world of quests and conquests, she moves in the interior,
serving as a guide to his feelings, psychological complexes, and collective
unconscious, like Dante's Beatrice. If the ego is the archetype of the
ambitions, worldly, and action-oriented hero; the anima is the archetype of
life, love, union and inner journey.
In our livelihood men learn tenderness with age. With the decline
of instinctual male drives and waning of ego's importance, we tune into our
feline potential. We become more sensitive, compassionate, care taking,
inclusive, and loving. This is one of the great gifts of age, as competitions
for sex and power dissolve into universal love.
In my childhood I loved playing with dolls. In my adulthood I
love poetry. I love how the words stack one after another to create a beautiful
world. Most often I am laughed at, bullied, ridiculed for my "girly" behaviors.
To this day I remember those days like yesterday. In a study researchers found
that 96 percent of girls and 87 percent of boys had viewed Disney Princess
Media. And while 61 percent of girls played with Princess toys at least once a
week, only four percent boys did the same. Study shows higher Princess
engagement leading to more girly behaviors among girls. This is not surprising.
However, the boys in the study who engaged with Disney Princess media had
better body esteem and exhibited more pro-social behaviors. Those beneficial
effects may suggest that princesses provide a needed counterbalance to the
higher masculine superhero media that's traditionally presented to boys.
Perhaps the most interesting outcome was that neither gender showed signs of
lower self-esteem or negative body image as one might expect from children
immersed in princess culture.
Micheal Morones. 11-year-old boy attempted suicide after
classmates bullied him. Reason? He loves the girly cartoon "My little
pony". He is recovering slowly. You can find his update on his facebook
page. Lauren Sheehan wrote, "Great leaders embody their wisdom. To embody
your wisdom, you must be connected to your core essence. To feel connected to
your core essence you must come home to your womb, your feminine."
Remember, we all come from a Goddess and to Her we shall return. I am proud of
the "feminine presence" in my male body. Are you?
Aging Man Want: The Odyssey as a Parable of Male Aging: John Robinson
2.philly.com article: Is
Disney Princess culture bad for our kids?
and love for Michael Morones: facebook page
.....one man, surrounded by gigantic mountains and dense forests, standing defenseless below thundering clouds and stormy, grey skies......But what could nature possibly want from an insignificant like me? Everything I was or had, including my body, was bestowed on me by the Divine. It was a liberating feeling to realize that I had nothing to lose, and therefore, nothing to be afraid of. -if truth be told, Om Swami
When you go out into the woods and you look at trees, you see all these different trees. And some of them are bent, and some of them are straight, and some of them are evergreen and some of them are whatever. and you look at the tree and you allow it. You see why it is the way it is. You sort of understand that it didn't get enough light, and so it turned that way. And you don't get all emotional about it. You just allow it. You appreciate the tree. The minute you get near humans you lose all that and you are constantly saying "you're too this, or I'm too this." That judging mind comes in. And so I practice turning people into trees. Which means appreciating them just the way they are.
We all come into existence as a single cell, smaller than a speck of dust. Much smaller. Divide. Multiply. Add and subtract. Matter changes hands, atoms flow in and out, molecules pivot, proteins stitch together, mitochondria send out their oxidative dictates; we begin as a microscopic electrical swarm. The lungs the brain the heart. Forty weeks later, six trillion cells get crushed in the vise of our mother’s birth canal and we howl. Then the world starts in on us. -all the lights we can not see