The Lullaby of Presence

Sometimes when I dip into the political discourse, if I’m not careful, I can find myself walking in the polarized landscape of my lizard brain. Then, this mind that was created to serve me, can quickly become my prison guard. In that state of mind, I can be easily angered as I try to comprehend why ‘they” cant see “the” (my) truth. After that, it’s one short step into the self-created world of victimization.

Neurobiology tells us that the lizard brain can create our experience (of reality)… by resurrecting past memories and using these memories to filter our world based on our own biases (alternative facts). This state of mind is the tyrant of our own psyche; it is self-focused, and seeks every opportunity to prove that we are right, safe, and “tremendously” liked.  ;-)

Some time ago, in an effort to move beyond the grip of this tyrannical little mind, I decided to head out for an afternoon hike. For the first 20 minutes, I tried really hard to “move beyond” this grey, mechanized, polarized mind. I’d look at the blue sky, the majestic movement of clouds, the expanse of golden grass waving in the breeze, and yet the mind just kept running its incessant litany of provocative images and phrases.

Then from out of nowhere, I began hearing, and then singing a quiet lullaby to everything I saw. And soon, it wasn’t me singing, it was the Buddha field, the heart of the Christ… singing to itself in everything as everything. There was no difference between a rose quartz pebble and the fragrant pile of poop next to it. For the next hour, I experienced a state of open Presence that broke open the labels and containers that the mind-made world had placed on everything I saw and heard and smelled and felt. There was no past, no future. Only this, only Here, only Now. Thoughts came and went, but they were no longer creating my experience. They were also simply part of the landscape. At one point, I had to leap out of the way of a biker who cursed at me for getting in his way… and this too was part of the landscape.

Pebble, poop, biker. Nothing personal. Nothing to fight against. Just moving through the landscape and responding to it all exactly as it is. This... is freedom. This... is what we were made for.

:)

(photo by Anne Geddes)

Deep Rest

Let everything rest
In the Source of all things.
Let the mind rest in the Mind
Let the heart rest in the Heart
Let sensations rest in the Body

Just as the wave rests back in the Ocean
There is no effort required here.
Simply Ocean rising and falling as wave.
Continuous. Ever changing. 
Yet always Itself.

Just as exhale follows inhale
Allow the waves to come and go.

This is being as you Are.

The Love of the Cosmos for Itself

Sometimes your heart will break.
Sometimes you will be asked to bear the depths of humanity's grief and suffering
And it will seem an impossible task;
To bear witness to the upheaval and ignorance,
To watch the intractable forces,
To live in the midst of the inevitable breakdown
Of life as we have known it.

Be gentle and kind with yourselves
As waves of grief, resistance and anger arise,
Allow them to lift up like steam, dissolving
In the healing atmosphere
Of the Love of the Cosmos for Itself

It is only as we make room
For that which has remained homeless within us
That we can be a healing force for this world.

May we continue to bear witness
To take sacred action
And to meet all of it with Love.

Aho.

(Painting Marina del Mar)

Secret of Secrets

When one recognizes that
The Remover of Obstacles
Is made of the same substance 
As the obstacles,
What else is there to do, but...
Dance!

One Love

I used to think I had to sit in a cave
Or at the very least bar the door
From interruptions to the Peace
I felt when alone.

Then we began singing together, voices joined in holy Communion...
Opening, harmonizing, dissolving in
Union
And there was just One Voice.
One Peace.
One Love.
Permeating, radiating, everything
Just.This.Heavenly.Bliss.

I used to think I had to wait to be alone
To drop into this Silence;
To turn off all sense of Other in order to enter into I.
Until I looked into your eyes,
Listened to your voice,
And then I was lost
In the depths of a Silence that has no center
That needs no boundary
Everything drenched in this Stillness
That spreads out
Into Infinity.

I used to believe that some-thing some-day
Would bring me to this freedom.
Then every "you" became I.
Now I receive darshan from the cows on my morning walk
Dance with a friend in ever expanding space
Gaze into the eyes of a beloved and see the Universe
Feel the deep peace of a newborn as he sleeps
And sing with the rooster at dawn.

Everything, everything magnifying this Stillness
Everything, everything deepening this Love
Everything, everything singing your holy name

Singing Ourselves to Freedom

I had a dream a while back, and
In the dream I was in Africa,
And I was helping refugees escape, after
Years of terrifying war and suffering.

As we loaded the last truck full to the brim
With hot, thirsty, exhausted, war-torn beings,
All huddled together with barely room to breathe,
I wondered how they would survive the trip,
Packed in, as they were,
Like sardines in the 100+ degree heat.

As I climbed up to sit on the tailgate
And motioned the driver to begin the journey,
The truck began to move slowly down the road.
And as it did,
I heard one voice,
That quickly grew into a chorus,
An almost unearthly sound
As they began to sing together
A Song of Thanksgiving

In anticipation
Of the freedom that awaited them,
At some unknown time,
In some unknown place,
On the other end of this journey.

I believe it was Tagore who said
Faith
Is the bird…
That sings
While the dawn
Is still dark.

Come my friends,
Let us sing!!

Song of the Infinite

You move through the center of me

Like a river
No beginning, no 

end  

Song of the Ancients

Song of the Cosmos
Song that can’t be sung

You sing me into existence
And back into Silence
Song of the immigrants
Song of the children
Song of the powerful
Song of the faithful
Song of the heretic
Song of the warrior
The only song that has ever been sung

You are the Music
I am the Lute.

Play.

(Photo of Alisa Weilerstein, by Lucio Lecce)