Monday, December 28, 2009

Friday, December 18, 2009

Little Tiger By Kelsang Gyatso (1708 - 1757)

The honey bee, a little tiger,
is not addicted to the taste of sugar;
his nature is to extract the juice
from the sweet lotus flower!

Dakinis, above, below, and on earth,
unimpeded by closeness and distance,
will surely extract the blissful essence
when the yogins bound by pledges gather.

The sun, the king of illumination,
is not inflated by self-importance;
by the karma of sentient beings,
it shines resplendent in the sky.

When the sun perfect in skill and wisdom
dawns in the sky of the illuminated mind,
without conceit, you beautify
and crown the beings of all three realms.

The smiling faces of the radiant moon
are not addicted to hide and seek;
by its relations with the sun,
the moon takes waning and waxing forms.

Though my gurus, embodiment of all refuge,
are free of all fluctuation and of faults,
through their flux-ridden karma the disciples perceive
that the guru's three secrets display all kinds of effulgence.

Constellations of stars adorning the sky
are not competing in a race of speed;
due to the force of energy's pull,
the twelve planets move clockwise with ease.

Guru, deity, and dakini -- my refuge --
though not partial toward the faithful,
unfailingly you appear to guard
those with fortunate karma blessed.

The white clouds hovering above on high
are not so light that they arise from nowhere;
it is the meeting of moisture and heat
that makes the patches of mist in the sky.

Those striving for good karma
are not greedy in self-interest;
by the meeting of good conditions
they become unrivaled as they rise higher.

The clear expanse of the autumn sky
is not engaged in the act of cleansing;
yet being devoid of all obscuration,
its pure vision bejewels the eyes.

The groundless sphere of all phenomena
is not created fresh by a discursive mind;
yet when the face of ever-presence is known,
all concreteness spontaneously fades away.

Rainbows radiating colors freely
are not obsessed by attractive costumes;
by the force of dependent conditions,
they appear distinct and clearly.

This vivid appearance of the external world,
though not a self-projected image,
through the play of fluctuating thought and mind,
appears as paintings of real things.

Friday, December 04, 2009

Keep on knocking
'til the joy inside
opens a window
look to see who's there


Sunday, November 29, 2009

On the death of the Beloved
by John O'Donohue

Though we need to weep your loss,
You dwell in that safe place in our hearts,
Where no storm or might or pain can reach you.

Your love was like the dawn
Brightening over our lives
Awakening beneath the dark
A further adventure of colour.

The sound of your voice
Found for us
A new music
That brightened everything.

Whatever you enfolded in your gaze
Quickened in the joy of its being;
You placed smiles like flowers
On the altar of the heart.
Your mind always sparkled
With wonder at things.

Though your days here were brief,
Your spirit was live, awake, complete.

We look towards each other no longer
From the old distance of our names;
Now you dwell inside the rhythm of breath,
As close to us as we are to ourselves.

Though we cannot see you with outward eyes,
We know our soul's gaze is upon your face,
Smiling back at us from within everything
To which we bring our best refinement.

Let us not look for you only in memory,
Where we would grow lonely without you.
You would want us to find you in presence,
Beside us when beauty brightens,
When kindness glows
And music echoes eternal tones.

When orchids brighten the earth,
Darkest winter has turned to spring;
May this dark grief flower with hope
In every heart that loves you.

May you continue to inspire us:

To enter each day with a generous heart.
To serve the call of courage and love
Until we see your beautiful face again
In that land where there is no more separation,
Where all tears will be wiped from our mind,
And where we will never lose you again.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

The Celestial Fire

Now an angel of the Lord appeared to Moses in a blazing fire --

a fire that devours fire;
a fire that burns in things dry and moist;
a fire that glows amid snow and ice;
a fire that is like a crouching lion;
a fire that reveals itself in many forms;
a fire that is, and never expires;
a fire that shines and roars;
a fire that blazes and sparkles;
a fire that flies in a storm wind;
a fire that burns without wood;
a fire that renews itself every day;
a fire that is not fanned by fire;
a fire that billows like palm branches;
a fire whose sparks are flashes of lightning;
a fire black as a raven;
a fire, curled, like the colours of the rainbow!


Sunday, November 01, 2009

I am going on a picnic and I am not bringing Halloween.  I would love to kick Halloween and it's sweet bucket ass back out on the sidewalk. Why? It's personal.

Honoring the dead is a Beautiful tradition; a promising meditation; a Divine worship; a ceremonious Dance with the Spirits! Whether we think about it or not, Death awaits us-- buzzing patiently on the windowsill of Consciousness. Because it is that time of year, I invite the souls of my beloved to pass into the present moment. Of course, they don't really need an invitation; the come with the ease of dew and arrest the tender spaces of the body-mind. *There really is no travel to do all! It's are here now!* But anyways, at night I dream of my past Hebrew names and in the morning I can feel my Grandma rubbing the marrow in my left forearm.

This year I left the candy of my porch.  While my porch light illumines the young kids who don't even bother to dress up anymore (and take the entire stash to dump into their 'Whole Foods' bag), I sit inside by candlelight. In this womb I contemplate my inner-light. This year, I choose to not be taken by another hungry ghost, to not disconnect: Evolve, not dissolve. Tonight the veils are so thin that I would like a clear lens to see with!

Perhaps we might teach out children to never wear a mask, never hide in cloaks, never assume the posture of a wilted flower. Help our friends to WAKE UP and let the sugar coated leaves dissolve...

Please don't get me wrong--I like treats really I do! But I am desperately learning that Moderation is God. Halloween is like a national billboard that reads: 

"Grab a pixie stick and just snort diabetes strait into your brains!" "Don't honor the inevitable....go on and grasp and get..."

I'd like to see a billboard that says:

"Contemplate the Impermanence of it all!
May our Bodies be Cherished!"

Tuesday, October 20, 2009


When you set out on your journey to Ithaca,
pray that the road is long,
full of adventure, full of knowledge.
The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops,
the angry Poseidon -- do not fear them:
You will never find such as these on your path,
if your thoughts remain lofty, if a fine
emotion touches your spirit and your body.
The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops,
the fierce Poseidon you will never encounter,
if you do not carry them within your soul,
if your soul does not set them up before you.

Pray that the road is long.
That the summer mornings are many, when,
with such pleasure, with such joy
you will enter ports seen for the first time;
stop at Phoenician markets,
and purchase fine merchandise,
mother-of-pearl and coral, amber, and ebony,
and sensual perfumes of all kinds,
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
visit many Egyptian cities,
to learn and learn from scholars.

Always keep Ithaca on your mind.
To arrive there is your ultimate goal.
But do not hurry the voyage at all.
It is better to let it last for many years;
and to anchor at the island when you are old,
rich with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting that Ithaca will offer you riches.

Ithaca has given you the beautiful voyage.
Without her you would have never set out on the road.
She has nothing more to give you.

And if you find her poor, Ithaca has not deceived you.
Wise as you have become, with so much experience,
you must already have understood what these Ithacas mean.

Constantine P. Cavafy 

Monday, October 12, 2009

  Don't seek, don't search, don't ask, don't knock, don't demand - relax. If you relax, it comes. If you relax, it is there. If you relax, you start vibrating with it.


Thursday, October 01, 2009

Imagine the brain, that shiny mound of being, that mouse-gray parliament of cells, that dream factory, that petit tyrant inside a ball of bone, that huddle of neurons calling all the plays, that little everywhere, that fickle pleasuredome, that wrinkled wardrobe of selves stuffed into the skull like too many clothes in a gym bag.

-Diane Ackerman

Monday, September 28, 2009

According to Dzogchen, the entire range of all possible appearances, and all possible phenomena in all the different realities, whether samsara or nirvana, all of these without exception have always been and will always be perfect and complete, within the vast and boundless expanse of the nature of mind. Yet, even though the essence of everything is empty and "pure from the very beginning," its nature is rich in noble qualities, pregnant with every possibility, a limitless, incessantly and dynamically creative field that is always spontaneously perfect.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

अन्तोनिया मचाडो

The eye you see is not
an eye because you see it;
it is an eye because it sees you.

To talk with someone,
ask a question first,
then -- listen.

is an ugly fault,
and now it's a boring fault too.

But look in your mirror for the other one,
the other one who walks by your side.

Between living and dreaming
there is a third thing.
Guess it.

This Narcissus of ours
can't see his face in the mirror
because he has become the mirror.

New century? Still
firing up the same forge?
Is the water still going along in its bed?

Every instant is Still.

The sun in Aries. My window
is open to the cool air.
Oh the sound of the water far off!
The evening awakens the river.

Thursday, August 27, 2009

On Resurrection Day, the sun and moon are released from service:
and the eye beholds the Source of their radiance,
then it discerns the permanent possession from the loan,
and this passing caravan from the abiding home.
If for a while a wet nurse is needed,
Mother, quickly return us to your breast.
I don't want a nurse; my Mother is more fair.
I am like Moses whose nurse and Mother were the very same।


Tuesday, August 11, 2009

The drop dies in the river
of its joy
pain goes so far it cures itself

in the spring after the heavy rain the cloud
that was nothing but tears

in the spring the mirror turns green
holding a miracle
Change the shining wind

the rose led us to our eyes

let whatever is be open

-Mirza Ghalib

Wednesday, August 05, 2009

The spirit of poetry came to me and said
"You poor thing. You don't know how to listen.
Listen to me.

When I began to listen to poetry is when I began to listen to stones,
and I began to listen to what the clouds had to say,
and I began to listen to others.

And what is most important for all of us, is to learn to listen to the soul,
the soul of yourself,
in here,
but which is also the soul of everyone else.

- The Native American poet Joy Harjo on PBS

Friday, July 31, 2009

God Pursues Me Everywhere

God pursues me everywhere,
Enmeshes me in glances,
And blinds my sightless back like flaming sun.

God, like a forest dense, pursues me.
My lips are ever tender, mute, so amazed,
So like a child lost in an ancient sacred grove.

God pursues me like a silent shudder.
I wish for tranquility and rest -- He urges; come!
And see -- how visions walk like the homeless on the streets.

My thoughts walk about like a vagrant mystery --
Walks through the world's long corridor.
At times I see God's featureless face hovering over me.

God pursues me in the streetcars and cafes
Every shining apple is my crystal sphere to see
How mysteries are born and vision came to be.

- from "Human, God's Ineffable Name,"
by Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel,
freely rendered by Rabbi Zalman M. Schacter-Shalomi.
Available from the
Reb Zalman Legacy Project

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

-Maya Angelou

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

The Moment

And not once,
but many times over,
again and again,
how we disappeared
into that deep well
of darkness, shuddering beneath that load of silence,
clinging to our narrow ledge.

Yet the darkness, sometimes,
unfolded as light.
Our atoms dissolved in it,
each separate molecule opening
into a radiant disk of feeling.

How still we became,
witness and thing seen,
spectacle and observer,
each point admitting an untrammeled flood.

~Dorothy Walters

Sunday, July 12, 2009

    The Ocean cannot stay alone

    and so the notion of wave is created.
    When waves rise Ocean loses nothing
    and when waves fall Ocean gains nothing.
    Samsara, the illusion, Maya, the play,
    is the wave on the Ocean of Nirvana.

    Waves are not separate from the Ocean,
    rays are not separate from the Sun,
    You are not separate from
    This is a reflection of That.

    Sri H. W. L. Poonja: author of This

Thursday, July 02, 2009

Pablo Neruda:

Pablo Neruda, Pablo Neruda poetry, [TRADITION], [TRADITION] poetry, [TRADITION SUB1] poetry, [TRADITION SUB2] poetry, [TRADITION2] poetry
Too Many Names

Mondays are meshed with Tuesdays
and the week with the whole year.
Time cannot be cut
with your weary scissors,
and all the names of the day
are washed out by the waters of night.

No one can claim the name of Pedro,
nobody is Rosa or Maria,
all of us are dust or sand,
all of us are rain under rain.
They have spoken to me of Venezuelas,
of Chiles and of Paraguays;
I have no idea what they are saying.
I know only the skin of the earth
and I know it is without a name.

When I lived amongst the roots
they pleased me more than flowers did,
and when I spoke to a stone
it rang like a bell.

It is so long, the spring
which goes on all winter.
Time lost its shoes.
A year is four centuries.

When I sleep every night,
what am I called or not called?
And when I wake, who am I
if I was not while I slept?

This means to say that scarcely
have we landed into life
than we come as if new-born;
let us not fill our mouths
with so many faltering names,
with so many sad formalities,
with so many pompous letters,
with so much of yours and mine,
with so much of signing of papers.

I have a mind to confuse things,
unite them, bring them to birth,
mix them up, undress them,
until the light of the world
has the oneness of the ocean,
a generous, vast wholeness,
a crepitant fragrance.

Monday, June 29, 2009

I came into the unknown

I came into the unknown
and stayed there unknowing
rising beyond all science.

I did not know the door
but when I found the way,
unknowing where I was,
I learned enormous things,
but what I felt I cannot say,
for I remained unknowing,
rising beyond all science.

It was the perfect realm
of holiness and peace.
In deepest solitude
I found the narrow way:
a secret giving such release
that I was stunned and stammering,
rising beyond all science.

I was so far inside,
so dazed and far away
my senses were released
from feelings of my own.
My mind had found a surer way:
a knowledge of unknowing,
rising beyond all science.

And he who does arrive
collapses as in sleep,
for all he knew before
now seems a lowly thing,
and so his knowledge grows so deep
that he remains unknowing,
rising beyond all science.

The higher he ascends
the darker is the wood;
it is the shadowy cloud
that clarified the night,
and so the one who understood
remains always unknowing,
rising beyond all science.

This knowledge by unknowing
is such a soaring force
that scholars argue long
but never leave the ground.
Their knowledge always fails the source:
to understand unknowing,
rising beyond all science.

This knowledge is supreme
crossing a blazing height;
though formal reason tries
it crumbles in the dark,
but one who would control the night
by knowledge of unknowing
will rise beyond all science.

And if you wish to hear:
the highest science leads
to an ecstatic feeling
of the most holy Being;
and from his mercy comes his deed:
to let us stay unknowing,
rising beyond all science.

John of the Cross

Friday, June 26, 2009

Once upon a time... the organs of the body like eyes, ears, limbs became jealous of the tongue, saying that they make all efforts for securing food, but the tongue enjoys this. They stopped working and never sent any food. Tongue is the one that tastes the food and passes only palatable items of food inside, which is converted by the internal organs into energy giving blood. The tongue does not retain it. But for this vital part played by the tongue, the other organs would not be able to function at all. When the other organs became jealous of the tongue and stopped sending food with a view to harm it, they spelt their own ruin by such action, as they could not function when there was no food and consequently no supply of energy for these organs to function. Similarly, jealousy on the part of a person ultimately results in his own ruin.

Thursday, June 25, 2009

He who binds to himself a Joy,
Does the winged life destroy;
He who kisses the Joy as it flies,
Lives in Eternity's sunrise.


Monday, June 22, 2009

I became water
and saw myself
a mirage
became an ocean
saw myself a speck
of foam
gained Awareness
saw that all is but
woke up
and found myself

~Binavi Badakhshani

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Since pure awareness of nowness is the real buddha,
In openness and contentment I found the Lama in my heart.
When we realize this unending natural mind is the very nature of the Lama,
Then there is no need for attached, grasping, or weeping prayers or artificial complaints,
By simply relaxing in this uncontrived, open, and natural state,
We obtain the blessing of aimless self-liberation of whatever arises.


Sunday, May 31, 2009

Where is righteousness? It is in your conduct, thoughts, words and deeds. Righteousness dwells in your heart. When the impulses arising from the heart are expressed in words, that is Sathya (Truth). To translate those words into action is Dharma (Righteousness). For all these, Love is the primary requisite. Love in action is righteousness. Love in speech is Truth. Love in thought is Peace. Love in understanding is Non-violence. When you realise that God is in everyone, you will practise non-violence. God is one, though He may be worshipped in different forms and by different names - Rama or Krishna, Allah or Jesus, Hari or Sai.


Friday, May 29, 2009

Last night, as I was sleeping

Last night, as I was sleeping,
I dreamt -- marvelous error!—

that a spring was breaking
out in my heart.
I said: Along which secret aqueduct,

Oh water, are you coming to me,
water of a new life that I have never drunk?

Last night, as I was sleeping,

I dreamt -- marvelous error!—

that I had a beehive
here inside my heart.
And the golden bees
were making white combs and sweet honey from my old failures.

Last night, as I was sleeping,

I dreamt -- marvelous error!—

that a fiery sun was giving light inside my heart.
It was fiery because I felt
warmth as from a hearth, and sun because it gave light and brought tears to my eyes.

Last night, as I slept,

I dreamt -- marvelous error!—

that it was God I had
here inside my heart.

Antonio Machado, Antonio Machado poetry, [TRADITION], [TRADITION] poetry, [TRADITION SUB1] poetry, [TRADITION SUB2] poetry, [TRADITION2] poetry
Antonio Machado

Sunday, May 24, 2009

When we are in a negative frame of mind, it is only natural to doubt rather than to believe.

From a Buddhist point of view, doubt is a sign of a lack of complete understanding and a lack of spiritual education, but it is also seen as a catalyst in the maturing of faith. It is when we face doubts and difficulties that we discover whether our faith is a simplistic, pious, and conceptual one, or whether it is strong, enduring, and anchored in a deep understanding in the heart.

If you have faith, sooner or later it may well be put to the test, and wherever the challenge may come from - from within you or from outside - it is simply part of the process of faith and doubt.

~Sogyal Rinpoche

Friday, May 01, 2009

"If you spent one-tenth of the time you devoted to distractions like chasing women or making money to spiritual practice, you would be enlightened in a few years!"


Wednesday, April 29, 2009

A land not mine, still
forever memorable,
the waters of its ocean
chill and fresh.

Sand on the bottom whiter than chalk,
and the air drunk, like wine,
late sun lays bare
the rosy limbs of the pinetrees.

Sunset in the ethereal waves:
I cannot tell if the day
is ending, or the world, or if
the secret of secrets is inside me again.

Anna Akhmatova

(1889 - 1966)

Friday, April 24, 2009

In rendering seva (selfless service), one should not think that their services should be confined to the poor and the destitute. There is no need to make any artificial distinction between the rich and the poor in the sphere of service. What matters is the service done to a person who needs it. Your concern should only be with what kind of service is required, when and where, and not the status or position of the person concerned. The primary requisite is a genuine spirit of love and camaraderie. If there is no feeling of kindness and compassion, whatever service that is done becomes an artificial exercise, done for getting publicity or recognition. Ostentation in rendering service is harmful as it will only inflate the ego.


Sunday, April 12, 2009

My trip: April 2009

We stayed in a cozy hotel named Hotel Provencial in the heart of the French Quarter. After a short rest we headed out on foot to see the local shops and restaurants; chalk full of ornate masks, beads, tourists and tourist collectables the city was more crowded then we could have imagined. We strolled along cobblestone streets, the smells of seafood, coffee and good old fashion beer blowing in from the Mississippi River and out of the many outdoor cafes. Water dropped into our hair from freshly watered plants that lined the balconies along every street. Each balcony was adorned in beads or local art; it seems Mardi Gras is an ongoing annual event. A quick walk down Bourbon Street, where the streets really do flow with beer, we just as quickly decided not to go back there ever again. Apparently, the Pirate Festival coincided with our trip so we dined in the infamous French Market Restaurant with the local mates. I had never had fried oysters before, or Crawfish for that matter, so we feasted like wild tourists and enjoyed the live jazz in the outdoor dining area.

The food was so good we went back the next morning for the Sunday brunch! I think my favorite part of New Orleans, besides the fried foods (shrug), is the people; everyone was so laid back, charming and helpful and I just LOVE how they all say "Yes, Ma'am."

A few more stops in the Big Easy, and it was time to head out toward the panhandle of the Sunshine State...

We arrived Sunday evening and I met the family...and I mean the entire family, including the cats: Dusty, Nash, and Pitty, along with Jack and Jill, or more commonly known as the 'kids'.

We took a few road trips down the coast into the local fishing towns of St. Joe, Apalachicola, and Carabella. We even hit a beautiful stretch of land called Cape San Blas (where we would eventually go back to ride horses.) One of our favorite destinations was the tiny island of St. George.

Candid Shot: After kayaking with his Dad, Ryone rinses off in their state of the art outdoor shower!

On out last night, perhaps my favorite, we all ate dinner out at the St. Joe Harbor. As the sun set magically on the Gulf we shared our seafood and enjoyed the good company. I will remember this night forever.