Whispers to my Beloved

You, my beloved.
You are my twin, my father, my daughter
I see you are everyone to me.
The seed of endless forests.
The welcomed shade on a hot afternoon.
Great lover of the falling rain.
.
At times you sport the mask of a stranger.
Later, you are a good and trusted friend.
At other moments you feign to persecute me.
Now, I am no different.

When I look beyond the body’s eyes,
I see we are One Self united.
I see we consecrate the sacred ring.
We cradle the hope of the world and heal the great divide.

We are the wedding of all that must be celebrated.
I am the quiet presence forever embracing you.
And you are the quiet presence forever embracing me.

There is only I am.
I am being.
I am spirit.

Everything else is a dream about a caged bird.
The eagle that soars on thermal currents knows better.
Close the doors to the darkness.
Come to that state of knowing beyond
The world’s tired senses.

Beloved, when you are gripped by fear, remember me holding you
And the angels that protect us?
Whatever threat looms ominous on the horizon of your thoughts?
Greet it with the undaunted sunlight of what life treasures in you.
And walk out of the shadow-lands.
Walk free, of the twisted memory of what you have dreamed yourself to be.
And as you wake?

And as you wake, as your mind adjusts to the light,
Be open.

Be open to the ocean of happiness.
Be open to that formless realm where peace has its home.
Be open to the kingdom of certainty.

A part of you will remain where the only certainty is uncertainty:
Still, as you linger there awhile,
Look for that thread of mystery and inner purpose.
It remains strong and undaunted.
And there you will find me.
And in me the reflection of what I am shall no more
Be lost.

You have destroyed me. Thank you.

You have destroyed me. Thank you.

I see the heart of the hunter.
I see the beauty of the murderer.
I see the honesty of the liar.
I see the source of the story is where my end is.
I see the herald of the moon.
I see you smiling, when you're awash with tears.

I see the death of yesterday...
The beginning of now...
Emptying through me.
As I look back, nothing is the same.
As I look forward, nothing is certain.
And I am free-falling...
Into mystery.

With the dwindling of the flame,
I hear the mention of your name.
And with the dying of the light,
I recognize you and I are one again.
You have destroyed me.
Thank you.


We all want to be Loved

We all want to be loved,
And to tell the truth, I want to love you.

It is strange how happiness strikes us.
The other day I was sitting in a classroom.
A little child was next to me.
I was helping her with coloring.
And I started crying.
I was totally overcome...
Defeated...
Engulfed by happiness.

Sometimes it baffles me why people jump out of
airplanes or torture themselves running needless
marathons.

Other times I find myself so distant,
so completely away from anything and everyone...
Barely in the world even.
Yet very much at home.

I was born into a loving family.
I have traveled more than most.
Though my heart is full of a great melancholy for the world,
Wherever I roam there is space enough for laughter.
I have studied my faults and made that my major.
I have had brothers, not of blood,
But of mind and heart.
Yet in all my life there is nothing that amounts to anything...
Only my search for Him.

Without wisdom I suffocate.
We are no different, you and I.
Every original man would be a non-conformist.
Every happy man has dropped all his plans
And followed his awareness out.
Out to pasture in the unlimited unknown.

Do nothing and we are inseparable.
We all meet in the cave of aloneness;
Where time ends...
And the desire to be loved or to love
is realized.

What lies forgotten but not lost

We forget the most important things. Not items on our shopping list. Not things we must do. Not even things we mustn’t do. Sure, all those things have a certain value. And yet we forget why we are here and we give those other things a value in our minds which is grossly disproportionate to their actual worth.

We tend to think we are here to collect things. Perhaps we do not consciously believe that is what we think, but look closely at our actions and they tend to confirm that some kind of thinking like that is actually behind how we spend our lives. Money, admirers, worshippers, houses, cars, countries visited, prestige in the eyes of the world, knowledge, sexual experiences, good deeds… -some of these things or all of these things and more besides - it seems - the majority of us are out to collect.

Not that those things are bad. We all need a place to live and money to live in this world. We need some knowledge to function and to do our jobs. Sexual intimacy is part of partner relationships…all of these things are natural. What is dangerous is the way we prioritize the significance of collecting things, (i.e. collecting things beyond that which is essential) over what is truly important.

You see wisdom is not in the habit of collecting. Wisdom actually questions habits. It discards and refines what is essential. Wisdom remembers what we have forgotten. It remembers to not take life too seriously; it remembers to laugh. It does not take advantage of another and it emerges from a place of conviction in ourselves which is founded in profound intelligence and insight into the real nature of things.

We are not here to collect things – whether it be material things or power over others or pleasurable experiences. The primary reason we are here is to learn the great lessons that our relationships would have us learn. Relationships are our mirrors to our selves.

When you look into a mirror, you are presented with an image of the body. That image is a reflection of your present state. In a real mirror you see your body. You see something that is in a state of constant change. It is a living, breathing thing: something that is growing and aging and something that demands constant attention and nourishment in order for it to stay balanced and healthy.

In the mirror of relationships whether it is the mirror of your relationship with the grass or the birds or a person or your body…you also see something that is in a state of constant change: the mind. Yet, there is also something informing it all…something very sacred…something that is the source of wisdom and something that does not change.

This awareness just watches, the thoughts and feelings that come into your mind. But it itself is not affected by the thoughts and feelings that come and go through the mind. It is not a part of any concept that you have about your identity. It cannot be conceptualized. Awareness of that state which watches can be awakened with careful attention.

Also there is a “bridge” between that wise, unchanging intensity and the mind. You might call that bridge “impersonal intelligence.” Actually, this unchanging state and intelligence are part of a continuum – to see them as distinct from one another is to misperceive them.

However for the purposes of communication and semantics distinguishing between these two aspects of the one continuum has a certain value. Intelligence is that thing which brings order and insight into the mind from another level.

Ultimately, the mind is a grand illusion. Yet whilst it IS an illusion, that very illusion also contains the path OUT of the illusion. The mind might be compared to a labarynth through which we are passing. Nothing in our essential nature can be changed on the journey through the labarynth…only our perception about our essential nature can change. And it is our misperception of what we actually are that ultimately gets us stuck in a time-warp and slows down our passage through the labarynth.

In truth there is no individual, just as there is no mind. There are no original thoughts in the world. All of these things we forget.

Fear, intelligence, anger, hatred, affection…none of it is personal to me (they may be expressed personally – but they are universal aspects of the human condition). They are all simply potentials in the human psyche. The very construct of “me” as a centre of consciousness, activity and meaning is the source of all misery, pain and meaninglessness.

In this way, the beginning of wisdom is born of the death of the idea of “I” being an individual body or mind - which is the source of all our suffering – and the awakening of an awareness of our fundamental nature which is “being-ness”. That does not preclude me from taking responsibility for everything that I say and do. That is where intelligence comes in.

This is the insight at the heart of an impersonal life. This is the core truth of a sane life.
And this is what we are here to learn.

The word “saint” comes from the same root as the word “sane.” And the root meaning of both of these words means “whole” or “healthy” or “still.” Still, not in the sense of lifeless, dead, empty…but still in the sense of calm, collected (not fragmented), concentrated (in the sense of no wastage, no dissipation of energy or possibility – through one or various distractions etc).

Thought without intelligence, to bring order to it, breeds chaos and fragmentation. Thought is fragmentation. But insight and intelligence bring order to thought for intelligence is born of that sacred intensity which lies behind all appearances.

We forget our holiness, our being-ness, our natural intelligence and consequently we become slaves to the body senses and to thought, and consequently we become dull and insensitive. Yet relationships – if we are really attentive – serve to teach us that which we have forgotten. Ultimately that is why we are here. By discerning the holiness behind appearances, we are able to pass rapidly through the labarynth of time-thought (time is a manifestation of thought – they are one and the same thing – the gaps in between our thought emanate from a timeless source) which we call the mind and hence we can return to that pristine state we only imagine we have left.

The ironic thing is that in this process of self-realization, our greatest obstacle is not our fear of the darkness within - on the contrary our behavior proves to us that we “love” the darkness!! Our greatest fear is our own light.

There will come a time when all our images and projects end. That will be the end of time and the end of our journey back to love.

I suppose it is important to remember that love is not possible in this world. This is an imperfect world that is based on limitations. It is a world that was founded on the idea of lack. It is a world born of a sick mind. The journey of the wise through this world is the journey through the maze of limitations of the mind. It is a journey made by listening to the insights of intelligence and following the cue of those insights.

Intelligence (not intellect – but rather an all round understanding of the totality of our nature (on all levels) HERE) is what leads us out of the labarynth of the mind, back to our spiritual source. Intelligence marries compassion, forgiveness and insight into our temporary limitations to bring us home. Intelligence is love’s way of extending itself to us (all we need is to be still and listen and heed its guidance). And who are we? We are creations of love who have forgotten our essential (i.e. loving nature) on a journey back to a place we only ever dreamed we have left in our minds. That is why the only place we can have insight into what we are is now….as now is the only place which is free of the burden of the past and the future…i.e. which is free of the mistaken identity that we have assumed by giving authority to thought.

Ulsan Journal – August 2003 – South Korea


Standing on a rocky isle overlooking a dirty sea: this is Ulsan, where it jettisons into the oceans. A small family surround me warbling in Korean. I stand next to them, amongst them as a maritime breeze gently breathes through our midst. Nothing seems to separate us. The foreign tongue is not out of place (, nor am I). It is welcome. The children are young...not much past five - one is a toddler - perhaps two. Always he must keep within a stone's throw of mum or dad's legs. That is the periphery of his world. And everything in it comes with questions. You can feel the tenacity of his intrigue. Gulls roll overhead us and the rocks beneath are moving ever so slowly...at the pace of millennium inches. They are alive underfoot; steadying the footing of our family from that moody ocean's constant sway. A butterfly is even here - then gone as soon as you see it. The family speak the language of every family - the children inquiring, standing for photos...going as far as they are allowed on one level - on another they exist unlimited in a playful imagination. The parents' eyes are sharp and you feel as you stand with them a bond - unspoken, invisible...yet palpable and persistent. You feel its strength - a force like the wind that buffets the shore - steady, unremitting...a shaper of world's, a molder of possibility with it's own secret meaning, it's own subtle accent.
Further up on the hill -at another vista point - less exposed than this one, two young men - friends on bikes ask passers-by to snap a picture of them. They pass out the camera and stand backs to the lolling sea...half smiling, half triumphant...their stance says 'here we are'; arrivals, youth, together. And round the bay beneath us a shore fisherman wades into the waters and pulls in his net as local onlookers watch. It's got very few fish in it - all small fry. Perhaps he owns one of the stall restaurants on the strutting peninsular - the ones that are decked out in heavy duty plastic to ward off the typhoon's wet and windy assaults.
School children on the path up here say 'hello' and 'nice to meet you' and 'bye-bye' in one excited breath. They are out with their families and out of school. They roam the woods on route to the beach on this Saturday outing. They giggle like children do. The wild shore seems expectant of these pressured visitors. Today's tame winds embrace them, remind us of what's important.
In the stalls that top the hill before it slides pines and all into the sea, before the next passageway's amongst the living are ocean currents and international shipping lanes, before the lighthouse and the rocky promontories that lunge confidently into gray salt seas, there is a rickety lane of street vendors and the fish restaurants: a plastic oasis of multi-colored canopies, half swallowed by the muddied aftermath of a week of solid rains. Here older women sit large over chestnuts for sale, hawking cooked sea-snails, roasted silkworm larvae and warm fish jerky. Some smoke cigarettes or chatter despondently with her next door. Some are silent watching the world pass them by - their eyes glazed, as they recline their bent backs under multiple umbrellas. Their hair is curly black and their hands are dictionaries of hard work.
Here, too, outside the eateries, are tanks of bubbling sea water overfilled with fish or sea slugs or some kind of nematode brought in from the cold or squabbling octopuses waiting out their final hours in pitiful proximity. They all move or wriggle or pulsate but they all have nowhere to go. A torpid music drowns out the sound of the birds here. and you have to walk a little distance to feel like the nature that surrounds you - the acid soils and hardy trees - are your own. To feel like there's a corner of the earth where stillness has power and the air and it's emptiness can reward you without being disturbed by that most human of diseases - the need to be entertained.
Not the entertainment of fascinated discovery. Rather the entertainment that brews from loneliness. How that loneliness rules. How it begs to be sung and chanted to in the temples, rewarded in the churches; how it flashes and noisily pulls it's captives into the video game arcades; how it beckons us to eat when we are not hungry; how it detracts from the sea her solemn promises, how it blinds us from the pine needles underfoot and the magpies rugged adaptability. How it misses the "tweet" of the finches as they bound overhead in flighty reverie; how blind it is to the ugliness of it's own insensitivity, to it's slothful academic-ness...how sadly deaf it is to the invisible strands that connect all that is amongst the living here - like the threads of the fisherman's net.
The lighthouse is dormant waiting for night to blazen the darkness with it's protective significance - perhaps not unlike the spirit of man. It is also waiting for the cover of darkness to call it from exile. Waiting for night to be so dark, so complete, so fully remembered for what it is - that we may step beyond choices and categories and shine away barren ego' defenses. Yes, how we wait unknowingly to shine. That is the hidden meaning here: the one belying all cruel and tardy appearances - all side issues. One that all vulgarity, all supposed differences, all our tarnished monstrosity (the polluted sky, the garbage by the road side, the city's sprawling indifference) fails to recognize. But the pointing children clinging to parent's thighs...and the waxy plants clinging to these bleached sandstone buttresses, and that sea which clings in turn to the patient earth are all a vital part of this meaning. All are essential contributors to some intensity that is as yet for the most part unnoticed, invisible.

Perhaps that is why one can often feel most at home when one is a stranger to all that is familiar.

I came upon Love dying in the summer sun.

left the land of men and the weary night.
Behind... dropped the examinations,
the expectations;
waved goodbye to indifference.
left the churches;
the praise and folly of moments passed.

left the music and the masks.
Like a ghost,I passed through the world unheard;
Unseen.
The dead came at times to cheer me on.
I thought I saw glimpses of a different light.

Then one day I came upon Love.
She lay dying in the summer sun.
Her face was uglier and more terrible than anything
ever seen.
Her hair was spoiled and ragged.
The flies buzzed around her head.
In her, sorrow seemed to have found a bed.

Something moved me to take her hand and hold
It comfortingly.
I asked her how she was.
"I am dying."She said
"Dying for you."
"Why would you die for me?" I asked.

"Because that is my nature.
You seeing me here, so wretched and courting death,
Will be so moved you shall give up the last resistance
In you and dedicate yourself wholeheartedly to me.

You see, I cannot die.
Yet you have waited so long for me;
Hungered so completely for me;
I had to appear in a form that would haunt you to your
very core.
If I came to you as a beautiful maiden,
It could be dangerous.
You would compare me to all other women and there
would be no Love in that.
Only heartless measuring of one against another.

If I came to you as a stream of light you might be
scared and mistrusting; or intimidated.
You would put me on a pedestal in your mind and
worship me as an ideal.
deadly
yeah I am everywhere.
and idealism can only corrupt the beauty hiding in the
light.

If I came to you as an innocent child,
It might be hard for you to see that I was wholly
Free of anger or delusion.

No, this way is best.
For a while you will find it hard not to pity me.
You will question how I can be love.
How something so helpless, so frail and vulnerable, so
twisted and tragic could be the seed that turns you around.
How could there be love hiding in such a withering,
pathetic form?

But, when you see Love in me,
When you come upon the truth about me,
Beyond thinking...
You will come upon the truth of every thing.

You will see me everywhere.
My very essence will speak to you from all corners of
the world,
And it shall flow through everything you do.
For it will overcome your being and you...
will not
recognize yourself."

Saying this, she disappeared,
Leavin a light,
That can't be seen.

Dark eyes full of footprints

I miss something sometimes...
and try to place what it is.
Perhaps, it’s the warm promise of your voice.
Perhaps, your melting embrace.

Yesterday a dove landed in the palm of my hand.
Its cooing lulled me to sleep.
When I woke it was sitting on the balcony looking down on me.
Its dark eyes full of footprints.
Your latest tracks through the desert world.

You have been one step ahead of me in dreams too.
The moon is milky white and calm in the night sky.
The rays of the sun are but a memory.
Though it is dark...
I am never lost and you...
You are never far.

A Poem for Morning

There is an ancient song that heals us all.
Names cannot encompass it.
Though I have heard it called many things:
"The rhythm of Silence",
"The Song of songs",
"Herald of the One dawn."

It is sung by a pied piper with a thousand flutes.
All illusions cease in its presence.
It knows no order of difficulty.

There is but one illusion really.
We think we are lost,
We believe that we lack something.
But, nothing could be further from the truth.
The song is there to remind us of our reality;
Our infinite abundance.

Once, there was a King who loved all his subjects as himself.
He sort to serve them as a loyal servant seeks to serve his master.
There was once a Queen who loved as much and who sort to serve
her subjects with the same depth and purity of intent.

You are that King.
You are that Queen.
Your Kingdom is without borders;
Your love: without restriction.

The world of forms is but a passing dream.
Some believe - mistakenly -that there are only nobles where there is land...
Where there is perception and the intricacies of nature.
Yet, this is an unworthy and groundless belief.
…a sad and lonely belief…
It cannot last the night.

The only kingdom fitting of your nobility stretches far beyond all stars,
Beyond time and space.
It is a realm of light and beauty.
It is everywhere and nowhere.

For a while, there are those who sleep in forgetfulness,
In a land of changes.
But, through you, all dreams and slumber, all limits,
all doubt...shall forever be cast asunder.

Where you wander there is no place for fear to root itself.
There are no tears...no lasting ones...but those of rapture and joy.

About me

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Mind is the closest thing to our Reality...Be careful how you use it. Businessman, yogi, teacher, addicted to laughing...