Open Secrets for Every Child of the Coming Age

These are the Laws of Perfect Joy for every child to learn before their teachers and their schools burden them with knowledge.

1. The Radiance of the Divine is not above you, beyond you, not after your death. It shines from the center of your own heart, now. You are not a reflection of the Light, a seeker of the Light, or an offspring of the Light: you ARE the Light.

2. To begin your duty on earth, you will need a daily practice of meditation that is effortless, natural and energizing; a quiet time dawn and sunset when you sink into the Beauty at the center of your heart. The beginning and end of all spiritual practice is to rest in the heart. This is your Sabbath, attuning you to your Source, by grace. Every good thing you do for humanity will come from this connection to inner silence.

3. Doubtless there are great injustices in the world, but your life will never evolve as long as you waste your days blaming the "other" for your sorrows. A life stuck in blaming the forces outside you, is a life that has not begun to live itself.

4. You blossom as You by taking personal responsibility for the present situation. In the complex sequence of causes that brought you to this moment, the primary cause was a choice you made by your own free will.

5. Your capacity to heal the earth is in direct proportion to your capacity for Wonder. Your most creative state will not be a state of knowing or believing, but a state of bewildering Beauty, when the mind empties itself of all knowledge and belief. Let yourself dissolve into this moment of Wonder. It is the portal to eternity.



Who pours this elixir
into the silver bowl
of my chest
breath after breath,
disturbing my sleep
with secret lethal pearl drops
of astonishment
in the thick cream
of silence?
One who has no name
and never slumbers
both empties and fills
the chalice of love.
I will not admit that She
was here inside me
while I was not.
Who? Who? Who?
A cup of milk
left out all night in moonbeams
cannot drink itself!

More Than One

To prove that there is more than One,
I polished both edges of love's dagger with my breath
and plunged it into my chest.

Ask Theresa whether this pain is sweetness.
Ask the Bridegroom if this longing is stronger than death. 

Perish into nakedness, pellucid as a tear.
I feel the intimate moon kiss of your impermanence,
the moisture of your vanishing dew on my nape.

Your deft hand of diamond emptiness
severs my crown to let the silver stars escape.

What suspended me is broken.
Gravity be my only prayer, I am but mass,
a last offering to the mother of skies.

Now watch this pomegranate heart burst open,
spilling ten thousand scarlet ancestral eyes.

Taste them one by one, turn blood back into wine.
Drink first, then ask if joy and sorrow intertwine.
Fall, let gravity be your prayer.

Tell me, famished wanderer, are there not
more lovers in the world than your lips can bear?


We have confused intimacy with knowledge, and with sex. But intimacy is a silent transmission, beyond words and sensations. Intimacy happens when I am more interested in your presence than your story; when I care not for information about you, but for you. Our culture is dis-eased because we are desperate for intimacy, yet we search for it in the wrong places.


The most beautiful name is not a name 'of,' but an unstruck sound in the bell of the heart. Resonating in eternal silence, this nameless vibration births of the universe.


To Breathe

To breathe is the purest form of worship. Space is the alter, invisible, omnipresent. Breathing in, offer whatever you encounter in the fire of this moment. Breathing out, awareness is a smokeless blue flame, annihilating both the seer and the seen in love.


Before the Beginning was the Wordless

Creation dances in the stillness you carry inside you. Earth and stars whirl through your body. You knew this as a toddler, stumbling from your mother's to your father's arms.

You knew because you had no Word to explain it. When words came, they cast what they could not describe into an outer darkness. Before the beginning was the Wordless.

Say not that the world was created through the Word, for many worlds were lost, stillborn in shattered cocoons of speechlessness, galaxies unwound to threads of murmur and shadow, melodies fled into the rainforest, wishing to be no more than parrot echos among the cashapona trees.

For each Word spoken, a brown naked vision song was forgotten, sweet on the undulatant tongue
of night, the starless unwritten syllable of your innocence. This is why, if you wish to touch the Creator again, you must return to the prayerless dark; remember the uncreated stillness of the hour before dawn.

Here, now, let your breath taste the nectar of silence...