For just a moment, let's breathe down and settle our awareness in this body, to experience our own atoms, photons and neutrinos. Who among us is not made out of the same sunlight, the same star stuff? Race, culture, sexuality, religion are significant waves playing on the surface of our life, but in the depths humanity is one golden Radiance. This is not an esoteric secret. It is obvious to every child.


Point of Perfection

Perfection is very small. Imperfection is vast. This is the dance.

When we feel anxious about the state of the world, it is because we look through too wide a lens. The universe is not painted with a large brush, but with the tip of a hair.

Usually they tell us to see the big picture. I say, break down the big picture into its tiniest pixels, and see perfection everywhere. Each moment, a thousand opportunities for small acts of kindness surround us, the sacraments of which a whole world may be composed.

The most infinitesimal photon, though existing for a fraction of an instant, is virtually infinite in charge. This is a fact of quantum energy. Your body is made from pure radiant dust-motes of infinity.

See the world as a Pointillist painting by a master Impressionist. When in doubt, reduce creation to the Ayn Soph, אין סוף, the dimensionless dot at the heart of every particle.

Look under a blade of grass into the kingdom of the ladybug. Gaze at a raindrop on the tip of a fern. Cut open a ripe pomegranate - the wounded whole a cornucopia that gushes delicious disorder, yet each tiny seed a spheric jewel of ruby sweetness.

Your body appears to be aging, bruised, wrinkled or broken in places. Yet every cell performs its allotted duty, packed with busy molecules that know their work, atoms obeying with precision the destiny of their chemical mass and charge.

Sink even deeper, beyond Planck's Constant: be in the wildering world of quantum uncertainty. Here is the most delightful order of all, the order of perfect chaos, where the milk-ocean of love churns its own vacuum with fluctuations of pure mathematical probability.

In this playful quintessence of the void, Shiva watches the dance of his beloved Shakti. She is the spontaneity of this moment, the quality of Nowness. Shiva's wonder is the very substance of matter.

We are only confused because we exist in the bedazzlement of their kiss.

Golden Age

There was no Golden Age in the past. There will be no Golden Age in the future. That is just a desperate mythology enabling us to live vicariously through our dreams. The wavering mind likes to wander into fantasies about time. The only age is Now. Our own awareness chooses whether to turn this moment into Gold or Stone.

Offended and Outraged

Very intelligent people spend a great deal of their lives feeling offended and outraged. They call this "politics." Could the world survive without my feeling offended? What would I do with my abundant energy and spacious heart if I simply dropped my outrage?


Transmuting Anger Is True Alchemy

The heart is not just a blood pump, but an energy field whose center is this breath, whose circumference expands beyond the stars. Use it to embrace both beauty and conflict. Use it as a touchstone to transmute the lead of anger into the gold of love. This world needs the alchemy of your heart.

When anger flashes up, it is always in the present moment. I can choose to embrace it and erase it. I can taste its energy in my body, then let it go. Or I can upload my anger as a concept, a file in my mental hard drive.

In this instant, anger is a useful surge. Passing through my nerves, anger can be energize. The danger is not to feel anger. Even Jesus felt it flare up and dissolve. The danger is, to hold onto anger and nurture it.

When I feel it without resistance in the present moment, the pure smokeless flame of anger leaves no toxic residue. Anger converts to free energy, the clarity of awareness.


Love Is Freedom From Images

Love arises when there is no self-image.

What is the image of yourself as you were yesterday? Is this what you are right now? What is the image of yourself as you were one year ago? Twenty years ago? One thousand years ago? One million years ago?

What is the image of yourself as you will be tomorrow? Is this who you are right now? What is the image of yourself as you will be one year from now? Twenty years from now? A million years from now?

Who are you when you drop all these images? Who are you in the present moment? The present moment has no image of itself. It simply Is. Images only exist in the mind as past or future.

When I am pure existence, without forming any image of myself, I can embrace everything as it arises, and welcome everyone I meet as an extension of the existence I Am. This is the imageless embrace of love.

Scripture says that the human being is created in the image of God. I say that Love is uncreated and has no image.

The power of Love is in direct proportion to the mind's capacity for dropping images and concepts, which is meditation. The power of Love is the power of a silent mind.


The human was very disappointed with God, and God was quite disappointed with the human. So they decided to meet personally and work out their issues. This is the story of their meeting. It was person to person, but it lasted thousands of years. From our point of view, we call it "evolution."

The human was disappointed that God hadn't taken better care of her, and God was disappointed that the human hadn't shown more response-ability for herself. When they met, the human complained, talking constantly for several thousand years. This she called "prayer." God listened patiently to the prayer, but did not reply. Finally the human ran out of words, sighed deeply, and said, "OK, God, now I guess you can speak."

The human waited uncomfortably for centuries in silence, but God said nothing. Finally the truth dawned on the human, who exclaimed, "My God, you are mute! All this time we made up stories about your Word, your Gospel, your Good News. But you don't speak at all."

God just smiled and gazed into the human's heart. The human liked that. It felt good. She called it "meditation." For two thousand years she relaxed into this quietness, until she began to hear a kind of voice. Or was it music? Or just the still quiet murmur of a subterranean stream in the wilderness. Or a lullaby at the breast. Then she realized it was the sound of her own breathing. Yet the sound was so beautiful, it drew her into even deeper silence, into a radiant blue sky of pure Presence... The sound was like a note struck in the empty bell of darkness before creation, or a note never struck at all, just chiming in the wind of eternity. This immaculate sound lured her effortlessly toward a place inside where silence was no longer silent, emptiness was no longer empty, but a wellspring of joy, overflowing with inexpressible light.

"This is your voice, isn't it?" she finally asked God. "And it is you who breathe in me!" But God did not need to answer. God just kept filling her with the astonishing gift of inhalation, and she kept offering it back as an exhalation of gratitude. And so there was inside her own intimate body a never-ending Eucharist, a ceremony of gift and gratitude, recreation and return. It was a miracle, yet it was merely breathing.

"From now on," the human whispered, "This is how I pray. I breathe, I listen, I surrender to the gaze of silence."

The disappointment was over. The human no longer waited for angels of God to solve her problems for her. With the gift of divine breath, she could heal herself, and heal the earth. Rejoicing in her own breath as the very Spirit of creation, she felt sure-hearted, strong and generous, able to respond to any challenge. And her independence pleased God deeply.

She tried to say, "Thank you." But she found that she couldn't speak any more than her creator could. They were both mute with wonder at each others beauty. How could gratitude be contained in words? After all, the two sounds "thank you" are just the out-breath and in-breath. Do they need to be spoken? We breathe out our thanks. And when we breathe in, we receive God's "You" as our own Being. What could be simpler?

And here is the greatest wonder of all. In the empty space between the words, where out-breath offers itself to in-breath, there is a secret, silent, divine, dimensionless point - the Ayin Soph in Hebrew, the Bindu in Sanskrit - infinitesimally small yet containing all galaxies, all past and future worlds. Here the Lover merges with the Beloved. We carry this place wherever we are. It is called the Heart.

"Now, just to breathe is my worship," whispered the human. And God smiled.