O my weary soul, listen! The pearl you seek is buried in the mud of seeking. Bliss is the pulse of your own existence, before you give it a Sanskrit name.
As soon as you turn the grace of this breath, the vibration of this silence, into a technique, it is lost for another thousand years.
Why is every one else your 'life coach' but you? Can you turn off the new age news, shut down your computer, go app-less for an hour, and gaze into the only webnar that can ever teach you wisdom: the tiny blue forget-me-not that grows by the bird bath, where you forgot to mow the weeds?
When will you realize that this clutter of 'spiritual teachers,' online meditations, enlightenment workshops, and yoga cures are just more of the dis-ease: information overload?
Have a little courage: grok the source of all dharmas, sadhanas, chants and mantras, asanas, pranayams and darshans in the luminous clarity of your own Eye. Stop looking and melt. Melt into the Beauty of the one who looks.
Who will savor, in your next breath, the nectar that angels thirst for? Who will taste the pomegranate of God that has just split open in your heart, gushing ten thousand seeds of love?
Here's the secret, friend: Nobody reveals anything to you but your Self. Your real Guru is the one who whispers this secret, like a lover at midnight.