Uradiance

Let us explore how a prayer of many words becomes the prayer of "one word"  (monologistos). When prayer sinks from the linear thinking mind  through the breath into the Heart, a string of many thoughts distills into a  single divine Name. The painting is by Rembrandt.    

Clinging to light is not the way. Clinging to darkness is not the way. Winter is not an absence. Spring is not a destination. Lose your way in the Bardo between seasons and wake up wherever you are.

    To create an effect, every cause passes through the realm of the miraculous, which is the realm of the un-created. The miraculous is the discontinuity of the void, the empty space between any two impulses of energy. A galaxy or a photon, a breath or a seed, one who is dying or one who is being born, must perish and sprout again, perish and sprout again, from this space of discontinuity and re-creation. Your inhalation arises from this space. Spring arises from this space. Your heart beat arises from this space.  Quantum discontinuity evaporates the gossamer threads of necessity that bind action to reaction, cause to effect, melting the karmic mirage into a waveless transparency. This is the space of the shaman who performs miracles of healing or shape-shifting. The shaman breaks the chain of causation, entering the void between this moment and the next. The dew of causation dissolves, revealing the non-linear reality of clustered radiance, the v...

We all had tears of laughter in our eyes, shouting, "Don't speak the Word, don't create heaven or earth. Let's just stay crushed together in this unfermented juice!" It was no use. The Old Man cried, "Let there be light!" We all began fermenting. Everything's been tumbling downhill ever since, from  perfect order toward chaos.  Now we're a tangle of vines, both luscious and poisonous, beyond the broken fence. Our mouths are full of honeysuckle. Our ears are clover petals. I am lost in a bio-galactic meadow among pulsars of dew, gazing at a string of moons through a dragonfly's wing. We are dreams of light in each others optic nerves. Your otherness is as questionable as mine. Am I you or me? This field must be out beyond ideas of right or wrong. Here, Rumi wanders barefoot, half-tipsy with the wine of ambiguity. Come friend, drink from the bowl of my heart until it is hollow. Then drink even more. Let's both become the bot...