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Through the Eye of the Heart

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I used to think there was a macrocosm out there, and a microcosm down here. I used to think, "As above, so below," like, there was a difference. I thought there was inner and outer. I thought there was a feminist spirituality and a masculine spirituality, an indigenous tribal way and a European way, an Eastern soul and a Western soul. Everything seemed very complicated, and multi-dimensional. And I was always choosing sides. But I was looking through the shattered lens of egoic mind, and seeing with double-vision.   Then I relaxed into who I really Am, breathed down into my chest, and began seeing through the clear lens, the single Eye of the Heart. As Jesus said, "When your Eye is single, your whole body will be filled with light." Human beings all live in one homeland, one kingdom of God. We are all born here, in the land of the body. We may appear in eight billion different colors, but there is only one human race. Each one of us contains the mothering energy...
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Temple Door

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There's a priceless diamond inside your chest. Why stop to buy trinkets on the steps of the temple? They are for tourists and pilgrims, but you live here. The door is always open. Step into the darkness where you were glowing  before your first breath and the silence hummed your true Name before you were conceived. Rest in your original body. The one with edges is just a shell.  The real one has empty hands, half-parted lips about to sing,  bare soles covered with soot   from other buildings, burnt and fallen, an eye that never sleeps shining between two wells, the fountain of laughter  and the spring of tears. Here you have a boundless heart  inside the one that beats. This shrine isn't holy,  or secret, or hard to find. Nothing carved in marble. No priests, no experts. It's a place where your  guru appears as an ordinary person. Where everyone whispers, I Am, ...
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Frolic

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Don't be so deep. Spend a meager moment frolicking on the surface of things. Some say you're the ocean. I say, be a wave, a bubble of foam. Skip across a thousand crests like a sunbeam. Moth-dance on my lips and eyes, figure me with little kisses. Be pollen on the window, not the glass. Expressionist bird droppings on a marble terrace. Your soul defined by blemishes and crow’s feet. A vintage golden earring in the trash. Pay more attention to what's thrown away. ‘Away’ might be your motherland. When you dust off Great  Aunt Gertrude's teapot, become the dust. Or a snowflake dissolving on the first plum bud. Holding the void in your head, trying to merge with nothing, makes you heavy. Be a blade of grass. What's wrong with thingness? Sumi-e: Sakai Houitsu, Late Edo period
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Nonduality & Devotion are One (Video)

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