Uradiance

     Terrible things happen Beautiful things happen People are weeping People are laughing The world is a play Of light and shadow Everyone is a victim Everyone is to blame No one is a victim No one is to blame An old man dies in your arms An infant is born in your hands The peony I planted last year in my garden that I thought had not survived now swells with ancient beauty in a yearning bud Shivo'ham Shivo'ham I am the Infinite the imperishable Splendor of Awareness I Witness the blossoming the fragrance and the fall of the smallest wildest  flower I hold you no less dear

     A profoundly simple instruction is re peated verbatim in the Shiva Sutras, the Vijnana Bhairava, and the Orthodox Christian Philokalia:  “rest the mind in the heart ."  The alchemy practiced by cats, Taoist masters, and breast-sated infants. There's no difference between purring, chanting "Om," or gurgling “Mama”   in the democracy of the heart. Y et it's really not a practice at all, but the surrender of practice, where doing yields to Being.     Rest the mind in the heart. If you want to stay safe, you might regard this as a method of relaxation or stress management. But if you are an adventurer, you'll let it be the portal to a New Creation. The Heart is not just a beating organ for aerating your blood, but a doorway.  At an ancient temple , you  could only pass over  the threshold after removing your shoes. Shoes represented the beliefs and assumptions covering pure consciousness. You had to remove the dust on your feet...

I hear 7 billion victims crying, 'You did this to me!' Friends, we all wove this web of tears. No one can untangle it. Take a break from blaming. Visit the tavern in your chest. Haven't you heard of the innkeeper who doesn't run a tab of innocence or shame? He serves the wine that loosens your heart, unwhirling your eyes from fixed orbits. This is where angels come to drink after work. It's the kind of place where you can whisper, 'To hell with it, let's get married!' So many rings exchanged in silent shadows between laughter and weeping, music and desire. So many peacocks dancing on your table, their talons dipped in chocolate, feathers fanning open to reveal the scorching beams of nakedness. Others only see your green  opaque  refraction through dream waters. Now grace untethers  your body.  You drift above the city, clutching  a  violin with broken strings,  floating with a wingéd donkey  throu...