Uradiance

" Ano raniyan mahato mahiyan: the smallest of the small is greater than the greatest ." ~ Upanishads The ego holds us in the delusion that our own issues are the critical ones, and other people just don't get what's really important. But from the view of the Atman, the clear blue sky inside, nothing is more important than anything else. In the final analysis, each speck of dust is the holy land. I did not learn this by reading the scriptures. I learned it from the exquisite fragrance of locust blossoms. Some people consider them mere weeds. Others regard them as delicacies, and scatter them on soup.

'So many of you "spiritual" seekers attempt to attain loving kindness by waging inner warfare on your egos. But this subliminal quality of aggression against yourself permeates all your external relationships, and you project your internal warfare into the world. This is why bourgeois morality is so oppressive: it is the mask of resentment toward those who won't conform to conventional "self-discipline." Only when you enfold your ego in compassion, simply watching over it as a mother watches over her wondrous naughty playful perfectly stumbling child, can you hope to permeate the world with forgiveness, and the grace of non-judgment. I see this clearly because I am a very bad boy.' ~Willy

You don't have to journey to Katmandu. The fern marsh just beyond the backyard fence is deep and wild and quiet enough. No need to climb Machu Picchu. There's a mountain in your chest. Unplug the electronic pounding. Listen to the hip hop of chickadees, acoustic bees in the lilac bush. Your first response ability is to power off, shut down, open your window and breathe. Now listen to the real news, the throb of divine Silence gushing from the wellspring just beneath your breastbone. Your cardiac plexus contains richer information than any media; yet it vibrates in stillness, flowing from the a priori , not through words, images or ideas, but through the amber hollow of a synapse in the blazing Life Tree of your nervous system. To become silent is the greatest adventure. How do you do it? "Do" just slightly less than nothing. Don't climb the mountain of mind. Follow the ancient river of surrender, the current of Prana-Shakti, down into the va...

"Energy is eternal delight." ~William Blake Many of us try as hard as possible to still this wild golden splendor, give it weight, grasp and hold it, contain it in a fixed structure of practices and beliefs. Y et the only responsible thing to do is let go and rejoice, because what we are striving for is already happening, each moment. We drown in an ocean of gold, the sea of pure consciousness. Our souls ever dance and dissolve in these waves of love, yet there's nothing we can do to harness or channel the divine energy, because it is who we Are. Can a bubble of foam control the ocean? Or course not, but it can Be water. Let Shiva be Shiva: watch the phantasm unfold. Let Shakti be Shakti: celebrate the whirl. Let formless Silence reverberate with the causeless echo of countless forms. Let wild Stillness rise and fall in waves of self-delight. It's out of control: therefor rejoice... Your most creative "work" will arise from this joyful s...

Conceptual thinking makes life seem complicated, and tears the fabric of the world to pieces. Intuition mends it, weaves it into one. Now is the time for humanity to evolve and emerge from the cocoon of thought into the luminous air of intuition. This step doesn't add weight, but drops the burdens of past and future, worry and regret. In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus said, "Take no thought for what ye shall eat or drink or what ye shall wear... Take no thought f or tomorrow." He taught us to trust our intuition rather than our anxiety. Read Matthew 6:25-34 - the greatest Dharma talk ever given on the power of intuition, several thousand years ahead of its time. Free from beliefs and ideologies that only separate us from the world, free from concepts that only divide subject from object, intuition seamlessly threads awareness through our environment. How could life be complicated when "inner" and "outer" are one continuum, and we...

The original purpose of Kali devotion was not to make a cult of our outrage, or to solidify our identity around anger: but quite the contrary, to transcend rage by embracing it in the abyss of a greater whole, a wave in love's vast ocean. Only in that unconditional embrace may we see our bitterest enemy as Mother Kali herself, in her more distressing disguise. Without resistance, the healing heart of Wisdom enfolds our fury, transforming it into ananda. Then we know that, in the final analysis, both love and anger are made out of one energy, which is pure bliss. In much the same way that New Age culture appropriates the science of Yoga as mere exercise for the body, so we appropriate Mother Kali as a political icon for the ego of the offended party. But she will not be mocked. Kali knows no left or right. Her abysmal love swallows them both in the dark face of a beauty so intense it melts our edges. Picture: 'Jai Kali Ma,' Sri Ramakrishna adoring Mother Kali

I honor my Mother who is buried under a willow. I honor the blessed Mother of my children, the Mother of Willy, the Mother of strays and wanderers, pregnant Mother fleeing across the border, Mother of the Poor, Mother of the Rich, Forest Mother, Mountain Mother, Valley Mother, Mother Moon, Mother Blood, Mother Serpent twined on the Tree Of Gnosis, Wolf Mother, Raven Mother, Mother Gorilla quietly munching handfuls of wild orchids, Mother Spirit, Mother Matter, Mother Om, waveless Mother Awareness in whom I know no thing, Mother Mary, Mother Kali, Mother Hokhmah, Mother of Darkness, Mother of Silence, Mother of the Word, to whom all prayers, to all gods, in all languages, return. My Mother, buried under a willow. Mingle my ashes with her.

My big brother, you led the way. As first born son, you took upon your brow the wrath of the almighty Father so that I could be spared, although you did from time to time chase me around the yard with the Father's 22 caliber pistol loaded with blanks, while mom and dad were out partying. You gave me the red taste of manhood, rewarding me with my first scar, which I still have under my left eye, when you flipped your best friend Dunny Dunham over your shoulder in a cowboy fight while I gazed worshipfully up at you. It was just like a scene from 'Hoppalong Cassidy,' except that the heel of his boot came down on my cheek. I had to get 14 stitches in the hospital. To this day I point to the scar and proudly declare, "A cowboy did this to me in a fight, but he didn't mean it. He was my brother." Mother and I went to your little league games where you played third base, and though I still don't comprehend baseball, I listened carefully to your in...