Because your sighs have fermented
my blood, I need no wine.
My name on your lips is the longest Sura.
I begin the Night Journey in your eyes
toward the wild desert fragrance
I longed for all day.
The only revelation is my face
reflected in your gaze.
Keep your window open:
Do not turn this emptiness to glass,
lest you profane the Prophet
and make gazing an Eye.
Without the savor of your presence,
my senses are idols.
The very thought of love is blasphemy
if not coupled with your kiss.
Ignore the picture in your mind:
like a lover's map,
it was sketched by trembling.
Look to the hollow seeds,
the emptiness before conception.
We are a mirror leaning on a mirror,
reflecting a wilderness of purity.
We are each others' search
for the space between,
for the fiercest clarity
where zero became two
in the bright space of unknowing:
you, the last veil of my desire,
and I, the veil within that;
I, the last veil of your desire,
and you, translucent, blue,
the color of yearning itself.
Spin quickly now, before
the other vanishes,
so that we may catch God
at the center of whirling.
You lit me on the wick of your eye
where I danced as seeing.
From the golden oil in my bones
I kindled you.
A soul for my soul,
you gushed through my hollow places.
Anoint me now!
Drip down this broken necklace
of seven dangling pearls.
From throat to thigh, unite
the sea and setting sun.
Of purple curtains in the King's chamber
we may speak,
but never of what happens
on the other side.
When dawn comes we'll whisper
which of us was stillness,
which the dancer.


لأنّ آهاتك قد خمّرت دمي،
لا أحتاج إلى نبيذ...
اسمي على شفتيك هو السورة الأكبر.
وفي عينيك أبدأ رحلة الليل
نحو صحراء بريّة الرحيق.
لا وحي إلا صورة وجهي
منعكسة في شخوص عينيك.
دعيهما نافذة مفتوحة،
ولا تحوّلي فراغك إلى زجاج
حتى لا تدنّسي النبوة
وتعودي بعينيك من البصيرة إلى البصر.
عندما لا أرنو إليك،
تصير عيني وثناً.
حتى فكرة ‘المحبوب’ تصبح وثناً
إذا ما لم تُقرن بقبلته.
لذا تجاهلي الصور التي تكوّنت في رأسك:
فهي، كخرائط العشاق، قد رُسمت بارتعاش.
وانظري بدلاً منها إلى البذور الراسخة،
إلى الفراغ فيها قبل اللقاح
حيث يصبح الصفر اثنين
في فضاء اللامعرفة المشرق (الساطع).
نبحث معاً عمّا بين مرآتين،
عن ذلك النقاء البريّ،
فتصيرين بحثي وأصير بحثك.
أنت، حجاب لذّتي الأخير
وأنا، حجاب الحجاب،
شفّاف، أزرق، بلون السماوات التوّاقة.
اغزلي الآن سريعاً قبل أن يزول الآخر
فقد نلتقي واللهَ في مركز الدوران.
أشعلتني على فتيل عينيك:
فرقصت هناك في النظر.
ومن الزيت الذهبيّ في عظامي، أضأتُكِ،
روحاً لروحي، تتدفق في أماكني الجوفاء،
وفي جروحي.
امسحي رأسي بالزيت الآن! قطّريه على هذا العقد المنثور
من سبع لآلئ معلّقة.
من أعلى الرأس إلى أسفل الحوض، وحّدي البحر بالشمس إذ تغيب.
يمكننا الحديث عن ستائر ليلكيّة في غرفة الملك،
لكننا لا نتحدّث أبداً عمّا يحدث في الضفّة الأخرى!
وعندما ينبلج الفجر، سوف نهمس:
مَن منّا كان السكون، ومن كان الراقص.

A version of this poem appears in 'Wounded Bud.'
Translated into Arabic by Dana Chamseddine.
Illustration to the Rubayat by René Bull

Sri Krishna Jayanti

Blessings to all on Sri Krishna Jayanti, the birthday of Lord Krishna.
Tell me why you took birth in this human body? I took birth to experience the greatest adventure, the infinite journey.
But it is not far. It is the journey of a single breath, from the base of the spine to the crown of the head. And not so difficult. There's a flute sound you can follow through the wilderness.

That sound is the Name of God, that will lead you through the green valley of the heart, and guide you to the mountain peak, shining in the vast sky just above your crown.

From that peak, a luminous stream of melting song flows down ceaselessly through your spine, watering the garden of your flesh to make it fruitful. In this garden Sri Radha, who is your yearning, meets the Beloved, who is Divine Beauty.

His radiance is blue like the sky, the inner hue of your own pure awareness. And all outward forms that are beautiful, are beautiful because they partake of his radiance.

When the soul beholds the Beauty that is Krishna within, surely, this Beauty shines through every creature. Therefor, to the Teacher who awakens that silent inner music, and gently leads us by an intimate and pathless Way, we can only say, 'Jai Guru Dev': all gratitude to the Friend.

We entered the garden to get drunk and lost, and find our way home to the garden, which we never left. This is why we dance.

Forgive me for this mad poem of the wanderer.

Words of Lord Krishna from the Bhagavad Gita...

'When you see Me in all and all in Me, then I never leave you, and you never leave me.'

'Offer in thy heart all thy works to Me, and see Me as the end of thy love. Take refuge in Buddhi-Yoga, the oneness at the heart's core, and ever rest thy soul in Me.'

'Leave all religious duties behind, and simply surrender to Me; I will free you from bondage. Don't worry!'

Saving the World

My higher self sat me down and said, "Now you be quiet and listen. People who believe it's their duty to save the world often wind up bitter and burnt out, because they can't. The world has its own destiny, and you have yours.

"Fulfill your own destiny. Do what you love. And if you do it 100%, with grace and integrity, and lots of good wholesome mistakes, you will surely help a few others along the way. You will live as wise and happy a life as is possible under human limitations, and the world will be ever so gently uplifted. If you want more than that, you are probably an egomaniac. Got it?"

I replied, "Got it. Thanks, Willy."

My Prayer

I awoke this morning with a prayer on my lips. "Lord, I promise I won't get so drunk today." But with my very first breath came the wine of love. I am a child of the Sun and Moon, hopelessly lit by wonder. Forgive me. I will scatter my poems so silently in the woods, the deer will eat them and stay out of your flowers.

Breath Within The Breath

Honor your breath
as the Holy Spirit ,
and She will honor your body
as the very garden
Jesus meets his Paramour.

Learn to age the wine of longing
in an empty sepulcher.

Thorns make blossoms at dawn.

Yeast your bread with opposites.
Let it get risen and delicious
in love's d
ark oven.
Pour yourself without a word
into the cup of desolation.
Don't fear the hollow in your heart.
It is pure seed.

You bathed in boundless power
before you breathed.
Is it any different now?

Each inhalation surfeits you
with un-created joy.
Each exhalation casts you back
into that sea of birthless night.

Wait upon the Lord.
His form is the very now
of your patience.

Some invisible Lover will fill you
with unspeakable light.

Sculpture of Mary Magdalene in the Mission Church of Santa Barbara


Non-duality and devotion are as inseparable as a blossom and its fragrance. The nectar of Bhakti sparkles at the center of the Advaita flower. The bee became still, not through fasting, but through drinking God's infinite sweetness.

Not The Way

Doing 'good' is not the Way,
just as doing 'evil' is not the Way.
The Way is no doing.
This does not mean, don't do!
It means dynamic action
through inner stillness
without wasting energy
in moral judgments.
Be immersed in
what you love
and action flowers,
the seed, the petals,
the fruit all one.
But perhaps you do not know
what you love?
Ah, that is the problem.


The lotus is a sign of grace from below.
Touched by the breath of dawn,
it springs from mud, expanding
without effort, blossoming
from darkness into beauty,
because physics is a metaphor
guiding us
toward the metaphysics
of wonder.
If we could feel the flowering
as a silent pulse
in the secret wound of the heart,
the rich would give their wealth away.
The outraged would surrender
their despair.
Bullets would melt into tears.
The thief would repay what is stolen.
His victim would insist,
"Please keep it, you need it more than I."
Isn’t this why we sing?
Anger is not our true home.
Friend, there is something gently
bursting inside you
that heals the world.

Photo by Aile Shebar

"Identity Group"

We are one human family.
That is the biogenic truth,
the terrible fractured beauty
of our wholeness.
We have bled each other
since the first man and woman
named their sorrow,
their breath, their fire.
Earth is our body.
We are eight billion shades of Green.

Article, Science Magazine

Stories End

There are only a handful of stories. We keep telling them in countless versions: the story of gain, the story of loss, the story of laughter, the story of tears...

But have you noticed, when we hear a good story, we can't wait to see how it ends? This is a hint about the nature of reality. Truth does not lie in the story at all. Truth lies in the end of the story, the moment we get it, breathe out, and drop it. Here we are again, in the beginning, before the Word of creation...

This is the opportunity for release into boundless awareness, where no story is told, because the present moment has no plot...

But usually, after that burst of freedom, we get drawn back into the story, starting over a new version of our favorite saga. And so it goes...

Until someday, somenow, we drop the story and stay where we are, in the sparkling Presence which has no beginning or end.

Let's meet here, in this wilderness, where the grapes are already fermented on the vine.

Painting: Albrecht Samuel Anker, b. 1831, 'Old Storyteller'

Trinity (A Poem from 'Wounded Bud')

In the beginning

the Father gazed

into the mirror of the Spirit
and saw Christ.

That mirror was the womb

of eternal silence,

for even God is mothered

by a mystery.

Then Christ gazed in the mirror

and saw You.

You too were born

of that joy!


في البدء،
حدّق الآب

في مرآة الروح
ورأى المسيح.

تلك المرآة هي رحم
الصمت السرمدي،

ذلك أن الله أيضاً ولد من

ثم حدّق المسيح في المرآة
أنتِ أيضاً ولدتِ

translated into Arabic by Dana Chamseddine.


What is Energy? What is Joy?
To bathe each atom of your flesh
in the most beautiful name of God.

Could you find fragrance in a flower
not rooted in the soil?

Could you find truth in a mind
not rooted in quietness?

Could you find fire in a heart
not rooted in the music of love?

Surrender to the one whose breath
makes a sweet sound in your chest.

Listen to the whisper that draws you
gently down into the silent light
that created the stars.

Blessed Eid Al-Adha to all my Muslim friends!

Breath Inside

"Kabir said: student, what is God?
He is the breath inside the breath."
Honor your breath as the Holy Spirit
and She will honor your body
as the very garden where Jesus
meets the Paramour.
Thorns become blossoms at dawn.
Learn to age the wine of longing
in an empty sepulcher.
Pour yourself without a word
into the cup of desolation.
Use the yeast of opposites.
Your bread gets risen and delicious
in love's dark oven.
The hollow of the heart
is the seed of beauty.
You bathed in boundless power
before you breathed.
Is it any different now?
Let each inhalation surfeit you
with un-created joy.
Let each exhalation cast you back
into that sea of birthless night.
Wait upon the Lord,
whose form is the now
of your patience, and very soon
some invisible Lover will fill you
with unspeakable light.

Sculpture: Mary Magdalene in the
Mission Church of Santa Barbara

Sometimes Listening Is Not Listening

Be perfectly content
with not knowing.
Don't take sides.
If someone preaches
their politics or religion,
just smile and pretend
you are listening.
Remember why you are here.
You are here to be here,
even when they are not here.
Stay in this moment
while they tell their story
about the past and future,
which do not exist.
Breathe in pain.
Breathe out compassion.
Be present,
but keep it a secret.
If you do this to show
your enlightenment,
you are more ignorant than they are.
When they go on and on
without any end in sight,
offer them some tea,
or bourbon.

What the Raindrop Said

I am more than this whirl of dust. I am more than this stream of breath. I am more than this rattle of words in the skull, called my mind. What am I?

I am listening
     to a raindrop
         falling on an alder leaf
             at dawn.               

And I hear the silence who listens. And in the silence, I hear the voice of the raindrop. "You are like me, a bead of perishing. Yet as you perish, you reflect the sky, and contain the sun, with all the stars."

Photo by Dwobbit on Deviant Art


In Vedic philosophy, the subtlest field of the mind is called "ritambhara pragyam." It is the field of self-luminous intuition, where every desire arises as the seed of its own fulfillment.

If the meditator witnesses the desire arise at that finest mental level, tasting its essence, then the experience desired is complete without requiring any object of the senses, for the object is already contained within the subject.

Understanding this, how could we see desire as a barrier to God? Desire is God in the form of fire. Honor your desire, embrace your desire, merge with your divine burning. Then your desire is fulfilled, without dividing the unity of the Self.

Creative Uncertainty

Religion has been high-jacked by true believers. But Spirituality is nurtured in Uncertainty.

Because we uncritically value our beliefs, we give our uncertainties a negative connotation. Yet Uncertainty is the seed of creation.

According to the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle, the whole universe arises from the field of quantum uncertainty, where a particle's momentum (mass multiplied by speed) and its location cannot be simultaneously known. The "particle" may just as well be defined as a non-localized wave of pure mathematical probability. Can we find any more positive way to honor the creative power of bewilderment?

Emily Dickinson wrote, "I dwell in possibility." The field of infinite possibility is the groundless Uncertain, the unfathomable space between our thoughts. Beliefs are not nearly so full of Truth as the silence between them.

Medieval Christian mystics honored this space as the deepest prayer, and called it "the cloud of unknowing." Meister Eckhart wrote, "I need to be silent for awhile: worlds are forming in my heart." How do we know but that a new creation doesn't arise each moment from the boundless silence at our core? Here is our first vocation: to awaken the space of unknowing.

We need courage to linger where nothing is final, nothing is certain, and all is possible. We need courage to rest without clinging to any belief at all. Jesus said, "With God all things are possible." (Mat 19:26) If the Creator doesn't need to be certain, why should we?

(Photo: 'Space Between the Atoms' by Timothy Vincent at deviantart.com )

A Smoke With The Buddha

After forty nine years
of meditation,
I feel like sitting on my porch
and smoking
an Arthur Fuentes Hemingway
"Short Story" cigar
with the Buddha.
It is perfectly all right
to desire.
It is perfectly all right
for the breeze in the pines
to sigh, and for flowers
to carry on so silently
the way they do,
making colors.
To spend a summer evening
among roses and weeping
having fallen again
and again in love
with the same body,
the same harmony
of all small parts
we call "the soul."
Because this is a world
of desire.
Each yearning is a breath
of what it yearns for.
A world of
indecipherable sacraments,
the squeeze of a hand,
the taste of sugar
that a hummingbird knows.
This is a world where
every earth-frail shape,
even as it perishes,
points inward.

"An'al Haqq!"

I am a Christian.
I believe in the Trinity.
My breath is the Holy Spirit.
My body is the body of Christ.
My heart, at rest in its own
sparkling emptiness,
is God.
If you burn me at the stake
for proclaiming the Truth,
I Am the fire!

Photo: Persian miniature of Sufi saint,
Mansur Al Hallaj, burned at the stake
for proclaiming, "An'al Haqq," I Am Truth.

Drop This Thought

"Take no thought for tomorrow." ~Jesus, Matthew 6:34
For those who are addicted to thinking, here is a one-moment meditation: Drop This Thought.

The practice is unbelievably simple, so don't believe in it. Don't even do it.

Dropping this thought doesn't mean trying not to think. Trying to not-think is a form of repression that wastes our energy, because thinking is inevitable. But what we can effortlessly drop is our clinging to ideas. As soon as an idea or image arises in the mind, no resistance is required. Just drop it. Not-clinging requires no effort.

In fact, dropping a thought increases energy. When I drop this thought, the energy bound up in thinking dissolves its form and expands into pure awareness, which is the sparkling joy of boundless possibility.

The moment I drop this thought, an explosion of transparency fills the inner and outer sky, blessing every atom in my body and resonating into the stars.
Drop thought, drop affirmation, drop belief. What can be formed in the mind is only an idea, and an idea can never bring us one step closer to Being. A thought of happiness is not happiness. A thought of God is not God. The image of Jesus in your mind is not what Jesus IS. Crucify the image.

When you pray, drop the name and form of God. When you meditate, drop the mantra. The very letting go of the mantra is like sowing a seed in dark loam. The seed has to be dropped in order to sprout power. The mantra only bears fruit when it dissolves into silence.

Truth is never the outcome of thinking. We cannot construct an argument, a chain of thoughts, that will end with, "Eureka! I found the truth, now everything will be OK!" Truth is a wave of space in the heart, not a particle of thought in the head. So drop this thought and taste the emptiness of your true nature.

Although we have been addicted to thinking for many lifetimes, thought is not our true nature. One authentic taste of the pure awareness beyond thought awakens a new destiny.

This is not just some "Eastern" teaching. In the Bible, awareness beyond thought is called "the peace which passeth understanding." In the Sermon on the mount, Jesus tells his disciples again and again to "take no thought."

We have left the Information Age. This is the Age of Awareness. We are in recovery from our thinking addiction. Humans all over the earth are now discovering the redemptive power of thought-free awareness. Like the finest wine, sip this awareness in short moments of awakening. With time, it will pervade all your perceptions, and remain sparkling through dreams and deep sleep. "I sleep, but my heart is awake." (Song of Songs 5:2)

Fall into the well between words. One breath of this clarity is baptism. Bathe in the blessing that has no image, no concept, no ideology. This blessing is nameless because it is the very silence from which words arise.

The well between thoughts is ananda, bliss. Why not come down from the ever-circling mind and alight upon the clarity of your heart, like a swan settling on a still lake?

This is a living stillness, not a state of inertia. When I drop thought, there is a sparkling surge of awareness, an awakening of space itself. And because the space is unobstructed by any conceptual form, it keeps increasing. The ever-expanding quality of pure awareness is what makes this space dynamically blissful.

The early Christian mystic, St. Gregory of Nyssa, called it epictesis: "ceaseless expansion into God." Greek philosophers had removed God from human experience, putting the Divine on a static idealized pedestal of Absolute Being. But St. Gregory describes the real taste, the wild flavor of mystical experience: the Divine is not stagnant, but ever silently exploding in wildering widening spirals of ecstasy.

The Sanskrit term for this dynamism within the Godhead is spanda, from which we derive the English word "expand." Spanda is the pulsation within the depth of silence that creates the universe. Quantum physics now describes spanda as "fluctuation in the vacuum." All material particles arise from these fluctuations, and so-called "matter" actually consists of abstract wave-energy: waves of pure mathematical intelligence in the emptiness of the void.

Such pulsing clarity cannot remain a secret inside us. We long to share that bliss which is the effortless nature of mere Existence. And this motivates us to give joy to others. How does our bliss influence the subtle strata of energy around us?

The awakened radiance of thought-free awareness overflows through our senses, energizing our environment. For consciousness, sensation and environment are a single continuum, one field of energy in different degrees of density.

To drop this thought illuminates my senses. Now I can see-hear-taste-touch more clearly, with more luminous energy. This burst of awareness in me reverberates throughout the field of space, cleansing and healing the world.

"Drop this thought" is such an innocent practice that we need not spoil it by turning it into a "technique." Nor do we need to give this effortless practice any duration through time. For the attempt to sustain the practice, as a practice, destroys its innocence and wastes energy.

I can imbibe short moments of "drop this thought" throughout the day, without clinging to the experience. Such moments of ecstatic non-doing are excellent meditations for those of us whose minds are fickle and incapable of stilling themselves. Which means all of us!

Brevity is the soul of practice. Drop this thought now and take a sip of eternity. Then go back to work.

What happens in that instant of dropping thought? "I" dissolve. Nothing is so refreshing as the dissolution of the do-er.

Some speak of instant karma, but what we need is instant grace. Grace is not a state of duration, maintained by concentration, affirmation, or mindfulness. Trying to hold on to Grace is just another thought. Drop it. Grace is only possible as surprise.

Let yourself be surprised by Grace, moment by moment, all day long, and even in the darkest night.

Spark of Joy

Your joyand my joy
are one spark.
Make peace
through Joy.


Love is ceaseless dying.
You gave your breath
to the mistress of the dark
and she melted the edges
of your tongue, that flame
of resistance.
Now you are a peony
sparkling with raindrops
in green silence.
Who knows where a petal ends
and a moonbeam begins?
The gaze of the moth-winged
Goddess Chandra
has entered your chest
to teach you emptiness.
Now you must learn
the secret name
for overflowing.

Chandra is the Moon in Sanskrit.
Photo by Aile Shebar

Man's Need

Some men need
to climb a mountain
and stand at the peak
in the face of the sun
to feel complete.
I only need to follow
a gentle inhalation
up the sparkling slope
of my body
from belly to crown,
to stand at the peak
in the face the sun
and surrender.
I would rather be
a servant of this breath
than a master of the mountain.

Photo of Mt. Rainier, taken from a hill near my home


To fall in love is to fall into the space between thoughts. This eternal space is Presence. It is the Self.
Here one needs no romantic partner to be deeply in love. The Self sees a leaf, a hummingbird, or a cloud in pure intimacy. The whole shimmering creation is the Self, apprehending its own luminosity as the Beloved. All is a mirror.

Intimacy is the secret heart of the world, and the Self is the space of intimacy. I and myself are one, yet two, because, in my capacity for Self-reflection, I contain the boundless possibility of otherness, the potency of space between subject and object.

The subject-object relationship in any perception, the I-Thou relationship in any meeting of persons, is a sacramental sign that outwardly mirrors the primordial intimacy of Self-communion.

I can truly say to an other, even a stranger, "We are two, yet one, for we exist in the space of awareness. I belong to you." This is what it means to love my neighbor as my Self (Mat 22:39).

When I first started to experience this, I actually felt guilty about it - guilty that I could experience such deep love in solitude! Our culture indoctrinates us to hook up in dependent relationships. I think this is because, when we are needy and grasping, it's easier to sell us things. But such needy relationships are not true intimacy, because they are not rooted in Self-awareness.

Truly happy people are just as content when alone as with others. In solitude, love becomes self-luminous and omnipresent. Solitude is our "refresh" button, refreshing our sanity. In solitude we discover that we are never really alone. And because w are always full, when we meet another, our solitude overflows.
I sipped the nectar of silence
between my thoughts
and slipped naked
into an ocean of wine.
I cannot keep the secret any more.
Forgive me, Goddess of Night!
The Self is made of sapphire.
It's vast blue emptiness
contains both Lover and Beloved.
Countless amours
between I and Thou,
the Rose and the Gardener,
sparkle from the hollow heart.
Don't even try
to count from one to two
or you'll grow thirsty like me,
drink from your own
astonished breath,

and dance like a fool at the wedding.

Dedicated to the one who is my Gift.

This Morning's Secret

Here is the secret just spilled by the honeysuckle, passed on to a hummingbird, whose wings whispered to the thrush, who sang it to sunbeams in the silence of dissolving mist, where an elderly cedar breathed it to ten thousand murmuring roots: You only have Power when you give it away.

Gift of the Chrysanthemum

On this golden morning, how many miracles have I already missed, because I don't have time for the present moment?

I look deep into a chrysanthemum. It awakens me. If I could translate this flower's voice into words, it would be these: "Gaze at me and be healed. May your body grow lighter than the sky. May you dance with me in this breath." 

Every flower wants to share this simple practice with us....

Go into your garden, a meadow, or a patch of forest sunlight. Look deeply into one small creature. A caterpillar, a berry, a blossoming weed, a pebble. Look until you see not only the creature at whom you look, but the source of your gaze. Look until you are aware of awareness.

Relinquishing every image of the past, let one small creature guide you into this moment. This creature was created to awaken you. No old wound of body or soul can withstand the onslaught of its healing presence. The object awakens the subject to Self-radiance.

You don't need to celebrate this moment. This moment celebrates you. All around you is the kingdom of presence, where earth's humblest citizens are shouting, "Wake up!" Thistles, clouds, holes in tree trunks, even stones cry out. They flash from nothing into form, just to rouse you from ancient dreams and bygone stories. A morning glory, a mole, a spider in her sparkling web all sing, "I belong to you!"

How can you keep from bowing down and singing back to the smallest creature, "I belong to you!"

You Are Not Unhappy

You are not unhappy. You think you are unhappy. You have strong sensations that invite clear, intense, thought-free awareness. But instead, you superimpose on them the thought, 'I am unhappy.' It is your own mind that makes you unhappy. Get rid of this mind and just be aware.

Back Porch Buddha

Every flower is a Buddha.
The lilac is a Buddha tree.

Sunlight is Buddha.
Glass is Buddha.
Buddha the stone cat.
Buddha the candle.

The only thing not Buddha

is Buddha.

Being nothing Buddha
becomes everything.

Try it and see!


The wanderer could not find his way Home, so Home returned to the wanderer.

The wanderer confessed, "I am lost in your love," to which the Beloved replied, "You have no choice."

The wanderer said, "I, who imagined free will for ten thousand lifetimes, now surrender. Let my will drown in your ocean of freedom."

The Beloved answered without words, "This moment has been floating through every birth and death."

Friend, do you also wish to reach the final destination, which is the place where you were before you were born?

Then you must listen very carefully to this conversation between twinkling eyes of silence.

Photo: with Sri Sri in Seattle, the moment
he said, 'You have no choice.'

The Still Small Voice

Meditation is listening to God speak. But God's native language is silence.
Therefor, meditation is listening to silence.

Meditation is a conversation beyond language, like the movement of waters
underground before a stream gushes into the light. The silence of meditation
is not empty, but running over with the juice of mutuality, the ebb and flow
of yearning and affection. There are tides in silence, giving and receiving.
Love-play in stillness is the Mystery of our dialog with God.

When the prophet Elijah fled for his life from the priests of Baal, he hid in a
cave on Mount Horeb. Deeply depressed and alone, Elijah listened and watched.
There was an earthquake, then a desert whirlwind, then a bolt of lightning.
But the Lord was not in earth, wind or fire. Then Elijah opened his heart to
pure Presence. Centering down to the formless, he found God in a still small
voice of quiet.

The Hebrew here in 1 Kings 19:12 is very subtle. What Elijah heard was a
qol dmamah daqah. Literally this means:
  • קוֹל "qol" - voice
  • דְּמָמָה  "dmamah" - silent, hardly audible, or murmuring
  • דַקָּה "daqah" - faint, small, fine, ground up
This last word is remarkable and difficult. Its root can mean "to grind up,
to pulverize." Literally, what Elijah heard was, "the sound of a finely atomized
silence." This is an image right out of quantum physics.

Our universe, every particle of it, arises from fluctuations of the vacuum,
where "virtual photons" of light and "virtual electrons" of energy vibrate in
the void: that is, in a finely atomized silence. The vacuum of space is not actually
empty, but granulated with possibilities, teeming with hope, churning with
seeds of new creation.

After Elijah practiced deep meditation in that cave, he felt renewed. He emerged
fresh and charged with a new vision for his people, because, just for a few moments,
he had attuned his heart to the source of creation.

We too can listen to God speak when we practice transcendental deep meditation.
What we receive will not be words, nor mere absence of words, but tidal waves
of energy and light.

Jai Guru Dev

Out of Control

"Control is opposed to evolution." ~Maharishi

Wisdom is out of control. No need to control the mind, just transcend the mind. No need to silence the intellect, just transcend the intellect. No need to suppress the ego, just transcend the ego.

How do I transcend? I do not. The grace of the Master does it for me. Effortlessly mind, intellect and ego bathe in vast loving Presence,
Presence like the sky, pervaded by love like the color blue.

Beauty stuns the mind into stillness. Intellect grows quiet in the boundless light of Yes. I dissolve into Am, Am into We, We into communion.

This work of Un-Doing is meditation. When the work is undone, mind is clear. Intellect is sharp. Ego is a playful agent of laughter. Useful tears spring up. Are they tears of sorrow or joy?

One who goes out of control has enough dispassion to feel the joys and sorrows of all creatures, as if they are her own. Such compassionate dispassion is the fruit of transcendental meditation.