Uradiance

I plunge into the dark ocean of midnight knowing I will emerge in the blood of another universe much like this one but wet and sparkling with birth. Photo: dolphin in the womb from Nature Heaven

Every night, Jesus prays to you. 'Let the pain of Mary's womb be kneaded into the taste of this bread, freshly baked in the oven of your body.' The Shaman bows at your feet murmuring, 'You are the best medicine.' And what does Buddha confess? 'My past lives are as fallen leaves swept away by your gentle exhalation.' Counting beads of memory will only sabotage the sacrament of Presence, defiling your sacred relationship with the ordinary. Why feast on your wound when your nature is healing? Why worship dreams in the ancient temple of trauma? Love's story happens now. Beauty requires only one silent breath of attention. In your Wintry heart what cannot die or be born has tenderly swollen, purple as the nipple on a naked twig, the coming plum.

Hello, Ram Dass. Welcome home. Thank you for all those times we sat in sat-sang all afternoon and all evening. I was in college and you always stopped there on your way back from India. You were the first one who taught us to chant, and to honor pure Presence. You told stories about your infinite Friend wrapped in his blanket. You opened the fountain in our chests. Then we were silent for long golden rivers of now. You made it so safe and eloquent to laugh at ourselves, at the whole wondrous joke of seeking what we already have. I hope you've met Willy there, which is here, in the rays of the Heart. I love you.

Jesus said, "The Eye is the light of the body. If your Eye is one, your whole body will be filled with light (Mat 6:22)." He did not take human birth to reveal a path out of the flesh, but to glorify God in the flesh. What are we made of? Subtler than a photon, finer than the fleetest quark, each particle of our blessed matter is a wave of unbounded Christ Consciousness.

The nectar of contentment flows up your stem, opening golden petals here, in your chest. Don't you know that the seeds of the world come from the jewel of silence? They are scattered dancing reflections of your face when you choose beauty, when you breathe the wondrous un-created energy you Are. Now let your fragrance fill the space between the stars.

Be more and more like the Moon. Though her reflection is sometimes whole and sometimes broken by these trembling waters She is always still and radiant in the sky of true emptiness. She doesn't keep repeating, "I am not the pond, I am not the pond." She just gazes.

Dear friend, my christmas tree does not depress you. Your own mind depresses you. My happiness does not make you anxious. Your own mind makes you anxious. It is not my duty to tiptoe over the earth trying not to trigger you. You can avoid much suffering if you refrain from ascribing intent. Please discriminate between the intentions of others and your own reactions. This is true forgiveness. Discriminate between the actual world and the feelings that arise in you about it. This is true Vairagya, non-attachment. Only then can you sink deeper and discover that your nature is peace, your breath is love.

Slow down, walk softly, go nowhere. When you spend a little while just walking in the silence of Winter, with no other purpose but caressing the ground, each footfall, like snow, makes the earth more sacred. You step into a new dimension, the dimension of the Ordinary, leaving a trail of miracles. Painting by Andrew Wyeth, who said, "I prefer Winter and Fall, because then you can feel the bone structure of the landscape."

"Which of you, by worrying, can add one inch to your stature?" ~Jesus, Mat 6:27 The power to Be without the compulsion to Do, to Be in the world without anxiously trying to fix or manipulate it, is itself a transforming earth-healing act. Far from passivity, the act of Being is the stillness that spins galaxies, creating stars. In the past, only a few yogis, hermit monks, and crazy zen masters knew this secret. Now the secret is open, and many are realizing themselves as the Witness. Much of the present world turmoil is the phase transition that o ccurs as energy settles into a new quantum state. The karma of chaos has been loosed and won't be 'fixed.' One can either increase the chaos through worrying about it, participating in it, and trying to clear the muddy water by stirring it up, or one can witness the chaos from the innermost core of Being. We must understand once and for all that the Witness is not the thinking mind, but the unbounded Silen...

If I praise one petal of a pascal flower, bow to a ball of goat's fur tangled in alpine aster, or beg the intercession of a moth disguised as blue lupine, I am worshiping the Creator of All. The complete Word of God speaks through a blossom of columbine, and the passion of Christ is the ripening of a huckleberry. If I cannot grasp the Revelation of a bumble bee on a flower of Indian Paintbrush, what use are books of scripture? Photo: Our beloved Mount Tahoma (Rainier)

Kiss your demons and they will turn into dark angels. Drive your dark angels away and they will return as demons. Lust is not a demon but a dark angel filled with un-created star nectar. Anger is not a demon but a dark angel filled with healing fire. Grief is not a demon but a dark angel who carries an ocean of love in her jar. Depression is not a demon but a dark angel whose river of wisdom runs deep under the earth. Addiction? No, not a demon but a dark angel bearing gifts of empathy and compassion on her broken wings. If you do not bow to your dark angels they possess you, and you must act them out. But if you bow to them they breathe through the numb places in your estranged body. Then your cells and atoms start singing, and your dark angels dissolve into the energy of awakening. You possess Them. A true teacher will not divorce you from your dark angels. A true teacher will inspire you to bow down to them, and taste the wine of night. Become the dark. That is s...

Be a pilgrim, but be a pathless pilgrim. Every real pilgrimage is a journey to the same place, the place where I Am. Whether I make the haj to the Kaaba stone, or a journey to Jerusalem, Benares, Arunachala or Machu Picchu, whatever holy mountain, sacred river or saint's shrine I choose for my destination, it is always the journey of a single breath, from my lips to my heart. The same is true of our journey to the goal of "enlightenment." Yet being pathless does not mean abandoning our sadhana, our daily spiritual practice. It means that there is no "ahead" or "behind." Measuring "progress" in relation to some future destination has no spiritual meaning. Everything happens now. On the basis of human appearance, no one can determine whether this person is "more advanced" than that person - which is why Jesus said, "Judge not, lest ye be judged." God sees something totally different on the inside of us th...

Meditation is not thinking. Meditation is awakening the boundless space that contains thinking. In the silence of no-clinging and no-resistance, thoughts arise and dissolve like clouds in the blue sky. And the more you become this clear blue-sky of awareness, the more spaciousness you enfold in every neuron, ever cell of your body. Your silence imbibes the luminous Shakti of darkness, whose energy created the cosmos in her womb. Whatever may be your outward task, this is your inward duty: give birth to the Light.

Rumi said, there is some kiss we all want, the kiss of spirit on flesh. I say, there is some garden where your breath meets the Lover. I can't lead you to this green place because you are already there. But I can tell you that if you are awake all seven poppies burst open at once, each a sunrise in your body.

Thoughts are brilliant zeros whirling after a 1. Meditation is the hollow in all of them. Whatever spins, spins in you. Don’t be this restless intellect. Be the space through which it wanders. Be the green journey of a spiraling seed into the death of its flower. Past and future are only  the shimmer of now. The glittering chaos of memory and desire are as changing clouds in a distant sunset. Watch them in silence. There is great beauty in beholding the turmoil of your mind. Keep re-emerging as the blue sky. This is the color of wonder.

There are no advanced practitioners of the present moment. We're all beginners now. Sumi-e by Mariusz Szmerdt

The practice of Winter requires no effort. Simply do not fear the hollow place. Be thankful for what's left in the gourd, for the gift of withering, your open palm, your persimmon cheeks. Find another word for "emptiness." Look for husks, pods, bright crinkled faces in the Void. Those who visit this world report that it is a planet of chaff, rind, stretch marks, scar tissue. Everyone here must break open, wear a gash on the belly, reveal the bewildering sweetness of their fruit. And where does this nectar seep? Into the soul. And where is the soul? In thirst. If you can't find passion in the land of disappointment, be ardent about this breath. Fall in love with your next inhalation as with the first gasp of a newborn foal. Softly attend your sigh as if it were your mother's, and her last. Whatever is delicious, whatever is astonishing, whatever brings piquant and savory tears, ripens and dies now.