The Shaking

 

It is the time of the great shaking. One of the terrible blessings of Kali Yuga is that this becomes so crystal clear: what may be shaken falls away, so that what cannot be shaken may remain.

Our personality is shaken. Our emotions, minds, and bodies are shaken. Now, thrown back into what is never shaken, we drink from the unquenchable wellspring of pure Being.

We find the infinite center of our hridayam, the silence of our heart's core. From there we sing the causeless music of the unstruck bell. This is not a time of crisis, but opportunity. An invitation to distinguish the changing from the unchanging.

Our spiritual journey is not to rise, but to fall. It is not far, but simply to descend, through a breath of Grace, from the mind to the heart. Find the hidden treasure and discover the Self, not in the angst of division and blame, but in the fragrance of unity. The scent of this flower is uniquely your own. Yet in your trembling core of stillness is the wedding of Shiva to Shakti, Jesus with the Magdalene, Lover and Beloved, the kiss of pistil and stamen in every flower.

Here is a mystery. You are the bud whose cup contains the pollen of all sentient beings: one human family, gathered round the ancestral fire in your chest. A divine sun with eight billion rays, shining from the imperishable blue sky of consciousness, you are That.

This is no mere intellectual belief or "advaita" teaching, but a direct experience, attained not by political strife, but by tapping our Seed in the wild fallow stillness of meditation. Nor is this "spiritual by-passing." It is entering the ground, the real, the changeless, in the radiance of the body.

We need not rise to the occasion, but fall. Fall inward. Collapse. Enter the catastrophe without resistance, and touch Being. The field of eternal Being is what remains, unshaken. The most fruitful work we can do, is to Be.

Dwell in the uncertain and call it possibility. Drink from the unknown and call it wine. Savor a breath of stillness through your most broken place, and call it bread. This feast is far better than a thousand right answers.

I am afraid. I am unsure. Yet I Am. And just to Be, is to be a survivor. If only for a moment, let me place no noun after this verb. Here is what the stars are singing about. Here is what the womb of boundless night is whispering: "I Am." Here is courage. Here is the heart.
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I re-dedicate this meditation to our dear friend, mentor, and mystic poet Dorothy Walters, departed now from outer form to become the pure fragrance of divine love. The photo is by Aile Shebar. 



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