Moonlight in a Dewdrop

She rose up and went before you

She carved a path for you to follow

She drank from your sun
and dried her tears in the wind

She has ploughed the fields of confusion,
and scaled ineffable mountains

She like a bird has left her sanctuary,
but her season of return has past

She holds the dreams of a generation in her soul

She understands the whispers of the trees
and memorizes the tales from the sea

She

is a composer of a million love songs
is the mother of hope and sacrifice

Step by step

Every lesson learned

Along the dusty road


( Denyse Anyogu)

 

You've got a journey to make
There's your horizon to chase
So go far beyond where we stand
No matter the distance
I'm holding your hand

Sail your sea
Meet your storm
All I want is to be your harbor
The light in me
Will guide you home
All I want is to be your harbor

S  i m p l y    
o


C
    O
         M
              P
        v   u   L  n  e  r  a  B  l  e
               E                  R
           T                    E         a       r     S               e
        E                         A                          m      l
     L                         T                                    i
Y                                 H   e  a  r  t                       
                                                                              
                       
N                     
       a            
             k
                    e
E   x  p  o s e  D



W

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* * *

I opened my eyes and everything was white...only soft white light....
All white...
No sound, no smell, touch, no taste, no body.

There was no "me", there was no body.
I could move-knowing that I was moving, but it did not feel as moving the body.

Then gradually, sound returned, and some sensation of movement.
Got up, the white was flickering now, there were blurs.

I was waking up within the dream- this is what I kept telling myself.
"This is a dream and I am waking up" 

Waking up.

I moved my hands in front of me seeing only thin pink-brown blurs through the whiteness...
They looked like careless brush strokes of a water color painting. 

I was being painted, created, manifested as I was waking up.
I was being born a new.

Moving forward, gradually beginning to see, hear, touch...

I awoke.

* * *

- Carlos Castaneda

* * *

The notion of being willing to make mistakes is just the general sense that you are no longer hopeful, that you are no longer hoping to achieve complete perfection.
You are confronted with all kinds of factors -- poverty, biasedness, aggression, passion, and trying to measure yourself -- and all those situations are the opposite of being willing to make mistakes. You don't want to make mistakes; therefore you want to stick with your biasedness; you want to stick with your poverty.
You want to make sure that  everything goes right. ...You don't want to make mistakes; you are hoping for something good.
Whereas if you abandon hope, you have no idea what you are going to get in your life. Still, whatever comes is within the context of warriorship in any case.

From "Outrageousness", Chogyam Trungpa

* * *

And some beautruthfulness from E.E Cummings:



follow no path
all paths lead where

truth is here

*

it's so damn sweet when Anybody—
…makes you feel
…for once
(imag
-ine) You


*

unbeingdead isn't beingalive

The Invitation

It doesn't interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life's betrayals
or have become shriveled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
"Yes."

It doesn't interest me
to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn't interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.

~ Oriah the mountain dreamer~

Strange night...tossing and turning in my bed, not sleeping yet not completely awake. In a state of of neither here nor there.
Having a conversation, without words, with music, images, sounds rising through my mind- explaining life, happiness... That kept me busy all night long.
But I did it... somehow, the code was cracked.

When the birds sang their first notes, I fell into a short period of sleep. In the dream I was in a forest of a kingdom.
Jumping and flying around like Hanuman.
The huge golden lion, standing at the center, high above everyone.
They all tried to gain his secret power, for hundreds of years. Perhaps more.

The king was eager to be the first to get the power...Yet only with me standing there in front of the golden lion, it cracked open easily and within it were giant black-silver tubes. A mechanism of some sort...
I was not after any powers, or secrets.
I just knew without knowing. Acted without acting.

Morning came effortlessly. A journey was completed. A journey began.

 

William Orbit


* * *

The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in silence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice.

 

`Who are YOU?' said the Caterpillar.
This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, `I--I hardly know, sir, just at present-- at least I know who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.'
`What do you mean by that?' said the Caterpillar sternly. `Explain yourself!'
`I can't explain MYSELF, I'm afraid, sir' said Alice, `because I'm not myself, you see.'
`I don't see,' said the Caterpillar.
`I'm afraid I can't put it more clearly,' Alice replied very politely, `for I can't understand it myself to begin with; and being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing.'
`It isn't,' said the Caterpillar.
`Well, perhaps you haven't found it so yet,' said Alice; `but when you have to turn into a chrysalis--you will some day, you know--and then after that into a butterfly, I should think you'll feel it a little queer, won't you?'
`Not a bit,' said the Caterpillar.
`Well, perhaps your feelings may be different,' said Alice; `all I know is, it would feel very queer to ME.'
`You!' said the Caterpillar contemptuously. `Who are YOU?'
Which brought them back again to the beginning of the conversation.

(Alice In Wonderland, Lewis Carroll)

* * *

What is the difference between a caterpillar and a butterfly?
Where does one stop and the other begins?
The caterpillar has the potential of becoming a butterfly, and so he is always, already the butterfly...

The seed already has the tree within it, it is the tree... And the tree is the seed.

Always already as it is...

A beautiful flower ,
Gently opening its tender petals,
Containing the infinite cosmos.

You are just as you are.

The endless sea of serenity
Radiating
Through your eyes
Tells me just so.

* * *

Thank you...

*

The Journey

In dream I heard you say,
‘follow the stars’
‘I wonder’ she utters in her heart,
‘how far do they rise?’
‘will they ever fall?
And shall I walk on the indentation of the leaves
As they flutter in front of me,
Or ride on the beams of the sun
Whilst I’m sheltered by your breeze,
Feels like I can close my eyes,
I’ll let these hands hang surely by my side,
This vision is my guide,

I place my bag on my shoulder
My shadows in my bag,
Tied securely to it the rocks of my fears
I dropped them into the abyss as I crossed over that bridge,
And now where they lay
I cant say – I am no longer aware,

Paths that open before me
Have no beginning, I see no directions there are no signs
Perhaps I say to myself as I observe above,
‘As the skies have no known end,
And the seas darkest depths are yet to be explored,
So my journey and me
Are echoed…… lead me on

(By Denyse Anyogu)
 

* * *

"She walks with lions"

This has been repeated and said to me over and over and over again, for years...

She walks with lions...

I don't know what it means, but it feels so personal and so true, it speaks to something right at the center of my being...

* * *

Ma Durga
 

 

 

Bob Marley's "One Love"
From "Playing For Change: Peace Through Music"

The dragonfly shall be your sign,
The prophet said.
And  so it was.
The dragonflies came
One by one by one
Carrying news of
Dewdrops
Spring and
Flower blossoms.

The scent of morning grass, green hills,
fresh air, white clouds
passing silently
the green-blue waves of the sea,
swelling, breaking into the shore,
sand, wind,
the pink-orange sunset
All is in my hair...

* * *


The other night...another dream, a mixture of emotions from the past in their transformed form.

It brought me back into all heartbreaks, only to show how they were transformed into more love.

I have never stopped loving...

The dream was all filled with love but there was a "catch". Sensing it, I didn't allow it to continue, recognizing it as a dream, woke myself up in an instant.

I awoke filled with warmth radiating from my heart, nothing to catch there, nothing to get caught by...


* * *


Look at this* * *... star, space, star, space, star, space....

The space between my fingers
the space between the inhale and exhale
the space between the waves, the ocean and the shore
The space between notes in the music
the space between all and nothing
everything comes from nothing
Nothing-at-All...

* * *

Such a miracle...such a miracle...all is...

I sometimes wonder if that is what Krishna meant—
Among other things—or one way of putting the same thing:
That the future is a faded song, a Royal Rose or a lavender spray
Of wistful regret for those who are not yet here to regret,
Pressed between yellow leaves of a book that has never been opened.
And the way up is the way down, the way forward is the way back.
You cannot face it steadily, but this thing is sure,
That time is no healer: the patient is no longer here.
When the train starts, and the passengers are settled
To fruit, periodicals and business letters
(And those who saw them off have left the platform)
Their faces relax from grief into relief,
To the sleepy rhythm of a hundred hours.
Fare forward, travellers! not escaping from the past
Into different lives, or into any future;
You are not the same people who left that station
Or who will arrive at any terminus,
While the narrowing rails slide together behind you;
And on the deck of the drumming liner
Watching the furrow that widens behind you,
You shall not think 'the past is finished'
Or 'the future is before us'.
At nightfall, in the rigging and the aerial,
Is a voice descanting (though not to the ear,
The murmuring shell of time, and not in any language)
'Fare forward, you who think that you are voyaging;
You are not those who saw the harbour
Receding, or those who will disembark.
Here between the hither and the farther shore
While time is withdrawn, consider the future
And the past with an equal mind.
At the moment which is not of action or inaction
You can receive this: "on whatever sphere of being
The mind of a man may be intent
At the time of death"—that is the one action
(And the time of death is every moment)
Which shall fructify in the lives of others:
And do not think of the fruit of action.
Fare forward.
                      O voyagers, O seamen,
You who came to port, and you whose bodies
Will suffer the trial and judgement of the sea,
Or whatever event, this is your real destination.'
So Krishna, as when he admonished Arjuna
On the field of battle.
                                  Not fare well,
But fare forward, voyagers.

-T.S Eliot, Four Quartets (The Dry Salvages) 

"I told you once that our lot as men is to learn, for good or bad," he said.
"I have learned to see and I tell you that nothing really matters; now it is your turn; perhaps someday you will see and you will know then whether things matter or not. For me nothing matters, but perhaps for you everything will.

You should know by now that a man of knowledge lives by acting, not by thinking about acting, nor by thinking about what he will think when he has finished acting.

A man of knowledge chooses a path with heart and follows it; and then he looks and rejoices and laughs; and then he sees and he knows.
He knows that his life will be over altogether too soon; he knows that he, as well as everybody else, is not going anywhere; he knows, because he sees, that nothing is more important than anything else.

In other words, a man of knowledge has no honor, no dignity, no family, no name, no country, but only life to be lived, and under these circumstances his only tie to his fellow men is his controlled folly.

Thus a man of knowledge endeavors, and sweats, and puffs, and if one looks at him he is just like any ordinary man, except that the folly of his life is under control. Nothing being more important than anything else, a man of knowledge chooses any act, and acts it out as if it matters to him.
His controlled folly makes him say that what he does matters and makes him act as if it did, and yet he knows that it doesn't; so when he fulfills his acts he retreats in peace, and whether his acts were good or bad, or worked or didn't, is in no way part of his concern.

A man of knowledge may choose, on the other hand, to remain totally impassive and never act, and behave as if to be impassive really matters to him; he will be rightfully true at that too, because that would also be his controlled folly."

-Carlos Castaneda (A Separate Reality)

***

Seung Sahn would say, "When you eat, just eat. When you read the newspaper, just read the newspaper. Don't do anything other than what you are doing."

One day a student saw him reading the newspaper while he was eating. The student asked if this did not contradict his teaching. Seung Sahn said, "When you eat and read the newspaper, just eat and read the newspaper."

–From Essential Zen

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these tears i've cried
i've cried 1000 oceans
and if it seems i'm
floating. in the darkness

well, i can't believe
that i would keep
keep you from flying
and i would cry 1000 more
if that's what it takes
to sail you home
sail you home
sail you home

i'm aware what the rules are
but you know that i will run
you know that i will follow you
over silbury hill
through the solar field
you know that i will follow you

and if i find you
will you. still remember
playing at the trains
or does this
little blue ball
just fade away

over silbury hill
through the solar field
you know that i will follow you
i'm aware what the rules are
but you know that i will run
you know that i will follow you

these tears i've cried
i've cried
1000 oceans
and if it seems i'm
floating
in the darkness

well, i can't believe
that i would keep
keep you from flying
so, i will cry
1000 more
if that's what it takes
to sail you home
sail you home
sail you home
sail..
sail you home

A part of me tries to get me back to the 'real world', but not with any great success so far...  I've been in the state of "neither in nor out" for quite a while. Don't know for how long, because time seems to be so flat here... a mere combination of sensations, words and some memories. There's the studying...which I still have to manage somehow, even though there appears to be no will, and the constant sensation of no-purpose.

Among the quotes someone emailed me a few days ago, one that said:

"So you've punched a hole in the wall with your head, now what are you going to do at the neighboring cell?" 

It's hard for me to participate in the rat race...

Every morning as I step out of the building I breathe in the fresh cool air, greeting the trees and the sky... It all makes me smile, my heart fills with a kind of lightness... the most important 'lesson' of the day... Nothing to learn. Nothing to chase. Nothing to understand.

At times, when there is a longer than usual break between the classes, I go someplace with very few or no people, to the grass, the trees, the flowers, the ants, the bugs, the sky... It has always felt like home...more than that...
Silent and still, I let the sights and sounds freely flow through me.  Filled and empty all at once...there is seeing and hearing, but who is it that hears? who is it that sees? Every step, every sensation is intensified and felt on a deep level. Sometimes it gives a rush of joy all through the body...
It seems impossible to speak afterwards. Words appear to be almost violent- as if trying to squeeze something of an infinite size into a bunch of small boxes- dissecting, flattening, pushing...

Maybe I'm just running away from "the real world". Only those moments are so much more real than anything during the rest of the day.
People pass by, talking, discussing their studies or busy lives, so preoccupied... Sometimes they stare as they pass by.
Perhaps I appear a bit strange just standing or sitting still all alone, seemingly watching something they can't see...But all I see is life... Constant flow and change, every detail being miraculously perfect and beautiful while at the same time fleeting.

The constant feeling of not quite awake yet not quite asleep, like being in a dream, persists. My sensation of myself is a kind of "integrated separation". I am here yet I am not, and I am most certainly not this name, not this body, not these thoughts. It goes back and forth- sometimes there is less identification, sometimes more... The very word "myself" seems ridiculous to me... "my-self". A self that is "mine"... As if there are two of "I".

***

I don't know...