Every once in a while, I get an urge to write a bit of verse. Meditation lends itself to poetry. I have never thought of myself as a poet; only a guy inspired to write. I just have to do it. Often the words just comes pouring out. I enjoy the rhythm as I create. They just flow and they are almost always about a new realization about my spiritual unfolding. And unfolding and unfolding.
I take liberty with the genre in many ways including not rhyming much. I never know what’s going to unfold, until it already has. Images come, inspiration leaps, ideas appear onto the page–if I’m lucky enough to have paper around. Fun to play with. The first one is a bit Rumiesque.
Oh, my Higher Consciousness.
My love, my joy, my peace.
Loving me. Loving through me. Loving.
I open to You,
And I know You are there always.
I feel like a Bride,
You the Beloved.
Without which our Union would not exist.
Expand me. Expand, me.
For just an instant, out to the edge of Infinity.
I only must Breathe.
You await my stirring. My remembering.
I encircle and take You in.
Only You complete the Whole.
For The ALL.
Sometimes I’m amazed
At what comes through.
For me to capture, ruminate and scribble.
I think, “That’s it, the well’s run dry”.
Then the next thoughtform from HiC appears.
“Thank you very much.”
Tickles my ivories and lights up my tubes;
Its living water for the slaked of thirst.
A mango pop on a blistery day,
Lifting me up in the sweetest way.
Triggered my writing in the first place,
Sitting at the tippy tapper,
Waiting to be moved, by anything.
Anything, to get the creativity flowing.
To soothe my brow and take my breath away.
It’s become so familiar,
This uplifted expansion
Of which I never tire nor turn away.
Note cards, ever at the ready,
Scattered about the house in little piles,
Are peacefully anxious to be used.
To share Eternity with me and with you.
In the form intended.
If I can just get it right,
The words and the rhyme.
I may be entrusted with that which is next.
“Air be It, Room I’m In”
Glancing around I sense empty space,
Of which my cat scarred sofa is made.
90 percent air they say, particles whirling.
Illusion of reality,
Empty of solidity,
Except to touch.
How can this be, my mind moans?
How can the typing gizmo I finger be no thing?
It offers squiggles and meaning my senses verify.
X’s and o’s testify to a thought I think.
Idea that flashes from no where
To somewhere in my gizmo.
They must be real, then,
These ciphers and fired brain synapses.
Skinbag, likewise, seems pretty real;
Real as it gets, it seems.
The only reality I know for sure;
Life in this thing.
The only thing I am sure of.
Now that’s in question.
Awareness is the only evidence I have.
Clearly, I don’t know you and yours.
My, mine, ours I know a bit.
I’m forever in this cocoon I occupy.
Not much evidence,
But I know what I know.
I’ve been and will be.
Last I saw him,
My Daddy had fled his thing.
His smile maker was gone,
The molecules dismantled.
Life, how can you come and go so,
Unless you always Is?
The organizer and the organized were one,
And then not.
The form has been filled, then drained.
Life less without the Life,
Burning coal of God escaped back to Itself.
Had my movie not been real? Could it be?
This is not what my heart tells me,
Recorder of love that it is.
That I know what I know can’t be denied.
That sensor can’t smell,
it only means odorlessness.
Wish I knew how to rhyme such things.
“Spirit Flows, Poem 59”
In a nano, Spirit flows.
Grace dawns; my Being Bes,
Sometimes a burst, sometimes a stealth.
Always available when I turn Its Way.
The path leads…
To my holiest of holies,
Sacred Senses*, heightened,
Detect its Presence.
Infinity at the ready.
My meekest move.
My clearest opening.
My strongest non-wish.
Allow the tsunami to flow.
No-thought will do it.
As will a breath,
Sacred in its intent.
Bliss is too mild for its effect,
Word can’t grab the stun of its arrival.
“Arrival” is paltry,
As is “Grace”, and “Presence”;
Three come to mind.
They pale to mind’s inability
To wrap itself
Round the experience.
Like wild mushrooms;
Invisible to the unskilled.
‘Til consciousness reaches
In and out; eyes ready to see.
Ears perked to hear.
Senses ready, ready for the Beloved.
Primed for the stirring of the Known.
Unknown to the mind which knows It not.
No matter how subtle the thoughts,
A tool that does not work.
A driver without a screw.
Available to the Seeker
Who goes Within,
Quietens the rush,
Opens the heart.
Shifts the view to Isness,
It’s Me, It’s Thee.
It’s everywhere, but no “place”,
It’s everything, but no “thing”,
Words fail. Release.
Jewel’s right there.
In Sacred Sight.
This is serious Stuff.
The experience of The ALL.
Just a little bit of experience.
This evening I feel overwhelmed.
This is The ALL we’re talking about.
The whole shmnaz.
Even a little bit of a touch is jarring.
To get to that place/no place, space/no space.
Eyes light up. Inspires me to write a poem.
Hey you ALL. How can you Be?
“Hey you, my brother, How can I not Be?
I am The ALL after all.
The Source of Not Being and Being,
Existing and not existing,
Conscious and not conscious,
Bliss and not bliss.”
That’s a lot isn’t it?
I find myself overwhelmed at the outskirts of It.
Being an Eternal Being,
And getting a glimpse of
Being Eternity Being.
“Yeah. And you can’t be The ALL
Without being able to hold the Energy of It.
ALL of It. Then you Are.”
Can I do that?
I entertain the notion,
Say the words.
Yet I doubt I can this time.
“You can do it,
You are It.
You say, with fervor,
And a bit of Understanding,
‘I am an Eternal Being. I am Eternity Being’.
That’s in the ballpark.
When it washes, or wells, up,
The moment of Understanding comes
And you have been graced with Grace.”
What must I do?
Nothing to do.
Be Eternity Being,
Whenever you can.
Relax into It and let it Be.
I began meditating 45 years ago. In 2013 my whole world turned upside down. I dove deep into my meditation and came up with a few pearls to share……(more)