in the dark night

•February 4, 2018 • Leave a Comment

in the dark night
on a lonely mountain
a cave, forlorn
in the cave
a fire

sounds of flickering flames
the colour golden
the smell of burning wood

continuous death
continuous birth

all forms
of Truth




A life in faith

•January 23, 2018 • Leave a Comment

Could we trust that we are part of an entity greater than us. That we are one with it, yet we are separate. That our life rests on its life. That our love is a reflection of its love. That our strength is but a branch of its strength.

Could we trust, that intimately related to it, we are all loved by it, we are in a real relationship with it which goes far beyond ideas and beliefs. That it is as real, more real, truly speaking, than the chair we sit on and the house we live in.

Could we live with the awareness that all our suffering – sorrow, fear, frustration – is a gift from it, because suffering tells us that our self-enclosed, self-sufficient, self-centred lives are false, that we can never succeed in what we want for very long, and we are but bubbles on the surface of a vast river. Because suffering awakens us from this mirage of self-centredness, and opens up a gap in us through which the Other can emerge, if allowed.

Could we live with an awareness that not only our inner suffering, but all that happens outwardly is a sign to us, a sign that speaks to a particular quality of our souls, a quality that would be the most truthful response to that outer event? Could we understand that the outer event calls on us to live with that quality of our souls, to manifest and perfect it – something that would never take place without such an event?

Could we see that our relationship to other human beings is one of seeing, appreciating and loving the Other in them. That our relationship to things is to sanctify them through the spirit of the Other. That every relationship is love and every act a sacred ritual.

All life, then, is an intimate being with this Other. In all that is truly unknown, hidden, mysterious, that is, in all others – other feelings, other experiences, other people – is concealed the ultimate Other, waiting for us to discover it, rather than remain trapped in our habitual and secure ways of living, where we rely on ourselves and consider ourselves of supreme importance.

All life, then, is lived between a deep trust of the Other, an openness to the darkness that the Other kindles in our forlorn hearts, and a perception that reveals that all there is in the world calls us to be who we were meant to be, in distinct and particular ways.

Trust, openness, perception – that is a life in faith.


•January 11, 2018 • Leave a Comment

You call out to me. The only true other can be you, for all others are my thought, my idea, my conception. When I truly listen, that is, listen not through myself but without myself, you call out to me from everything that is.

The vulnerable woman, wounded in body and soul, who comes to one with hope, is you. In her beauty is your beauty, in her brokenness is your brokenness, in her tears is the tenderness that you have for us all.

The fear of uncertainty, of being lost in a world that is so fixed and concrete, is you. It is your voice that calls through it, calls those without an anchor in this world, to a world where there is no place for certainty, no need for structures.

The oppressive city, with its noise, its artificial structures, crying out for beauty, for tranquility, is you, in the very awareness of its oppression. You lie in the knowledge that all those walking on its street have, of its ugliness. They seek another land, another world, another paradise, and that is you.

The joy of being, a joy without reason, joy that is part of the isness of being, is you.

Most of all, nature, truly beautiful, loving, like a mother, is you.

There is nothing except you, if one truly listens.

And there can be nothing else, except love, between two real persons. There can be nothing but ignorance, between two alienated beings, lost in their conceptions of the universe, never listening to it.

Last night you were infinitely close. As you are this morning.

Thoughts in twilight

•January 9, 2018 • Leave a Comment

The other drew one in. It was nothing. But it was more intense than everything.

All one can offer are one’s tears. The tears of the world call forth the other. Its beauty and passion are not alive, because the world does not shed enough tears. The tears have dried up, the tears are wiped away, the tears are forced to recede.

But when there are tears, there is the other. One loses oneself in it, one dies to oneself.

Today, you were here, and you seeped into me. My tears emerged on seeing you enter me and fill me up. All lost loves, all passed friendships, all moments of passion, prayer, silence, were messages from you. All agony was a call from you.

You had been talking to me all my life, but it took me so long to recognise you, to know you, to love you back. In the acuteness of perception, you were bare, naked, and nothing separated us.


•January 8, 2018 • Leave a Comment

Every evening, she sits by the beach. As night falls, the sky darkens, the stars arise, she just sits. The waves get louder as the din of the city recedes. The silence is amplified, as is the sound of the waves rising, falling, crashing on the shore, and going back – an eternal dance that began when the earth began, an eternal dance that will end when the earth ends.

She waits, as if waiting since eternity. She looks at the horizon, now dark and scarcely visible, as the dark ocean meets the dark sky in an unknown place, a place of merger and magic. How many have sat on this beach before her, thousands of years before her. And how many will sit again.

She will grow old, gray, wrinkled. The beauty of her youth will turn to the beauty of a wise old face, with many lines on it, each marking a lesson from life, a scar borne and survived, and the memory of a glimmering joy, that still lights her up, even if grief is never far away. Then one day, she will die, bearing many secrets in her chest. She, the woman who passed away, as everyone must, would have been known to many, yet unknown to everyone.

Tonight, deeply alive, expectant, filled with longing, she sits there, and waits. Waits for her lover to return. She waits for the next wave to crash on the shore and disintegrate. She waits for the moon, her only friend, to be covered over by the clouds. Completely alone, still, quiet, she is untouched by the chaos of the city that lies behind her.

Like the earth itself, in the dark of the night, she waits, to cease to exist in the embrace of that which alone is. As the night proceeds, she becomes nothing, and further less. The sounds from around die out. The concerns of the day fade away. Nothing is left. Only she, her silhouette, her face, the waves, and the dark mystery of the night.



•January 7, 2018 • Leave a Comment

You were here tonight. In all your glory. Truly, glory is the word, much abused though it is. Your radiance, your light, a light darker than the darkness of night – this was your glory.

I struggled to make room for you in my chaotic soul. The world demanded a lot. Yet, you permeated me, transfused me with your joy, and everything was new. The night was yours.

The night, on this side of the earth, hidden from the sun, from heat, from warmth, drew us into it. Beyond the moon, beyond the farthest planets, it was all night.

Night was the universe. The blood running in one’s veins was the universe. The in-breath and the out-breath were the universe.


The sun and the moon

•January 5, 2018 • Leave a Comment

The sun rises and illuminates. It is the giver of warmth and energy. Like it, our souls also rise to bless the world, to contribute to it with their beauty and immensity.

The moon quietly observes. It does not fill up the world with its energy. Rather, it invites the world into itself, to step away from the massive chaos that it is in, and step into tranquility.

The moon is the mother, loving, caring, caressing, healing.

The sun is the father, sharing his strength, radiating power, indestructible.

The order of the sun and the moon is the order of our lives. The quiet arising, the radiant shining and transforming the world, in our little ways, like minute rays of the vast father – millions, and billions of them. And then, the softly going back to the source. The return to our true entities. The awakening of the heart.

The essence of this universe is neither sun, nor moon. It is a nothingness which is more immense than any ball of fire. Invisibly, it runs the order of the universe, the arising and the setting, the going forth and the return.

It is only in relation to the vast universe, and the invisible force underneath it, that our earth finds the meaning of its existence. Alone, solitary in its liveliness, in a vast universe where it is merely a speck on a speck, it finds its meaning in coming to a relationship with that universe. Our lives find meaning in coming to a relationship with that earth, its cycles of night and day, of winter and summer, and then, in relationship with the vast universe itself.

Once, this vast order and harmony in the universe was plainly visible. Today, we discover it when we remove from our hearts the encumbrances of civilisation – our buildings, our computers, our deadlines.

When our hearts are in tune with this order, they are at peace. The ancients called this dharma.

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