•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.



•January 4, 2018 • Leave a Comment

Can we listen to life? Can we listen to the man who rushes down the street, with no heart for those he passes by? Can we listen to our friend who speaks of his life, as the mask falls away, and the real, that which is truly real, reveals itself through him – in his face, in his life, in his body?

Can we listen to the dark sky at night, utterly silent, sparkling with stars? Can we listen to our breath, and discover that it resonates with the star millions of miles away, as it becomes bright and faint, rhythmically.

Can we meet another human being, at a space that lies beyond our defences and their’s, far away, in the deep corners of their eyes? Can we listen with tears in our eyes?

Can we listen with tears in our eyes, utterly moved by the beauty of another person, by the beauty of their sorrow, the beauty of their desire for love and happiness?

The world constricts us. It forces us to listen to only a few things, because to listen to everything is disturbing. It forces us to listen to only a few things in the other person. And it forces us to listen to only a few things in our own heart.

If we didn’t mind the disturbance, if we were willing to give ourselves to suffering, we would listen. Listen with our whole hearts, with the depths of our eyes, with our real faces, without our masks. And listen with tears in our eyes.


The sounds of the universe

•December 28, 2017 • 3 Comments

The moon has a sound. Have you ever heard it? It is not a sound like those around us – the sound of a pebble thrown into water, the sound of a car passing by, the sound of wind blowing. It is quite another sound that is heard not by the physical ear, but by the inner ear.

We can all hear it, if we let ourselves sit back, relax, disentangle ourselves from all the other sounds. The sounds of our thoughts running in our head. If only we stopped engaging with those sounds. We would then hear the sound of the moon.

We will then hear what tranquility sounds like. We will hear what it feels like to be witness to this astounding earth, for 5 billion years. To silently witness it, rotating on its axis, to watch life arise, to see species arise and die, to see man as part of nature, unseparated from it. Then, man as nature’s companion, worshiper, protector. And then, finally, as nature’s destroyer. And to just watch all that, in stillness, tranquility, beauty. From that watching, emerges a sound. It is a sound of eternity.

The sounds of eternity are the sounds of the universe. They are the sounds which our ancients, when still in love with nature, based the ragas on. A raga for the night. A raga for dawn. A raga for when it rains. A raga for when it is about to rain, but hasn’t yet, and only the clouds have gathered. A raga for the evening, when the sun blesses us gently, before departing for the night, leaving everything soft, untouched, and magical. And a raga for the middle of the night, when the lovers meet secretly.

The middle of the night is also when Krishna plays his flute. And the women of the world, or the women within us, full of longing, desire, passion, receptivity, go forth to the source of the tune, and merge with it. The mysterious union of Krishna, in his infinite forms, and his lovers, takes place in the honey forest, far away from the busy cities of man, where his body lies restless in bed, changing sides, struggling to sleep. And it all takes place with sound of Krishna’s flute coming from somewhere unseen.

Also from this perception of the sounds of the universe, the mantras arose. They often mean nothing. They are just one syllable, or a few. Yet, they convey something that hours of philosophical discourse cannot.

The sun has a sound too. And so does that distant planet, a few thousand light years away, silently rotating on its own axis, silently revolving around its own star. Yet, singing a song.

These are the sounds of the universe. They are heard when we stop grasping at the sounds all around us and inside us. When we let the senses settle into their natural stillness.

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