Intelligent strain
Ivan M. Granger November 26th, 2008
The purpose of spiritual practice
is to intelligently strain your system
while giving your awareness the courage
to leap into silence.
Archive for November, 2008
Ansari - Give Me
Ivan M. Granger November 26th, 2008
Give Me
by Khwaja Abdullah Ansari
English version by Andrew Harvey
O Lord, give me a heart
I can pour out in thanksgiving.
Give me life
So I can spend it
Working for the salvation of the world.
— from Perfume of the Desert: Inspirations from the Sufi Wisdom, by Andrew Harvey / Eryk Hanut
/ Photo by “T” altered art /
As we in the United States prepare for the Thanksgiving holiday, take a moment to remember what you’re truly grateful for — the people, the experiences, the things… and the continuous inner unfolding. Even if you have been feeling struggles, recognize the sometimes hidden bounty you have, as well. Yielding to simple gratitude is often the most profound spiritual key.
And on this Thanksgiving, remember those in your neighborhood and around the world who have less than you. Find some way to share your bounty with others. In that way we gain the greatest treasure: a living heart.
Blessings to you and those you touch.
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Khwaja Abdullah Ansari
Afghanistan (1006 - 1088) Timeline |
Video: Tibetan Sand Painting
Ivan M. Granger November 26th, 2008
I once had the opportunity to watch Tibetan Buddhist monks construct a sand mandala on Maui. It took them a few days, if I remember right, patiently, prayerfully funneling small amounts of colored sand, until the mandala was completed. After the chanting and music, it was all swept away again — a reminder of the cycle of manifestation and return to source.
Niyazi Misri - Now No Trace Remains
Ivan M. Granger November 24th, 2008
Now No Trace Remains
by Niyazi Misri
English version by Jennifer Ferraro & Latif Bolat
I thought that in this whole world
no beloved for me remained.
Then I left myself.
Now no stranger in the world remains.
I used to see in every object a thorn
but never a rose–
the universe became a rose garden.
Not a single thorn remains.
Day and night my heart
was moaning “Ahhh!”
I don’t know how it happened–
now no “Ahhh” remains.
Duality went, Unity came.
I met with the Friend in private;
The multitude left, the One came.
Only the One remains.
Religion, piety, custom, reputation–
these used to matter greatly to me.
O Niyazi — what has happened to you?
No trace of religion now remains.
— from Quarreling with God: Mystic Rebel Poems of the Dervishes of Turkey, Translated by Jennifer Ferraro / Translated by Latif Bolat
/ Photo by suchitra prints /
I thought that in this whole world
no beloved for me remained.
Then I left myself.
Now no stranger in the world remains.
So long as we cling to the little self, everyone and everything else is separate. The ego asserts itself by continuously keeping itself in psychic opposition to everything it has defined as being outside itself. The ego pretends it is the center of reality while separating itself from the holistic vision of reality. In doing so, the ego makes itself both the prisoner and the prison.
In that shattered vision of a reality of separated fragments, we become blind to the true nature of reality — and the beloved is not seen.
But when when we finally step outside the artificial boundaries of the little self, the mezmerizing but ever incomplete world of duality fades, to be replaced by the vision of Unity.
Duality went, Unity came.
I met with the Friend in private;
The multitude left, the One came.
Only the One remains.
We finally see how we flow into each other, how we are interwoven into a single, unified fabric of Reality. No one and nothing is outside of ourselves. That is when we can truly proclaim with Niyazi Misri that “Now now stranger in the world remains.” Continue Reading »
Into our own lives
Ivan M. Granger November 21st, 2008
The peace we cultivate within ourselves
flows outward.
And in the same way
the suffering we allow in others
creeps into our own lives.
Thomas Merton - Song for Nobody
Ivan M. Granger November 21st, 2008
Song for Nobody
by Thomas Merton
A yellow flower
(Light and spirit)
Sings by itself
For nobody.
A golden spirit
(Light and emptiness)
Sings without a word
By itself.
Let no one touch this gentle sun
In whose dark eye
Someone is awake.
(No light, no gold, no name, no color
And no thought:
O, wide awake!)
A golden heaven
Sings by itself
A song to nobody.
— from Selected Poems of Thomas Merton, by Thomas Merton
/ Photo by ishrona /
(No light, no gold, no name, no color
And no thought:
O, wide awake!)
I thought we’d continue on Wednesday theme of color and transcending color…
A golden heaven
Sings by itself
A song to nobody.
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Thomas Merton |
Video: Thomas Merton and Chatrul Rinpoche - Christian and Buddhist Mysticism
Ivan M. Granger November 21st, 2008
An excerpt from a documentary of Thomas Merton’s Asian travels, highlighting Merton’s meeting with Chatrul Rinpoche of the Nyingma Buddhist tradition. A meeting of Christian and Buddhist views of enlightenment.
Thankful for this day
Ivan M. Granger November 19th, 2008
Be thankful for this day
of possibility.
Who know what magic will unfold?
Kamalakanta - Is my black Mother Syama really black?
Ivan M. Granger November 19th, 2008
Is my black Mother Syama really black?
by Kamalakanta
English version by Rachel Fell McDermott
Is my black Mother Syama really black?
People say Kali is black,
but my heart doesn’t agree.
If She’s black,
how can She light up the world?
Sometimes my Mother is white,
sometimes yellow, blue, and red.
I cannot fathom Her.
My whole life has passed
trying.
She is Matter,
then Spirit,
then complete Void.
It’s easy to see
how Kamalakanta
thinking these things
went crazy.
— from Singing to the Goddess: Poems to Kali and Uma from Bengal, Translated by Rachel Fell McDermott
/ Photo by alicepopkorn /
Kamalakanta, like Ramprasad, was a saint who addressed his songs to the Bengali goddess Kali. Kali is both loving mother and terrible destroyer, the beginning as well as the end — she is all of creation.
Kali is usually portrayed with black skin — the color of the night, the color of mystery, the color of the formless Void. But here Kamalakanta teasingly declares that she is not black, for she is the radiant source of all light in the universe. One color is not enough for her, for all colors come from her, the endless diversity of material existence emanate from her. Who can fathom such dazzling variety all within one maternal Being?
The lines, “She is Matter, / then Spirit, / then complete Void,” almost sound like a Buddhist formulation. But, of course, such observations don’t belong to any one sacred tradition alone; they are simply the result of direct mystical experience, whatever the religious framework. Matter reveals itself to be an unreal experience of surfaces and appearance. The so-called tangible reality perceived by the senses emerges from a divine and living radiance that “lights up the world.” And at the heart of it all is a profound stillness, an emptiness that swallows everything so completely that all form and separation disappear. Yet, at the same time, that Void is also alive and pregnant with the whole unmanifest universe. This is Kali in her essential (formless) form: the Void that consumes everything and the Womb that gives birth to all of creation — both at once.
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Kamalakanta
India (1769? - 1821?) Timeline |
Czeslaw Milosz - This Only
Ivan M. Granger November 17th, 2008
This Only
by Czeslaw Milosz
English version by Robert Hass
A valley and above it forests in autumn colors.
A voyager arrives, a map leads him there.
Or perhaps memory. Once long ago in the sun,
When snow first fell, riding this way
He felt joy, strong, without reason,
Joy of the eyes. Everything was the rhythm
Of shifting trees, of a bird in flight,
Of a train on the viaduct, a feast in motion.
He returns years later, has no demands.
He wants only one, most precious thing:
To see, purely and simply, without name,
Without expectations, fears, or hopes,
At the edge where there is no I or not-I.
— from The Collected Poems, by Czeslaw Milosz
/ Photo by sportsilliterate /
Mm. Not much to say. A beautiful place that calls us to a perfect, wordless thought:
He wants only one, most precious thing:
To see, purely and simply, without name,
Without expectations, fears, or hopes,
At the edge where there is no I or not-I.
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Czeslaw Milosz
Poland (1911 - 2004) Timeline |
There is an inner perfection
Ivan M. Granger November 14th, 2008
There is an inner perfection
the same for everyone.
The psyche may go through the motions,
but it’s journey is done.
Dogen - One of Six Verses on Snow
Ivan M. Granger November 14th, 2008
One of six verses on snow:
by Dogen
English version by Steven Heine
All my life perplexed by truth and falsity, right and wrong;
Now amusing myself in the moonlight,
Laughing at the wind,
Listening to the songs of birds –
So many years spent idly contemplating
The immense white layer on the mountains;
This winter, all of a sudden,
I see it for the first time as a snow-mountain.
— from The Zen Poetry of Dogen: Verses from the Mountain of Eternal Peace, by Steven Heine
/ Photo by angela7dreams /
We had our first light snowfall of the season here in Colorado. And the full moon is just past. So I thought I’d select a poem of moonlight and snow for you…
—
This poem is speaking on many levels. On its surface, it is a simple, yet beautiful poem contemplating snow on mountaintops. But snow has a special significance in Chinese and Japanese sacred poetry. It represents the stillness of mind that occurs in the winter of interiorization and spiritual practice. It is the shining “whiteness” experienced in mystical ecstasy, the whiteness that covers everything, making everything like itself.
So when Dogen speaks of “So many years idly contemplating/The immense white layer on the mountains,” he is talking about how he spent too much time viewing the snow as separate from the mountain and separate from himself. His sudden realization is that the shining transcendence — the “snow” — is inherent in all the world, represented by the mountain. He is not viewing a layer of snow on the mountain, he is viewing a “snow-mountain.” He is no longer struggling to see the light of awakening surrounding the world; instead, he finally recognizes that they are one and the same.
His awareness has stopped categorizing and separating, and he finally sees the wholeness of the scene, unfiltered. It is not snow and mountain, but snow-mountain. He is not someone contemplating snow in the distance, he is a snow-contemplator. World, self, and radiance are a continuous unity, and all sense of separation is simply the play of appearance.
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Dogen
Japan (1200 - 1253) Timeline |
Mansur al-Hallaj - You glide between the heart and its casing
Ivan M. Granger November 12th, 2008
You glide between the heart and its casing
by Hallaj (Mansur al-Hallaj)
English version by Bernard Lewis
You glide between the heart and its casing as tears glide from the eyelid.
You dwell in my inwardness, in the depths of my heart, as souls dwell in bodies.
Nothing passes from rest to motion unless you move it in hidden ways,
O new moon.
— from Music of a Distant Drum: Classical Arabic, Persian, Turkish & Hebrew Poems, Translated by Bernard Lewis
/ Photo by Hans Vink /
Nothing passes from rest to motion unless you move it in hidden ways
This poem beautifully evokes the sense how, in the sacred state, movement ceases for the individual, though there is not inactivity. All action — inner and outer — becomes only an appearance of self-governed movement, when, in reality, it is seen to be the natural flowing of the Divine through us. The individual identity only pretends to be directing the movement but, like a gull resting on the ocean waves, it is simply carried along by the moon’s tug upon the tide.
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Hallaj (Mansur al-Hallaj)
Iran/Per (9th Century) Timeline |
Video & Music: Miriam Makeba “Mama Africa”
Ivan M. Granger November 11th, 2008
Pata Pata
I just heard that Miram Makeba “Mama Africa” died a couple of days ago. Her music, emerging out of South Africa, touched the world…
—
Amampondo
—
A brief summary of Miram Makeba’s life, art, and work for social and racial justice…
Miram Makeba is one of those transformative artists whose vision transcends the world of her art and career. Through her music and her personality, we encounter the expansive possibilities of the human heart when it is fully applied to the struggling world.
Do yourself a favor and track down more of her music.
Mary Oliver - Praying
Ivan M. Granger November 10th, 2008
Praying
by Mary Oliver
It doesn’t have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch
a few words together and don’t try
to make them elaborate, this isn’t
a contest but the doorway
into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.
— from Thirst: Poems, by Mary Oliver
/ Photo by Noël Zia Lee /
just
pay attention…
This is another one of Mary Oliver’s perfect, short poems, isn’t it? Reading its few words gives me the shivers, and a smile.
this isn’t
a contest but the doorway
into thanks
Take the time to slow down and really notice something today. Notice how the world smiles back in response.
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Mary Oliver
US (1935 - ) |
Silent Guns - A Past Life Memory
Ivan M. Granger November 10th, 2008
I am often asked about my life and spiritual path. How did I develop such an intense interest in spirituality and sacred poetry at a relatively young age? I’ve always leaned in that direction, from as far back as early childhood, but there were certainly some key turning points that set me firmly on my path.
This is one of the more unusual events.
Many people go through a difficult time in their teenage and early adult years, but my moods were extreme, and I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me. I would swing from mild depression to panic attacks so extreme that I would skip school or, later, call in sick to work. I felt like death surrounded me.
As I entered my early twenties, I began to overcome the worst of my anxieties, but they were still there. I had just learned to grit my teeth and get through the day as best I could.
I first started dating my wife, Michele Anderson, about that time. Early on, Michele told me that she was psychic. I was intrigued, on the one hand, but on the other… I guess I didn’t know what to think. I had read and seen enough to believe such things were possible, just not in anyone I knew. Not normal, everyday people.
She hinted a few times that she saw me fighting in the American Civil War. I shrugged the comments off. When dating a psychic, one must expect the occasional odd statement. Actually, I’ve always had a mild interest in history, but it was really the period of the American Revolution that held my attention in history books, not the Civil War. The Civil War always seemed, well, depressing to me. I tended to avoid reading about the period.
Then an interesting series of events occurred. I was going through a rough week, and I went to get a massage — something that felt comforting. As I was on the table having my abdomen worked on, I suddenly burst out crying. When the massage therapist asked me what was wrong, I started talking about the Civil War!
(The following dialog excerpts are taken from the notes I wrote within hours of the experiences.)
Massage Therapist: What’s wrong?
Ivan M. Granger: So much death. I see rifles, a lot of them. With bayonets on them. I see lines and lines of rifles with bayonets sticking up like spiked fences. So many of them. It’s like a field of spikes. Kids are lying in dug out trenches with their pointed rifles sticking out. I’m standing above. I can see it all. Continue Reading »
Nakedly
Ivan M. Granger November 7th, 2008
Each form clothes the Formless.
Every sound covers the Silence.
Seek the naked Presence
nakedly.
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