Mar 05 2014

what we call the ego

What we call the ego
is the individual’s particular way
of not being fully present.

One response so far

Feb 28 2014

Manikkavacakar – Becoming sky & earth

Published by under Poetry

Becoming sky & earth
by Manikkavacakar

Becoming sky & earth
Wind & light
Becoming flesh & spirit
All that truly is
& all that which is not
Becoming the Lord,
He makes those who say,
“I” & “mine”
Dance in the show
Becoming sky
& standing there…
How can my words
praise Him?


/ Photo by Vik Nanda /

Yesterday was the Hindu festival of Shivaratri in honor of the the god Shiva. Often Shiva is depicted as a meditating, long-haired ascetic, but another important expression of Shiva is as Nataraj, Lord of the Dance.

Shiva Nataraj is depicted with one foot raised in dance, the other foot treading upon a figure representing ignorance. In one hand he holds the drum that is the fundamental sound of creation. In another he displays the fire of destruction. A third hand expresses the mudra (hand position) of fearlessness, while the fourth hand points to his upraised foot, suggesting the path to liberation. His jata, matted locks, fly out about his head; in the wildness of his dance, they crash into the objects of existence, dispelling their illusory being. And flames emanate from his dancing body, representing manifestation, creation radiated out into being by the pure energy of his dance.

Shiva’s dance — called the Tandava — is the rhythm of the universe, the dance of creation, evolution, destruction, and renewal. The cycle of the seasons is in his dance, All patterns and rhythms emanate from Lord Shiva’s dance, from the ages of the world to the thrum of each person’s heartbeat.

All the dramas of existence are expressions of Shiva’s dance.

That statement is particularly interesting to me:

He makes those who say,
“I” & “mine”
Dance in the show

First, the Manikkavacakar describes his expansive, blissful merging with all Being–

Becoming sky & earth
Wind & light
Becoming flesh & spirit
All that truly is
& all that which is not

Merging with Shiva himself–

Becoming the Lord

And from this egoless, all-permeating state, the yogin witnesses Lord Shiva’s dance play out. He sees people, creatures, all beings swept up in the rhythm of that great dance. From the yogin’s elevated state, the Tandava is an immense, colorful wonder of swirling movement, contact and conflict, birth and death, joy and suffering, rising and falling. But to those swept up in the dance, the rhythms are overwhelming, the experiences can be terrifying. As beautiful as the great cosmic dance is, the individuals within it are engaged in exhaustive struggle, often disoriented, and sometimes touched by terrible suffering.

Why the disconnect between the macrocosmic majesty and the microcosmic misery? Amidst the dance of being, people struggle because of the ego sense. They say “I” and “me” and “mine.” This creates an incomplete and fixed sense of self — very dangerous in a world defined by movement. The ego is a sort of spiritual temper tantrum, a child’s hot assertion that “this is what I am, and this is all that I am, and the world had better stay put!” But the dance continues. The universe is alive, and life moves.

The dance of existence is terrifying when we identify with all the tumbling bits and pieces. But when we come to know ourselves as flowing, spacious, subtle beings of pure dynamic awareness, we can then choose to participate or not, in service and in delight. We are no longer IN the dance, we have become the dance. We are not so much bodies or collections of experiences with a fixed point in the rhythm, we are the flow of rhythm itself. Free from the fixations and limitations of the little self, we now move with Shiva himself.

How can words manage to praise the Lord of the Dance?

Om Namah Shivaya!






Manikkavacakar

India (9th Century) Timeline
Yoga / Hindu : Shaivite (Shiva)

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Feb 28 2014

how long you waited

When that door opens,
does it really matter
how long you waited?

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Feb 26 2014

Yunus Emre – The drink sent down from Truth

Published by under Poetry

The drink sent down from Truth
by Yunus Emre

English version by Kabir Helminski & Refik Algan

The drink sent down from Truth,
we drank it, glory be to God.
And we sailed over the Ocean of Power,
glory be to God.

Beyond those hills and oak woods,
beyond those vineyards and gardens,
we passed in health and joy, glory be to God.

We were dry, but we moistened.
We grew wings and became birds,
we married one another and flew,
glory be to God.

To whatever lands we came,
in whatever hearts, in all humanity,
we planted the meanings Taptuk taught us,
glory be to God.

Come here, let’s make peace,
let’s not be strangers to one another.
We have saddled the horse
and trained it, glory be to God.

We became a trickle that grew into a river.
We took flight and drove into the sea,
and then we overflowed, glory be to God.

We became servants at Taptuk’s door.
Poor Yunus, raw and tasteless,
finally got cooked, glory be to God.

— from The Drop That Became the Sea: Lyric Poems of Yunus Emre, Translated by Kabir Helminski / Translated by Refik Algan


/ Photo by That-Bassoonist /

A Sufi song of initiation…

The drink sent down from Truth,
we drank it, glory be to God.

Amrita, nectar, honey, dew, wine. Many mystical traditions describe the experience of drinking a celestial substance in states of deep communion. This is more than mere poetry. A flowing, liquid-like substance is felt descending, as if from heaven (“sent down from Truth”), ever so sweet on the palette, running down the throat, and warming the heart, leaving the wine drinker filled with a giddy bliss and expansive love for all.

This is the drink of initiation. Drink it and be consumed by wonder.

We were dry, but we moistened.

…What a perfect, succinct evocation of that moment of spiritual revivification.

We grew wings and became birds,
we married one another and flew,
glory be to God.

Birds have been used in several Sufi poems to suggest the soul. We can read these lines to say he has discovered what his soul really is and how it is its nature to soar. And to “marry one another” implies a union between self, God, and all things. Union is found and the true self soars.

We have saddled the horse
and trained it, glory be to God.

The horse referred to here can be understood as the mind, specifically the sensory mind. It is that part of the awareness that knows the world through the senses. For most of us, that horse is wild, racing in all directions, running toward pleasure and away from discomforts. When it does that, it pulls the rest of our awareness after it, preventing progress towards a clear goal.

As we mature, that horse may be partially tamed or, at least, it tugs us with less strength. But the spiritual aspirant seeks to saddle and train the sensory mind so it can be guided by a more focused aspect of our awareness. Notice that the sensory mind is not chained up, nor is the horse slaughtered. This is not about the absolute starvation of the senses. Rather, the sense mind is “trained” and self-directed so it is no longer enamored or frightened by each successive sensory experience. Awareness of both pleasure and pain is integrated and used intelligently, but does not distract us from our true path. And notice too that that same sensory mind, when trained, becomes the source of our power and speed, allowing us to travel great distances on the path. In other words, the sensory mind is not to be abandoned; it is trained and utilized.

We became a trickle that grew into a river.
We took flight and drove into the sea,
and then we overflowed, glory be to God.

I love these lines!

Poor Yunus, raw and tasteless,
finally got cooked, glory be to God.

That alchemical cooking process, it can be intense, make us sweat, convince us we are dying, but it separates out the dross, refines us, completes us, gives us flavor. We become worthy food for the Divine, a savory offering. If we want to be an accepted on the altar, we have to put up with the process that unlocks our flavor. All of life conspires to cook us. The question is, do we help or hinder our own preparation?

The drink from heaven, moistening, sprouting, growing wings and flying, saddling and riding a horse, flooding to the sea, being cooked — all ways of describing the mystic’s transformations when passing the ecstatic threshold of union.






Yunus Emre, Yunus Emre poetry, Muslim / Sufi poetry Yunus Emre

Turkey (1238 – 1320) Timeline
Muslim / Sufi

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Feb 26 2014

cease looking

Cease looking
and learn to selflessly see.

No responses yet

Feb 21 2014

Niffari – Stand at the throne

Published by under Poetry

Stand at the throne (from The Standing Of the Presence Chamber and the Letter)
by Niffari (Muhammad ibn al-Hasan an-Niffari)

English version by Michael A. Sells

He said to me:
      Stand at the throne.
      I saw the sanctuary.
      No gaze attained it.
      No cares entered it.
      In it I saw the doors of every reality.
      I saw the doors on fire.
      In the fire was a sanctuary.
      Nothing could enter it but the sincere act.
      When it entered, it came to the door.
      When it came to the door, it stood for the reckoning
      I saw the reckoning
            single out what was for the face of God
            from what was for the other-than-him.
      I saw the reward was other-than-him.
      I saw that the act, sincere in him and for him alone,
            raised from the door to the highest plane of vision.
      When it was raised, there was written upon the door:
      “It has passed the reckoning.”

Eat from my hand,
Drink from my hand
      Or you will not be equal to my obedience.

If you do not obey me on my account,
      You will not be equal to my worship.

If you cast off your fault
      you will cast off your ignorance.

If you recall your fault
      you will forget your lord.

In the garden
      is everything thought can bear
      and behind it more.

— from Early Islamic Mysticism: Sufi, Quran, Miraj, Poetic and Theological Writings (Classics of Western Spirituality), by Michael A. Sells


/ Photo by red twolips /

There is so much to explore in this “standing” that I leave it with you to contemplate. Just a few of my own thoughts…

Nothing could enter it but the sincere act.

I love that.

I saw the reckoning
single out what was for the face of God
from what was for the other-than-him.

The day of reckoning, Judgment Day, is when we are sifted to discover what in us is a pure reflection of the face of God from that which is “other-than-him.” But Niffari sees that even the “reward” is “other-than-him.” He seems to be reminding us that to truly pass the “reckoning,” we must seek the Eternal not for the sake of a promised heavenly reward, but for the Eternal alone.

I saw that the act, sincere in him and for him alone,
raised from the door to the highest plane of vision.
When it was raised, there was written upon the door:
“It has passed the reckoning.”

A sacred puzzle: The reward is not the reward; God is the reward.

Eat from my hand,
Drink from my hand
      Or you will not be equal to my obedience.

This is a statement of inner mystical initiation. Depth here to explore…

If you cast off your fault
      you will cast off your ignorance.

If you recall your fault
      you will forget your lord.

I love these lines too. A reminder to us that obsessing on faults, imperfections, or sins keeps us cut off from the Divine. The proper approach is not to linger on one’s personal or spiritual failures; that simply strengthens the illusory walls between the individual awareness and the Eternal. No, one must see those “faults” clearly, and seeing them clearly no longer cling to them, allowing them to simply fall away without self-condemnation.

We define ourselves by our faults, and create spiritual separation through self-condemnation. When we let them simply fall, the walls we imagined separating ourselves from the Eternal show themselves to have never been. “Ignorance” finally disappears and we we have all along been standing in the presence of the Divine.

In the garden
      is everything thought can bear
      and behind it more.






Niffari (Muhammad ibn al-Hasan an-Niffari)

Iraq (? – 965) Timeline
Muslim / Sufi

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2 responses so far

Feb 21 2014

where bliss begins

Where bliss begins

everything else ends.

No responses yet

Feb 19 2014

Ivan M. Granger – Twelve Ways to Lose Your Head on Maui

Published by under Poetry

Twelve Ways to Lose Your Head on Maui
by Ivan M. Granger

I.
Piercing the clouds, fingers
of sunlight caress the valley floor.
The Iao Needle stands, its immense
      quiet crushing.

II.
Staring blindly out the window,
no work getting done –
a stolen moment when silence
      has stolen me.

III.
Reading, I shiver in the Upcountry chill.
Already old in the new year, the island
and I shiver
      and grow still.

IV.
Baldwin Avenue meandering to Paia
beneath an empty sky,
cane fields
      surge in the sun.

V.
At the altar: Breath
aglow in my throat.
Golden treacle pools
      upon my heart.

VI.
The path to Twin Falls, dusty
between my toes. Wild ginger points
to the upper pool. Fallen guavas
      float downstream.

VII.
Hana Highway, pausing
at each bridge to let traffic pass.
Around the bend –
      endless ocean.

VIII.
Fasting on Saturday –
empty stomach, empty head.
Time spreads
      into stillness.

IX.
Cinnamon-red and blue, a pheasant stares
through the window. My wife
calls me, whisper. I see them
      see each other.

X.
In the cave among the eucalyptus
up Alae Road – a fine seat
for a city boy
      playing sadhu.

XI.
In bursts of wingbeats
a cardinal darts by. The red
bird finds himself lost
      among the red proteas.

XII.
The sun setting beyond
Ma’alaea Harbor. The golden ocean,
I see, drinks the tired eye in.
      I am gone.

— from Real Thirst: Poetry of the Spiritual Journey, by Ivan M. Granger


/ Photo by alierturk /

In 2000, my wife and I moved to the island of Maui, having never even visited the islands before. My first impressions didn’t match my visions of a tropical paradise at all. We arrived just after the cane harvest, so we were greeted with expansive fields of exposed red earth. Driving through the ramshackle surfer town of Paia for the first time, with red dust swirling around wood slat storefronts, it felt like we had arrived in the Australian outback.

But you know, over time, I really came to love the aina, the land of Hawaii. I wasn’t a beach dweller; my wife and I lived high up along the slopes of Haleakala Volcano, among the misty forests of eucalyptus and wattle. Every human structure was kind of run down, but there was something… normal about that. Even the trophy mansions hidden behind iron gates felt somehow temporary, just passing through on a slow current.

As I began to give in to the rhythms of life on the island, a quiet and ease settled into my body in a way I’d never known before.

We lived there for four years before returning to the mainland.

But I still have visions of looking down the slope of Haleakala, all the way down to Ma’alaea Harbor, while the heavy golden sun sinks in glory beneath the horizon…

Malama pono!






Ivan M. Granger, Ivan M. Granger poetry, Secular or Eclectic poetry Ivan M. Granger

US (1969 – )
Secular or Eclectic
Yoga / Hindu : Advaita / Non-Dualist

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4 responses so far

Feb 19 2014

true home

Wild, living places —
cherish them, fight for them;

they whisper to us of our true home.

No responses yet

Feb 14 2014

Ikkyu – Every day, priests minutely examine the Law

Published by under Poetry

Every day, priests minutely examine the Law
by Ikkyu (Ikkyu Sojun)

English version by Sonya Arutzen

Every day, priests minutely examine the Law
And endlessly chant complicated sutras.
Before doing that, though, they should learn
How to read the love letters sent by the wind
and rain, the snow and moon.

— from Ikkyu and the Crazy Cloud Anthology: A Zen Poet of Medieval Japan, by Ikkyu / Translated by Sonya Arutzen


/ Photo by Inebriantia /

So short and sweet, we almost don’t notice its deep cut into our pretenses.

If we want to be learned, then we can read the scriptures, memorize them, chant them. But if we want true knowledge, then we must do something much harder — step outside and fall silent. When we can do that, and recognize the hidden touch behind it all, only then have we really understood what we’ve been studying all that time.

A reminder to step outside and receive the world’s love letter…






Ikkyu (Ikkyu Sojun), Ikkyu (Ikkyu Sojun) poetry, Buddhist poetry Ikkyu (Ikkyu Sojun)

Japan (1394 – 1481) Timeline
Buddhist : Zen / Chan

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7 responses so far

Feb 14 2014

following the rules

No one gets to heaven
by following the rules
– or breaking them.
Heaven must burst forth from your breast.

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Feb 12 2014

Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi – Love is Here

Published by under Poetry

Love is Here
by Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi

English version by Andrew Harvey

Love is here; it is the blood in my veins, my skin.
I am destroyed; He has filled me with Passion.
His fire has flooded the nerves of my body.
Who am I? Just my name; the rest is Him.

— from Perfume of the Desert: Inspirations from Sufi Wisdom, by Andrew Harvey / Eryk Hanut


/ Photo by etheraiel /

Love is here; it is the blood in my veins, my skin.

Valentine’s Day is only a few days away, the day celebrated by lovers. Rumi reminds us that there is more than one way to be a lover…

Who am I? Just my name; the rest is Him.

We are, each of us, just a thin gauze-like veil delicately draped over the Divine. The slightest puff of breath or flaming spark of fire dispels the illusion that we are a separate substance…






Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi, Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi poetry, Muslim / Sufi poetry Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi

Afghanistan & Turkey (Persia) (1207 – 1273) Timeline
Muslim / Sufi

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Feb 12 2014

we are present

We are present through perception,
not action.

No responses yet

Feb 07 2014

Wallace Stevens – Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird

Published by under Poetry

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird
by Wallace Stevens

I
Among twenty snowy mountains,
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the blackbird.

II
I was of three minds,
Like a tree
In which there are three blackbirds.

III
The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.
It was a small part of the pantomime.

IV
A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and a blackbird
Are one.

V
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections,
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.

VI
Icicles filled the long window
With barbaric glass.
The shadow of the blackbird
Crossed it, to and fro.
The mood
Traced in the shadow
An indecipherable cause.

VII
O thin men of Haddam
Why do you imagine golden birds?
Do you not see how the blackbird
Walks around the feet
Of the women about you?

VIII
I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too,
That the blackbird is involved
In what I know.

IX
When the blackbird flew out of sight,
It marked the edge
Of one of many circles.

X
At the sight of blackbirds
Flying in a green light,
Even the bawds of euphony
Would cry out sharply.

XI
He rode over Connecticut
In a glass coach.
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The shadow of his equipage
For blackbirds.

XII
The river is moving.
The blackbird must be flying.

XIII
It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The blackbird sat
In the cedar-limbs.

— from Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird, by Wallace Stevens


/ Photo by phoenix wolf-ray /

I once heard a story about Wallace Stevens: His work as an insurance salesman required him to spend a lot of time on the road. As his poetry gained recognition, he was offered academic positions to focus exclusively on his writing, but he refused to leave his job, saying that his poetry drew its rhythm from the steady flow of lines on the road as he drove.

I’d be hard-pressed to clearly define what I like about the poetry of Wallace Stevens, but I keep coming back to it with a smile. This poem, for example, his best known… it’s just one of those perfect poems. Each little verse is practically a haiku. The words don’t even entirely make sense, but they just pull you into the still, present moment.

These blackbirds haunt the frigid quiet and accent the bare landscape with their coal dark presence. Their watchfulness and small movements impinge upon our awareness, suggesting something of the void or an intelligence from some hidden realm reaching into the human world and whispering, “you are not all there is.” An intimation that is both hopeful and haunting — feelings entirely right for a cold winter’s day.

I read this poem on a snowy Colorado day, and the world goes quiet, dusk trickles in through bare branches, my misty breath lights up in the moonlight.

And, what is that? A blackbird? Or some watchful shadow of myself?






Wallace Stevens, Wallace Stevens poetry, Secular or Eclectic poetry Wallace Stevens

US (1879 – 1955) Timeline
Secular or Eclectic

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9 responses so far

Feb 07 2014

already are

You can only perceive
what you already are.

No responses yet

Feb 05 2014

Ram Tzu – Every time

Published by under Poetry

Every time
by Ram Tzu (Wayne Liquorman)

Ram Tzu knows this…

Every time
You find an answer,
The question
No longer seems important.

— from No Way: For the Spiritually “Advanced”, by Wayne Liquorman


/ Photo by WiciaQ /

This poetic statement works both ways…

When you find a true answer, it consumes the question until only the answer remains.

But also…

We should be careful of pursuing only answers. Too often that numbs us to the living Mystery which lives more in the openness of questions than in the comfort of pat answers.

So here’s to answers that consume the question, and questions too big for answers!






Ram Tzu (Wayne Liquorman), Ram Tzu (Wayne Liquorman) poetry, Yoga / Hindu poetry Ram Tzu (Wayne Liquorman)

US (1950 – )
Yoga / Hindu : Advaita / Non-Dualist
Secular or Eclectic

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Feb 05 2014

precisely the purpose

But that is precisely the purpose of the human soul,
to deeply witness.

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