Not This…Not That


It is not just a matter of what we wake up from…it is also a matter of what we wake up to.

Waking up from illusion in the world around us – the political, economic, historical farce – is relatively easy. People are doing it by the hundreds of thousands now.

But what are we waking up to? When we have stripped away the conditioning of the outward world and gotten wise to it, what are we left standing with?  When all the pillars have been cast down, what is there to praise, to cherish, to love?


There are a million options, it seems.

Funky occult ideas which tug on our heart strings and make us feel grandiose. Or more ascetic cults which tell us we do not really exist and thereby make us passive and, in the end, radically confused.

There is every manner of romantic mysticism doing the rounds, all experience is just a click away, the excitement of being in on something that the masses are not.

No secret book remains uncovered. No arcane teaching has not been revealed. We are just one consuming wave of ascension away from release (or so it is regularly claimed).


These many, various movements contain as much infinite riddle and obscuration as our dark, complex minds could ever desire.

They contain as much elevation of the individual seeker through apotheosis as our romantic hearts could ever crave.

They contain motivating words and ideas to spur us on (to be ever-seeking!).

Strange cults and sentimental theories lock in on our private dreams and hopes and precious clutched histories like heat-seeking psychic missiles.


Years can pass by, and will, oh yes, they will, ….whole lifetimes spent spinning within hermetically-sealed, secret theatres.


But what does any of that MEAN when it comes to the moment- by-moment living of a singularly unusual existence in human form? How do we act with this endless information? Is it not largely a glittering diversion?


When we make symbols, occult theories and myths into anything more than temporary tools we may employ to transcend, we are potentially wasting a precious human life.

How astonishing it is to be incarnated and conscious on a ‘goldilocks’ planet in infinite space. We should not waste time in enchanting cul-de-sacs.


Tools, yes, there are endless beautiful tools. We should use them as we need them, but know them only to be sign-posts, vague imitations.

But identities, no.

Any symbol. Any myth. Any teaching.


Who Am I?

Not this, not that….


(Just my own temporary opinion, not meant to be disrespectful.)


Milarepa’s Cave of Demons

One evening Milarepa returned to his cave after gathering firewood, only to find it filled with demons.

They were cooking his food, reading his books, sleeping in his bed. They had taken over the joint.

He knew about nonduality of self and other, but he still didn’t quite know how to get these guys out of his cave. Even though he had the sense that they were just a projection of his own mind—all the unwanted parts of himself—he didn’t know how to get rid of them.

So first he taught them the dharma. He sat on this seat that was higher than they were and said things to them about how we are all one. He talked about compassion and shunyata and how poison is medicine.

Nothing happened. The demons were still there.

Then he lost his patience and got angry and ran at them. They just laughed at him.

Finally, he gave up and just sat down on the floor, saying, “I’m not going away and it looks like you’re not either, so let’s just live here together.” At that point, all of them left except one.

Milarepa said, “Oh, this one is particularly vicious.” (We all know that one. Sometimes we have lots of them like that. Sometimes we feel that’s all we’ve got.) He didn’t know what to do, so he surrendered himself even further.

He walked over and put himself right into the mouth of the demon and said, “Just eat me up if you want to.”

Then that demon left too.

Source ~

The Holy War ~ René Daumal

Extracts from The Holy War. Full piece available here ~

Concept art for Kin Fables |

I am going to write a poem about war. Perhaps it will not be a real poem, but it will be about a real war.

What I am going to make won’t be a real, poetic, poet’s poem for if the word “war” were used in a real poem—then war, the real war that the real poet speaks about, war without mercy, war without truce would break out for good in our inmost hearts.

But neither will this be a philosophical discourse. For to be a philosopher, to love the truth more than oneself, one must have died to self-deception, one must have killed the treacherous smugness of dream and cozy fantasy. And that is the aim and the end of the war; and the war has hardly begun, there are still traitors to unmask.

Nor will it be a work of learning. For to be learned, to see and love things as they are, one must be oneself, and love to see oneself as one is. One must have broken the deceiving mirrors, one must have slain with a pitiless look the insinuating phantoms. And that is the aim and the end of the war, and the war has hardly begun; there are still masks to tear off.

Nor will it be an eager song. For enthusiasm is stable when the god stands up, when the enemies are no more than formless forces, when the clangor of war rings out deafeningly; and the war has hardly begun, we haven’t yet thrown our bedding into the fire.

Nor will it be a magical invocation, for the magician prays to his god, “Do what I want,” and he refuses to make war on his worst enemy, if the enemy pleases him; nor will it be a believer’s prayer either, for at his best the believer prays “Do what you want,” and for that he must put iron and fire into the entrails of his dearest enemy—which is the act of war, and the war has hardly begun.

This will be something of all that, some hope and effort towards all that, and it will also be something of a call to arms. A call that the play of echoes can send back to me, and that perhaps others will hear.

You can guess now of what kind of war I wish to speak.

Of other wars—of those one undergoes—I shall not speak. If I were to speak of them, it would be ordinary literature, a makeshift, a substitute, an excuse. Just as it has happened that I have used the word “terrible” when I didn’t have gooseflesh. Just as I’ve used the expression “dying of hunger” when I hadn’t reached the point of stealing from the food-stands. Just as I’ve spoken of madness before having tried to consider infinity through a keyhole. As I’ve spoken of death before my tongue has known the salt taste of the irreparable. As certain people speak of purity, who have always considered themselves superior to the domestic pig. As some speak of liberty, who adore and polish their chains; as some speak of love, who love nothing but their own shadows; or of sacrifice, who wouldn’t for all the world cut off their littlest finger. Or of knowledge, who disguise themselves from their own eyes. Just as it is our great infirmity to talk in order to see nothing.

I shall try to speak then of the holy war.

May it break out and continue without truce! Now and again it takes fire, but never for long. At the first small hint of victory, I flatter myself that I’ve won, and I play the part of the generous victor and come to terms with the enemy. There are traitors in the house, but they have the look of friends and it would be so unpleasant to unmask them! They have their place in the chimney corner, their armchairs and their slippers; they come in when I’m drowsy, offering me a compliment, or a funny or exciting story, or flowers and goodies—sometimes a fine hat with feathers. They speak in the first person, and it’s my voice I think I’m hearing, my voice in which I’m speaking: “I am … , I know … , I wish …” But it’s all lies! Lies grafted on my flesh, abscesses screaming at me: “Don’t slaughter us, we’re of the same blood!”—pustules whining: “We are your greatest treasure, your only good feature; go on feeding us, it doesn’t cost all that much!”

And there are so many of them; and they are charming, they are pathetic, they are arrogant, they practice blackmail, they band together … but they are barbarians who respect nothing—nothing that is true, I mean, because they cringe in front of everything else and are tied in knots with respect. It’s thanks to their ideas that I wear my mask; they take possession of everything, including the keys to the costume wardrobe. They tell me: “We’ll dress you; how could you ever present yourself properly in the great world without us?” But oh! It would be better to go naked as a grub!

Myself, I only know how to say a very few words, and they are more like squeaks; while they even know how to write. There’s always one of them in my mouth, lying in wait for my words when I want to say something. He listens and keeps everything for himself, and speaks in my place using my words but in his own filthy accent. And it’s thanks to him if anyone pays attention to me or thinks I’m intelligent. (But the ones who know aren’t fooled; if only I could listen to the ones who know!)

Light be against you, phantoms! If I turn on the lamp, you stop talking. When I open an eye, you disappear—because you are carved out of the void, painted grimaces of emptiness. Against you, war to the finish—without pity, without tolerance. There is only one right: the right to be more.

But now it’s a different song. They have a feeling that they have been spotted; so they pretend to be conciliatory. “Of course, you’re the master. But what’s a master without servants? Keep us on in our lowly places; we promise to help you. Look here, for instance: suppose you want to write a poem. How could you do it without us?”

A pretty kind of peace I’m offered: to close my eyes so as not to witness the crime, to run in circles from morning till night so as not to see death’s always-open jaws; to consider myself victorious before even starting to struggle. A liar’s peace! To settle down cozily with my cowardices, since everybody else does. Peace of the defeated! A little filth, a little drunkenness, a little blasphemy for a joke, a little masquerade made a virtue of, a little laziness and fantasy—even a lot, if one is gifted for it—a little of all that, surrounded by a whole confectioner’s-shopful of beautiful words; that’s the peace that is suggested. A traitor’s peace!

He who has declared this war in himself is at peace with his fellows, and although his whole being is the field of the most violent battle, in his very innermost depths there reigns a peace that is more active than any war. And the more strongly this peace reigns in his innermost depths, in that central silence and solitude, the more violently rages the war against the turmoil of lies and numberless illusions.

In that vast silence obscured by battle-cries, hidden from the outside by the fleeing mirage of time, the eternal conqueror listens to the voices of other silences. Alone, having overcome the illusion of not being alone, he is no longer the only one to be alone. But I am separated from him by these ghost-armies which I have to annihilate. Oh, to be able one day to take my place in that citadel! On its ramparts, let me be torn limb from limb rather than allow the tumult to enter the royal chamber!

“But am I to kill?” asked Arjuna the warrior. “Am I to pay tribute to Caesar?” asks another. Kill, he is answered, if you are a killer. You have no choice. But if your hands are red with the blood of your enemies, see to it that not a drop splatter the royal chamber, where the motionless conqueror waits. Pay, he is answered, but see to it that Caesar gets not a single glimpse of the royal treasure.

I shall speak to call myself to the holy war. I shall speak to denounce the traitors whom I nourished. I shall speak so that my words may shame my actions, until the day comes when a peace armored in thunder reigns in the chamber of the eternal conqueror.

And because I have used the word war, and because this word war is no longer, today, simply a sound that educated people make with their mouths, but now has become a serious word heavy with meaning, it will be seen that I am speaking seriously and that these are not empty sounds that I am making with my mouth.

Dzogchen ~ Extract from James Low Article

”Dzogchen means the great completion or the great perfection. It starts with the experience that from the beginning everything has been perfect just as it is, and so there is nothing to do.


The very doing, by which we set out to improve and develop ourselves, is the basis for us never arriving where we need to be. To put it another way, the unfolding of the infinite awareness which pervades all space, the unfolding moment-by-moment as ‘this’ and ‘that’, creates a movement of self and other, subject and object, and this movement is an illusion.


Illusion means something is there but it is not really there. It is the Buddha’s middle way: not strongly real and not nothing at all. Here we are in this room breathing in and out, and aware of each other. This is experience. Experience is dynamic, it never ceases and it is ungraspable; nobody can catch this moment and put it in their pocket. The ungraspability of experience is exactly its primordial purity; nothing arrives in this moment except this moment.


Thus, dzogchen is the unchanging immediacy of our presence moment-by moment. It is not moving across time. It is not weaving stories across past, present and future which help to interpret or reframe.


When we talk about relaxation it means really letting go of all the complex patterns of association, habituation, prediction and so on, out of which we create our familiar world.”


“What you hate, you re-create; and what you bless, you put to rest.” ― Eric Micha'el Leventhal (Art by Adam Martinakis):


”The heart of dzogchen practice is to engage in the experience of being light. This refers to visual light, but it is also the light of all the senses. It means to really be present in your existence as an energetic formation which is moving and changing all the time.


The good arises and goes, and the bad arises and goes. No power that anyone in the world has can alter this. Hubris is the most important thing to recognise about the individual ego. That is to say, because our individual sense of self is a story, there is no end to storytelling, and stories can be massaged and turned and made much more wonderful than the actuality of our lived existence.


If you give space to the moment to reveal itself it will show you its infinity just as it vanishes. In that way you will have everything but nothing to take home.”

Source of this article ~

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Bholenath means the ”Innocent Lord” or ”kind hearted Lord”.

We think of all aspects of Divinity as being sophisticated, as being akin to our crafty thinking minds, but the Bholenath archetype is that which is as unaffected as a child.

The name translates directly as lord of the simple people and simplicity. It suggests that Shiva is easy-going, vulnerable, gullible almost, like a child, easily convinced, ready to forgive and be pleased with simple offerings.

He is guileless, has simple tastes, and returns to the lazy devotee at the least hint of a smile or attention. It is Shiva in an innocent, uncomplicated form.

Bholenath means the King of Forgetful Persons. This is an innocent, Cosmic Child aspect of Divinity, who has not been made cunning by the petty, twisted ways of the world, one who is uncontaminated by the shadow of the mundane, who will come towards the friendly one quickly and forgive.

Time in the Puranas

A poetic way of appreciating the vastness of time….

The Shiva Puranas were first written down in 4-6th century, but are said to have been orally transmitted since ancient times. (There are some references in older Upanishads from 5 th century BC to the Puranas for example.)

But anyhow….this can be read like a poem, even if the words are not understood.

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The basic unit of life is nimesha, the instant.

Fifteen nimeshas make one kastha, thirty kasthas one kaala, thirty kaalas one muhurta and thirty muhurtas one day.

Thirty days is a maasa, a month, which is one day of the gods and ancestors;

six maasas make an ayana,

two ayanas a year.

One human year is a day and a night.

Three hundred and sixty-five human years make a divine one.

Four are the yugas in the land of Bharata: the krita, treta, dwapara and kali.

The pristine krita lasts 4,800 divine years, the less perfect treta 3,600 years, the half-corrupt dwapara 2,400 and the almost entirely evil kali, 1,200.

A chaturyuga, one cycle of four ages, is 12,000 godly years long, 12,000 X 365 human years.

Seventy-one chaturyugas make a manvantara,

fourteen manvantaras make a kalpa.

A kalpa, of 1000 chaturyugas, 12 million divine years, is one day of Brahma, the Creator.

8,000 years of Brahma make one Brahma yuga;

1,000 Brahma yugas make a savana.

Each Brahma lives for 3,003 savanas.

One day of Vishnu is the lifetime of Brahma.

One day of Shiva is the lifetime of Vishnu.

Phenakistoscope - France - c. 1833

The Innermost Being of Man ~ Hazrat Inayat Khan

"A person does not hear sound only through the ears; he hears sound through every pore of his body. It permeates the entire being, and according to its particular influence either slows or quickens the rhythm of the blood circulation; it either wakens or soothes the nervous system.” ~Hazrat Inayat Khan ...:

”The earth supplies all the things that man’s nature demands except one, and that is his source; and therefore man remains dissatisfied all through life in spite of everything that he may obtain in answer to his desires: pleasure, comfort, rank, or wealth. He may obtain them all, but still the longing of his soul will remain because it is for home.

Home is the source, which the wise have called God. … The innermost being of man is that which may be called the source itself, and the outer being of man is what we call ‘man.’

“There can be no rebirth without a dark night of the soul, a total annihilation of all that you believed in and thought that you were.” ~ Hazrat Inayat Khan~ Artist: Space Vorobey:


The limited part of man’s being is the creation, and the innermost part of his being is the Creator.

If this is true, then man is both limited and unlimited. If he wishes to be limited he can become more and more limited. If he wishes to be unlimited he can become more and more unlimited.

If he cultivates in himself the illusion of being a creation, he can be that more and more. But if he cultivates in himself the knowledge of the Creator, he can also be that more and more.


The innermost being of man is the real being of God; man is always linked with God.

If he could only realize it, it is by finding harmony in his own soul that he finds communion with God.

All meditation and contemplation are taught with this purpose: to harmonize one’s innermost being with God, so that He is seeing, hearing, thinking through us, and our being is a ray of His light. In that way we are even closer to God than the fishes are to the ocean in which they have their being.”

Ever Expanding God

bernart amygdalah:

‘The essence of philosophy is not the possession of truth but the search for truth.” ~ Karl Jaspers.

The Perennial Philosophy is the reasonably modern term assigned to that unity of truth said to rest behind all spiritual traditions – the fundamental truth which has existed from the beginning, an inner knowledge revealed from direct spiritual insight. It is said by some to be fully evolved and not requiring any addition or expansion. It is universal, and not the sole preserve of any culture. Some few examples include the Eleusinian mysteries, Hermetic thought, the teachings from the Egyptian and Babylonian from the Mystery Schools, the Vedantic and Eastern schools, Gnostic and Hellenistic lineages and so on.

All these movements, which essentially sought to describe mysterious God and the awesome Universe and the human’s relationship with God and the Universe, interacted with and fertilised each other in various ways and throughout time, leading to a constant evolution of ideas and understanding. This evolution can be observed by looking back in history.

In the Greek schools for example, we understand that Socrates absorbed the teachings of his various masters, such as Thales and so on, and distilled them within himself, evolving his own personal understanding. Plato extended Socrates ambit, and in one of his dialogues (fictionally) depicts Socrates challenging the older Parmenides, again allowing for evolution, dialectic and expansion. Aristotle in his turn did the same for his teacher’s wisdom, as for example when Aristotle disagreed with Plato’s dismissal of the role of the senses. I am very ignorant of these philosopher’s work in general – this is simply an observation  of patterns. I see a regular interaction and evolution of ideas.

All these great sages of old had access to the libraries of knowledge extant in their day. Just as with the ancient Alchemists who were the early chemists and scientists exploring the world of divinely-infused Matter, they were all building upon libraries of knowledge, wisdom and experience that went before them. Building and expanding.

This expansion and exploration continued over the centuries, flow and counter-flow.

The advent of the materialist age saw scientists with their rulers and lens continuing to probe the unknown. But by now, Matter began to supercede the Mind Of God, and so it has continued to this day –  those who wield the measuring instruments parse up unfathomable creation into mundane chemical formulas and measurable processes.

The advances in science, instead of making our civilisation more filled with awe, or more inclined towards deeper thought,  have made our general milieu as cocky as any Age of Enlightenment scientist who foolishly imagined as they walked the streets in the 18th century that with their callipers and eyeglass they would soon control the realm of matter.

This has not happened and instead the rabbit hole of inexplicable mystery grows ever deeper and more profound. Because we have generally dismissed the Mind of God behind these phenomenal advances, we feel smaller, not grander, more confused rather than more inspired by unfolding mystery.

The great teachers of old responded to the changing times in which they found themselves. The masters and philosophers of the Axial Age responded to the changing psyches of their fellow beings who were beginning to look for greater meaning in a human life, now that social order and evolving civilisation was beginning to organise their more mundane needs such as food and shelter. Buddha and Jesus and Lao Tzu (and so on) responded to social needs and the psychological needs of their people with their general teachings, emphasising methods for attaining peace in the midst of societal challenges.

We are again at a time of rapid evolution in civilisation, when technological advances augur a transhumanist age, and deeper questions arise about the human beings place in the overall scheme of things. Hot on the heels of new questions about ourselves, arrive questions about how God is now, not the God of Babylonian deserts and Grecian stoa, but the God who dwells right now, here within us in this post-digital cosmos.

The human psyche naturally seeks enchantment, especially as the modern science attempts to measure and parse the mysteries of old. But the discipline of old is lost, memory is short, history does not exist. The rigours with which the ancient mystic expanded their vision of God  and the unknowable, using the various fields of information at his disposal, have morphed into a marshmallow play-zone of wish-fulfilling fabulism and a desire to be blindly entranced. We are part-time shamans, risking our souls to be fashionable. In place of the piercing analytical disciplines of the Mystery Schools arise wishful thinking and active imagination, where devotees are slinging their hopeful lasso around poorly understood soundbites of  quantum science.

And yet, there is in this magical realism evidence of a profound need to expand our scriptures. Why should God remain confined to descriptions evolved in what is now antiquity. God is always expanding, always mysterious, always vast. Without wanting to be so foolish as to jettison the wisdom upon which serious metaphysics was founded, still questions and curiosity arise as to what Pythagorus would have created with all the discoveries we have made in the time since he walked upon the earth. How would he have expanded his teachings and cosmology? (How he would marvel at our time!) What would the star gazers from Babylon who so minutely mapped the skies have taught with the evidence of the inexpressible expanse of the cosmos to which we presently have access? A body of knowledge which increases exponentially, so that we feel as if we are forever merely on the threshold of an unimaginable infinity. What would the alchemists of ancient times have conjured with the science of inner atomic worlds we presently take for granted, where we have schema for minute particles, and where again we can understand ourselves to be at the fringe of another body of exploration that is ever expanding and constantly confounding us observers.

I wonder about the beautiful cosmologies and philosophies these sages living in our shoes would have left for our children’s inheritance.


Vishuddhi Chakra


The Throat Chakra.

Vishuddhi includes the word shuddhi which means ”purification”. The Bija or seed mantra for Vishuddhi is HAM (the essential meaning of which is ”I Am”) (it is pronounced with a long drawl on the A, between awww and ahhhh.)

”This chakra is the gateway to liberation for he who wishes to know the real meaning of yoga and whose senses are purified and controlled.” ~ Sat-Chakra Nirupana ( by Sw. Purnananda 16th century)

Vishuddhi is traditionally symbolised by a purple lotus blossom with 16 petals. Sometimes the colour is smoky grey. The element of Vishuddhi is Ether (Akasha) suggesting Space. It could be visualised as an infinte cosmos, or nebula of many colours.

The throat chakra: speak your truth kindly and listen with compassion.:

In the centre of the purple lotus is a white circle within which is a single drop, representing nectar (amrita/soma). The white circle represents the Nada or cosmic sound, and the chakra is associated with the sense of hearing.

The nectar here (on a more mystical level) drops from Bindu  (Moon) (at the top/back of head) and is normally consumed by the fire in the belly (Manipura chakra) (Sun) and thus is our life essence gradually consumed. Stimulation of Vishuddhi is said to halt this fall into the fires by capturing the drops from Bindu. Inverted asana such as Vipareet Karani Mudra, for example, are said to delay this process…

“The Sun is in the navel and the moon in the head. The nectar that comes from the moon is consumed by the sun, and the life force is gradually used up in this way.” ~ Gherandha Samhita (17th century)

The nectar within Vishuddhi is either poison or nutrition and the centre is said to separate one from the other.

But the serpent they had used to churn the oceans spat out a deadly poison that was capable of destroying the whole earth. Quickly the Devas caught it in a bowl so it was not able to do any harm. But as they had absolutely no idea what to do with it or how they could permanently “dispose” of it, they turned to Lord Shiva for help.

Lord Shiva is the most gracious of all the gods, and will never refuse a request from anyone. He took the bowl of poison and drank it down to the very last drop. However, in the process he did not swallow the poison but held it in the Vishuddhi Chakra and purified it by means of Ujjāyī Prānāyāma and Jālandhara Bandha . In this way he rid the world of a deadly peril. Through the poison his throat was coloured dark blue, and since that day he has borne the nickname Nīlakantha (the blue-throated one). ~ (Story from the Puranas)

Vishuddhi is associated with the thyroid centre, and gentle neck movements, and asana which put pressure or stretch on the throat help to resolve issues in Vishuddhi.  For example…Matsyasana..

and Halasana….

…although simpler variations of these asana may be practised with similar effect.

Ujjayi pranayama which is gentle breathing with a slight constriction in the glottis in the throat, creating a soft snore like a babies breathing at sleep, is a very useful technique for regulating Vishuddhi chakra.

Brahmari pranayama is also good for Vishuddhi.

The feeling of a cool breeze moving through the Throat Centre is another way to stimulate or visualise this centre. Singing and chanting are other stimulants and regulators of Vishuddhi.

Because Vishuddhi is associated with hearing and sound and singing, I include one of my favourite pieces of sacred music…

The attitudes associated with Vishuddhi include ”I speak”, ”I communicate”, ”I create”, ”I express”, ”I allow things to unfold as they are.”

Life is short there is no time to leave important words unsaid:

If you tell the truth you don’t have to remember anything.

~Mark Twain




universe energy - Google Search:

Purna is a Sanskrit word which means Wholeness, Complete, Full, Perfect. Fulfilled, Satisfied. INFINITE.

There is a peace mantra – from the Isha Upanishad. (Isha is a lovely word, meaning Lord in the personal sense, a more intimate attitude than the transcendental conception.)

The translation of the first part of the Isha Upanishad is

That (the Invisible–Absolute) is whole;
Whole is this (the visible phenomenal);
from the Invisible Whole comes forth the visible whole.
Though the visible whole has come out from that Invisible Whole, yet the Whole remains unaltered.

The original Sanskrit is

Purnamadah Purnamidam
Purnat Purnamudachyate
Purnasya Purnamadaya
Purnameva Vashishyate
Om shanti, shanti, shanti

That is infinite, this is infinite;
From That infinite this infinite comes.
From That infinite, this infinite removed or added;
Infinite remains infinite.
Om. Peace! Peace! Peace

The ”That” is the whole, the unmanifested and the manifested, pure consciousness, Shiva, what was in the beginning and ever shall be.

The ”This” is what we see around us, the energy and matter, Shakti, the material of our embodiment, ”That” manifested as ”This”.

So we are of that whole which is ever undiminished. By being of that, We are whole, and complete, in and of ourselves, just as we are.

This is a great source of peace and inspiration for us to know; we are complete in our essence because we are part of that which is always complete and perfect and infinite and whole.

Purnam adah: that origin of all things is full;

purnam idam: this entire creation that has come from that origin of all things is also full;

purnat purnam udachyate: from that Full this Full has come;

purnasya purnam adaya: having taken away this Full from that Full;

purnam evavasisyate: the Full still remains unaffected.”

I am not going to post more exploration of this idea, as it is not something to be speculated about, but something to be gradually felt in the heart and known.

I finish on a thought about the connection between Whole and Holy.

Holy comes from the old  English word halig. Similar words in other languages include helag (Saxon), helich (Dutch), heilag (Old High German), heiladr (Icelandic).

”The primary meaning of the word (holy) may have been ”that must be preserved whole or intact, that cannot be transgressed or violated,” which would support its relationship to Old English hal or WHOLE, meaning all of a thing, the entirety.”  ~ From Chambers Dictionary of Etymology.

Thus, in the essence of the word, ”I am whole” equates with ”I am holy”.

”Love is in fact an intensification of life, a completeness, a fullness, a wholeness of life.”
~Thomas Merton

Poems of Izumi Shikibu (10th century)

Her poems and correspondence, part of a tradition of court love poetry, frequently combine erotic and romantic longing with Buddhist contemplation. In Love Poems from the Japanese (2003), poet and translator Kenneth Rexroth noted of Shikibu, “Of all the poets of the classical period, she has, to my mind, the deepest and most poignant Buddhist sensibility.”

I cannot say
which is which:
the glowing
plum blossom is
the spring night’s moon.


If the one I’ve waited for
came now, what should I do?
This morning’s garden filled with snow
is far too lovely
for footsteps to mar


Although I try
to hold the single thought
of Buddha’s teaching in my heart,
I cannot help but hear
the many crickets’ voices calling as well.



i would long for you through worlds, worlds, worlds ...:



in the world

is usual today.

This is

the first morning.


Watching the moon,

at midnight,

solitary, mid-sky,

I knew myself completely,

no part left out.


Come quickly,

as soon as these flowers open

they fall.

This world exists

as a sheen of dew on flowers.