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#1657 - Thursday, December 25, 2003

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  • Gloria Lee
    #1657 - Thursday, December 25, 2003 - Editor: Gloria Lee veiled in flesh, the godhead see Nature is too thin a screen; the glory of the omnipresent God
    Message 1 of 1 , Dec 29, 2003
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      #1657 - Thursday, December 25, 2003 - Editor: Gloria Lee
       
      "veiled in flesh, the godhead see"
       

      "Nature is too thin a screen; the glory of the omnipresent God bursts through everwhere."
            - Emerson

       
      Indeed how wonderful!
      I adore myself.

      For I have taken form
      But I am still one.

      Neither coming nor going,
      Yet I am still everywhere.

      -Ashtavakra Gita 2:12

      From "The Heart of Awareness


       
      Reflection by Christiana
      Advent-Christ Mass personal preparation and prayer

      Week 4- Movement, no movement

      I struggled this year, Lord, and dipped into a 12
      hour period of profound sadness. There was no
      specific reason of woundedness, except perhaps the
      outer face just got weary of the social cheer of
      others, the endless questioning of whether I was
      "ready" for Christmas and how I would spend it.
      How do I explain that it is an inner season for me
      without getting those odd looks. How do I explain
      that it is not Xmas but Christ's Mass that brings
      cheer to this heart. For that 12 hour period, I
      got hooked and felt alone instead of solitary;
      felt failure instead of resolve.

      Then I asked my "self" what does it mean to be
      human? What does it mean to have a human heart
      within which Your Light is always lite, even when
      obfuscated by emotional storylines? Gently placing
      these questions on the altar of Our Heart, I robed
      in the mantle of solitary practice and let you
      consume the felt imprisonment of the story's
      echoes.

      In emptiness, I heard a powerful question a friend
      asked: "can one look upon the void; can you look
      upon Christ's face, and not be moved?" Not moved:
      to or from; excess, fear, exultation, exageration,
      regret, specialness, language, human
      interpretation. You who animate Alpha and Omega
      for the human animal, abide in that empty-fullness
      from which all is created.

      Allowing Your Presence It's rebirth in my heart
      today, I meet your eyes and pray for awareness to
      not be moved.
       

       
      Viorica Weissman - MillionPaths
      Rumi - Mathnavi II, 1750
       
      Each of My creatures has its own path
      Each way to worthy each is in My gift;
      Hardness of heart plucks each from the hearth,
      You are My servant whose words should uplift
      All who hear you and receive My message.
      I am not labour to be lost in the fickle passage
      Of a fine tongue and splendid speech, there's more
      Much more I seek for My creature's prayer to be sure.
      It is the spirit and the spring of inner feeling,
      The innnocence of heart that sorely beseeches the Lord
      Which knows not clever language, but appealing
      From his centre My creature finds always the words
      Untainted by conceit and its siblings but fired with Love.
      Words born of bereavement, conceived from burning,
      Burning, burning which rises up like thirst above
      The carcass of thought and fine speech, freshly turning
      Their faces to Me in their simple, heart-felt yearning. 
      Remember, Moses, the supplicants who sets his heart
      In forms is a shadow; the soul which burns to be a part
      Of the Greater is the living heart within the encrusted form
      Of prayer, which cries out constantly to be taken by storm.
       
      The religion of the heart is not a stark monument of stone;
      Lovers of God have no religion save yearning for Me alone.
               
       
      ------------------------------------
          Words of Paradise
      Selected Poems of Rumi
       

       
      Zen Oleary - TrueVision
       
      Christmas Morning

      I see the coming morning like a pebble
      waiting to glow in the rising sun, it’s surface
      imprinted with the footsteps of a small bird,
      and I can feel feathered wings in my mind,
      the quick scrabble of feet stirring up dust clouds
      as he hunts for seeds or insects,
      the soft aha call as he finds breakfast,
      here amid the fallen leaves and petals
      of a now gone yesterday, an unimagined time
      in the mind of bird and me,

      For it is always now, this moment,
      this sitting in front of a blank screen with
      the dark squiggles I have made,
      these heiroglyphs of the soul, these
      weather reports from the wind blowing through me,
      this morning it’s filled with the scents
      of jasmine and warm green tea,
      with words like roses scattered upon the pages
      of a book of light and dreams, of the images and
      wisdom
      of Sufi saints that call to me across the centuries
      in this still dark morning that waits for first light,

      and too there are recipes for delights from China,
      for crispy catfish and green onion pancakes
      and stories of the history of Hunan, and
      I see the Great Wall in my mind’s eye and feel
      my feet itch while my tongue sweats in anticipation,

      but most of all I feel blessed to be here in this time
      and place,
      this Christmas morning, in this webbed existence,
      this floating home of family and friends,
      and to feel my smile rising with the sun and
      spilling all around me, can you see it too?


      © Zen Oleary
      December 25, 2003

       
      Al Larus - TrueVision
       
      Four Photos
       
       
       

       
      Kheyala - HarshaSatsangh

      Adventures at Rasa Ranch #150

      12/22/03
       
      A friend came over to our house today.  She brought with her a big hunk of clay and the kids and I played with it for hours.  Finally, we crafted a beautiful menorah and tonight I lit the candles for the first time in about fifteen years.  I even remembered the blessing and I sang it as Ananda lit them one by one.  We put the menorah on the windowsill in the kitchen and turned out the lights.  As we stood and gazed at the candles in their silent, golden goodness, it felt as if, for the first time ever, I understood the true meaning, the true miracle of Chanukah.
       
       
       
       
       

       
      Vicki Woodyard - NDS
       
      Stop playing God and be God.

      Inside out, upside down, behind, between, beneath the seen
      I have searched for God.

      On a little grave marker are these words, "Christ in you the hope of glory."  When our daughter was dying, those words had come to me unbidden, so on the marker they went.  This fall I stood by her grave again.  I was much older and yet I have not learned much that is new, for the truth is ancient and lies within.

      This Christ within is real, however; I have learned that.  Unfortunately, it is neither automatic nor provable.  I recognize when my life is pliant and light; when it is dappled with grace and healing.  The Christ-fish flits in the waters of my soul.

      I sometimes sit with sorrow and fight it mightily, using thoughts as if they were potent things, but they are not.  Then anger arises and I try to stop it from happening.  But beneath the anger, the tears are forming and suddenly I find myself weeping at her grave again.

      She is not dead; she is risen, but so am I, so am I.  My mind will never appreciate this fact, for it deals in death and desertion, doesn't it?  You know it does.  You know your loneliness haunts you.  So does mine.

      Perhaps when we have let go of all that we hold dear, we will come to a place of mysterious clarity, an evanescent acceptance.  In the meantime, I like to talk about where I am and how the fish are biting.  Small talk.....just small talk.

      Vicki Woodyard
       

       
      Gill Eardley - Allspirit Inspiration
       
      Rainer Maria Rilke on the death of his father:

      *Within my deepest hope*

      As for myself, what has died for me has died, so to speak, into my
      own heart: when I looked for him, the person who vanished has
      collected himself strangely and so surprisingly in me, and it was so
      moving to feel he was now only there that my enthusiasm for serving
      his new existence, for deepening and glorifying it, took the upper
      hand almost at the very moment when pain would otherwise have
      invaded and devastated the whole landscape of my spirit. When I
      remember how I - often with the utmost difficulty in understanding
      and accepting each other - loved my father! Often, in childhood, my
      mind became confused and my heart grew numb at the mere thought
      that someday he might no longer be; my existence seemed to me so
      wholly conditioned through him (my existence, which from the start
      was pointed in such a different direction!) that his departure was to
      my innermost self synonymous with my own destruction.. . , but so
      deeply is death rooted in the essence of love that (if only we are
      cognizant of death without letting ourselves be misled by the uglinesses
      and suspicions that have been attached to it) it nowhere contradicts
      love: where, after all, can it drive out someone whom we have carried
      unsayably in our heart except into this very heart, where would the
      "idea" of this loved being exist, and his unceasing influence (: for
      how could that cease which even while he lived with us was more and
      more independent of his tangible presence).., where would this always secret
      influence be more secure than in us?!
      Where can we come closer to it, where more purely celebrate it, when
      obey it better, than when it appears combined with our own voices, as
      if our heart had learned a new language, a new song, a new strength!

      (To Countess Margot Sizzo-Noris-Crouy, January 6, 1923)



       
      Sukandar Hadinoto - The Daily Meditation
       
      Grief is like a stream of running through our life, and its important to understand that it doesn't go away. Our grief lasts a lifetime, but our relationship to it changes.
       
      Moving on is the period in which the knot of your grief is untied. It's the time of renewal. Not a return to life as it was before the death you experienced - you can't go back, you're a different person now, changed by the journey through grief.
       
      We understand that even when someone dies, the relationship continues. It's that the person is no longer located outside of us. We are developing what we could call an internal relationship with this person and that allows us to reinvest in our life. If we follow the path through grief to wholeness, we may discover undying love.
       
      ~ Frank Ostaseski
       

       
      Mark Otter
       
      Hi Gang,
       
      Mary's son Christopher is back from Baghdad, healthy and hale. whew!
       
      Love, Mark
       
      Ed note: Mary Bianco is a dear friend to all the highlights editors,
      and co-edits the NDSN (nonduality news) list. We all rejoice that her son is safely home.
       

       
       

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