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#2614 - Sunday, October 15, 2006 - Editor: Gloria Lee

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  • Gloria Lee
    #2614 - Sunday, October 15, 2006 - Editor: Gloria Lee The Nondual Highlights Archive, Search Engine, and How to Contribute Your Writing:
    Message 1 of 1 , Oct 15 10:09 AM
      #2614 - Sunday, October 15, 2006 - Editor: Gloria Lee
      The Nondual Highlights

      Archive, Search Engine, and How to Contribute Your Writing: http://nonduality.com/hlhome.htm
      This issue features the work of Robert O'Hearn posted to Garden Mystics.
      The most recent photographs shown here may be found at:
      For more, the main index portal begins here:
      Flowers and inspiration grown by Mazie Lane.

      In this state
      there is no Shiva,
      nor holy union.
      Only a somewhat something
      moving dreamlike on
      a fading road
      One Dance
      poem by Lalla, images by Bob O'Hearn
      8 a
      8 b
      8 c
      8 d
      Here Is Where
      As for us, we have been drunk for
      as long as we can remember.

      We stagger through these dreamy realms,
      clouds and sun alternating,
      unnoticed, unbidden.

      There is no impediment for the mayflies
      swarming around our dizziness, drunk
      as we are, drunk as they are on the
      intoxication of this Mystery.

      You might ask a question now
      for which we have no answer.

      Whoever we think we are --
      whatever we thought we were --
      that is what disappears.

      It is not happy, not sad.

      There is a fine line where
      the sky touches the ocean.

      It appears to be a line.
      There really is no line.

      This doesn't belong to anyone,
      it doesn't occur to anyone.

      This Love floods out of nowhere,
      sweeping the little leaves of belief and
      identity along in a current of cool forgetfulness,
      a gentle drowning in the swirling fluidity
      of Love's watery simplicity.

      One can stop pretending to be
      other than what Is -
      This Love --
      naked and innocent,
      Happy without any
      reason for Happiness.

      Lately all these costumes
      seem to slip off on their own.


      All is getting done, mysteriously.

      Like melting snow in warming
      Spring stream swooning,
      the fascination with any destiny
      dissolves in the flow -
      timed to a perfection beyond
      mind's comprehension.

      In the letting go, something
      approaches a transparency.

      The dreamy sense of independence,
      the perfume of some separate self-sense,
      sifts, wafts, and weaves within the
      full embrace of awareness,
      of limitless space -
      changing perpetually,
      in harmony with ordinary circumstance,
      white clouds vanishing in an immensity of blue.

      The need for meaning drops away in
      the bliss of remembrance, remembrance
      prior to the arising of anything at all,
      of any being, bird, or blessedness.

      The search for God is consumed by
      the God Who cannot be sought,
      cannot be found.

      Who Is.
      I Am.
      Here is where we always meet -
      in this silence.

      Here is where
      this Love is real.

       a poem by Bob O'Hearn

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