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#2853 - Sunday, June 24, 2007 - Editor: Gloria Lee

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  • Gloria Lee
    #2853 - Sunday, June 24, 2007 - Editor: Gloria Lee Nondual Highlights Our friend from across the pond in England, Gill Eardley, is resuming her Allspirit
    Message 1 of 1 , Jun 24, 2007
      #2853 - Sunday, June 24, 2007 - Editor: Gloria Lee
       
      Nondual Highlights
       
       
      Our friend from across the pond in England, Gill Eardley, is resuming her Allspirit Inspiration list. Gill has been a presence on the internet lists for many years and also has an outstanding website. I'd like to preface sharing her newsletter with an inspiring video from the British version of American Idol, there called Britains Got Talent, showing the first appearance of Paul Potts.  You'll see why. (And thanks to nm rai for sending it.)
       
       

       
      Welcome to the second issue of the Allspirit Inspiration newsletter.
      This newsletter will be sent out twice weekly, and I hope you enjoy
      reading it. If you have any of your own work you would like to submit
      for inclusion, please email it to me.   Please feel free to send
      comments and suggestions...     Also please forward the newsletter to
      any friends you think may be interested in subscribing...  
       
       

       
      Exquisite Truth
       
      This is an exquisite truth:
      Saints and ordinary folks are the same from the start.
      Inquiring about a difference
      Is like asking to borrow string
      when you've got a good strong rope.
      Every Dharma is known in the heart.
      After a rain, the mountain colors intensify.
      Once you become familiar with the design of fate's illusions
      Your ink-well will contain all of life and death.

      ~Master Hsu Yun
       

       
      The Beauty Of The Days Gone By
      Down The Road - Van Morrison


      When I recall just how it felt
      When I went walking down by the take
      My soul was free, my heart awake
      When I walked down into the town

      The mountain air was fresh and clear
      The sun was up behind the hill
      It felt so good to be alive
      On that morning in spring

      I want to sing this song for you
      I want to lift your spirits high
      And in my soul I want to feel
      The beauty of the days gone by

      The beauty of the days gone by
      It brings a longing to my soul
      To contemplate my own true self
      And keep me young as I grow old

      The beauty of the days gone by
      The music that we used to play
      So lift your glass and raise it high
      To the beauty of the days gone by

      I'll sing it from the mountain top
      Down to the valley down below
      Because my cup doth overflow
      With the beauty of the days gone by

      The mountain glen
      Where we used to roam
      The gardens there
      By the railroad track
      Oh my memory it does not lie
      Of the beauty of the days gone by

      The beauty of the days gone by
      It brings a longing to my soul
      To contemplate my own true self
      And keep me young as I grow old

      And keep me young as I grow old
      And keep me young as I grow old
      And keep me young as I grow old
       

       
      Chinese Art and Greek Art
      Rumi

      The Prophet said, "There are some who see Me
      by the same Light in which I am seeing them.
      Our natures are ONE.
      Without reference to any strands
      of lineage, without reference to texts or traditions,
      we drink the Life-Water together."
      Here's a story
      about that hidden mystery:
      The Chinese and the Greeks
      were arguing as to who were the better artists.
      The King said,
      "We'll settle this matter with a debate."
      The Chinese began talking,
      but the Greeks wouldn't say anything.
      They left.
      The Chinese suggested then
      that they each be given a room to work on
      with their artistry, two rooms facing each other
      and divided by a curtain.
      The Chinese asked the King
      for a hundred colors, all the variations,
      and each morning they came to where
      the dyes were kept and took them all.
      The Greeks took no colors.
      "They're not part of our work,"
      They went to their room
      and began cleaning and polishing the walls. All day
      every day they made those walls as pure and clear
      as an open sky.
      There is a way that leads from all-colors
      to colorlessness. Know that the magnificent variety
      of the clouds and the weather comes from
      the total simplicity of the sun and the moon.

      The Chinese finished, and they were so happy.
      They beat the drums in the joy of completion.

      The King entered their room,
      astonished by the gorgeous color and detail.

      The Greeks then pulled the curtain dividing the rooms.
      The Chinese figures and images shimmeringly reflected
      on the clear Greek walls. They lived there,
      even more beautifully, and always
      changing in the light.

      The Greek art is the Sufi way.
      They don't study books of philosophical thought.

      They make their loving clearer and clearer.
      No wantings, no anger. In that purity
      they receive and reflect the images of every moment,
      from here, from the stars, from the void.

      They take them in
      as though they were seeing
      with the Lighted Clarity
      that sees them.

      ~Rumi Mathnawi, I, 3462-3485, 3499
      'Delicious Laughter' Coleman Barks
       


      The House Was Quiet and the World Was Calm
      by Wallace Stevens

      The house was quiet and the world was calm.
      The reader became the book; and summer night

      Was like the conscious being of the book.
      The house was quiet and the world was calm.

      The words were spoken as if there was no book,
      Except that the reader leaned above the page,

      Wanted to lean, wanted much to be
      The scholar to whom his book is true, to whom

      The summer night is like a perfection of thought.
      The house was quiet because it had to be.

      The quiet was part of the meaning, part of the mind:
      The access of perfection to the page.

      And the world was calm. The truth in a calm world,
      In which there is no other meaning, itself

      Is calm, itself is summer and night, itself
      Is the reader leaning late and reading there.
       
       
       

       
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