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#2941 - Saturday, September 29, 2007

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  • markwotter704
    Archived issues of the NDHighlights are available online: http://nonduality.com/hlhome.htm Nondual Highlights: Issue #2941,
    Message 1 of 1 , Sep 30, 2007
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      Archived issues of the NDHighlights are available online: http://nonduality.com/hlhome.htm

      Nondual Highlights: Issue #2941, Saturday, September 29, 2007





      You don't have to live in a mountain
      cave and meditate for thirty years.

      You can wake up spiritually right now
      in the middle of the busiest marketplace.

      Beneath all of the chaos that's around
      you, lies the Silence that's within you

      . But you don't have to avoid the "rush"
      of life.

      If you can't get out of it, then get
      further into it.

      Use the rush - - to get into the hush!

      - Chuck Hillig, from Seeds for the Soul, posted to AlongTheWay




      If all we want is to see Who we really, really are,
      nothing can stop us from doing so this very moment.

      But if our plan is to use that blessed vision
      to buy baskets full of nice feelings or any other goodies,
      we might as well abandon the very idea of Self-inquiry.

      So long as any part of me remains unsurrendered,
      I shall never be Myself.

      Until the will is surrendered, there is no peace.

      - Douglas Harding, from Open to the Source, posted to The_Now2




      The basis of spirituality is not guilt or burden.
      The basis of spirituality is relaxed freedom.
      This is not generally understood,
      so it is thought that spirituality is something
      that one must seek with tremendous effort and concentration.
      It isn't. I assure you it isn't. Don't make it, as you say, a federal case.
      Let the seeking take its own course!

      - Ramesh S. Balsekar, posted to The_Now2




      Listen to the story told by the reed,
      of being separated.

      "Since I was cut from the reedbed,
      I have made this crying sound.

      Anyone apart from someone he loves
      understands what I say.

      Anyone pulled from a source
      longs to go back.

      At any gathering I am there,
      mingling in the laughing and grieving,

      a friend to each, but few
      will hear the secrets hidden

      within the notes. No ears for that.
      Body flowing out of spirit,

      spirit up from body: no concealing
      that mixing. But it's not given us

      to see the soul. The reed flute
      is fire, not wind. Be that empty."

      Hear the love fire tangled
      in the reed notes, as bewilderment

      melts into wine. The reed is a friend
      to all who want the fabric torn

      and drawn away. The reed is hurt
      and salve combining. Intimacy

      and longing for intimacy, one
      song. A disastrous surrender

      and a fine love, together. The one
      who secretly hears this is senseless.

      A tongue has one customer, the ear.
      A sugarcane flute has such effect

      because it was able to make sugar
      in the reedbed. The sound it makes

      is for everyone. Days full of wanting,
      let them go by without worrying

      that they do. Stay where you are
      inside such a pure, hollow note.

      Every thirst gets satisfied except
      that of these fish, the mystics,

      who swim a vast ocean of grace
      still somehow longing for it!

      No one lives in that without
      being nourished every day.

      But if someone doesn't want to hear
      the song of the reed flute,

      it's best to cut conversation
      short, say good-bye, and leave.

      - Rumi, version by Coleman Barks from The Essential Rumi




      Monet Refuses the Operation

      Doctor, you say that there are no haloes
      around the streetlights in Paris
      and what I see is an aberration
      caused by old age, an affliction.
      I tell you it has taken me all my life
      to arrive at the vision of gas lamps as angels,
      to soften and blur and finally banish
      the edges you regret I don't see,
      to learn that the line I called the horizon
      does not exist and sky and water,
      so long apart, are the same state of being.
      Fifty-four years before I could see
      Rouen cathedral is built
      of parallel shafts of sun,
      and now you want to restore
      my youthful errors: fixed
      notions of top and bottom,
      the illusion of three-dimensional space,
      wisteria separate
      from the bridge it covers.
      What can I say to convince you
      the Houses of Parliament dissolve
      night after night to become
      the fluid dream of the Thames?
      I will not return to a universe
      of objects that don't know each other,
      as if islands were not the lost children
      of one great continent. The world
      is flux, and light becomes what it touches,
      becomes water, lilies on water,
      above and below water,
      becomes lilac and mauve and yellow
      and white and cerulean lamps,
      small fists passing sunlight
      so quickly to one another
      that it would take long, streaming hair
      inside my brush to catch it.
      To paint the speed of light!
      Our weighted shapes, these verticals,
      burn to mix with air
      and changes our bones, skin, clothes
      to gases. Doctor,
      if only you could see
      how heaven pulls earth into its arms
      and how infinitely the heart expands
      to claim this world, blue vapor without end.

      - Lisel Mueller, posted to truevision




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