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#3142 - Sunday, April 20, 2008

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  • markwotter704
    Archived issues of the NDHighlights are available online: http://nonduality.com/hlhome.htm Nonduality Highlights: Issue
    Message 1 of 1 , Apr 20, 2008
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      Archived issues of the NDHighlights are available online: http://nonduality.com/hlhome.htm

      Nonduality Highlights: Issue #3142, Sunday, April 20, 2008





      In the Kitchen

      I remember this illumination happening to me one noontime as I stood in the kitchen and watched my children eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. We were having a most unremarkable time on a nondescript day, in the midst of the most quotidian of routines. I hadn't censed the table, sprinkled the place mats with holy water, or uttered a sanctifying prayer over the Wonder bread. I wasn't feeling particularly "spiritual."

      But, heeding i don't know what prompting, I stopped abruptly in mid-bustle, or mid-woolgathering, and looked around me as if I were opening my eyes for the first time that day.

      The entire room became luminous and so alive with movement that everything seemed suspended-yet pulsating-for an instant, like light waves. Intense joy swelled up inside me, and my immediate response was gratitude-gratitude for everything, every tiny thing in that space. The shelter of the room became a warm embrace; water flowing from the tap seemed a tremendous miracle; as my children became, for a moment, not my property or my charges or my tasks, but eternal beings of infinite singularity and complexity whom I would one day, in and age to come, apprehend in their splendid fullness.

      -Holly Bridges Elliot, posted to TheNow_2




      look at love
      how it tangles
      with the one fallen in love

      look at spirit
      how it fuses with earth
      giving it new life
      why are you so busy
      with this or that or good or bad
      pay attention to how things blend

      why talk about all
      the known and the unknown
      see how the unknown merges into the known

      why think seperately
      of this life and the next
      when one is born from the last

      look at your heart and tongue
      one feels but deaf and dumb
      the other speaks in words and signs

      look at water and fire
      earth and wind
      enemies and friends all at once

      the wolf and the lamb
      the lion and the deer
      far away yet together

      look at the unity of this
      spring and winter
      manifested in the equinox

      you too must mingle my friends
      since the earth and the sky
      are mingled just for you and me

      be like sugarcane
      sweet yet silent
      don't get mixed up with bitter words

      my beloved grows
      right out of my own heart
      how much more union can there be

      - Rumi, translated by Nader Khalili, from  Rumi, Fountain of Fire




      Within this earthen vessel

      Within this earthen vessel are bowers and groves, and within it is the Creator:
      Within this vessel are the seven oceans and the unnumbered stars.
      The touchstone and the jewel-appraiser are within;
      And within this vessel the Eternal soundeth, and the spring wells up.
      Kabir says: "Listen to me, my Friend! My beloved Lord is within."

      - Kabir, from One Hundred Poems of Kabir, Translated by Rabindranath Tagore




      It is time for me to go, Mother; I am going.

      When in the paling darkness of the lonely dawn
      you stretch your arms for your baby in the bed,
      I shall say, "Baby is not there!"
      - Mother, I am going.

      I shall become a delicate draught of air
      and caress you; and I shall be ripples
      in the water when you bathe;
      and kiss you and kiss you again.

      In the gusty night when the rain patters on the leaves
      you will hear my whisper in your bed,
      and my laughter will flash with the lightning
      through the open window into your room.

      If you lie awake, thinking of your baby till late into the night,
      I shall sing to you from the stars, "Sleep, Mother, sleep."

      On the straying moonbeams I shall steal over your bed,
      and lie upon your bosom while you sleep.

      I shall become a dream, and through the little opening
      of your eyelids I shall slip into the depths of your sleep;
      and when you wake up and look round startled,
      like a twinkling firefly I shall flit out into the darkness.

      When, on the great festival of PUJA,
      the neighbours' children come and play about the house
      , I shall melt into the music of the flute
      and throb in your heart all day.

      Dear auntie will come with your PUJA presents and will ask,
      "Where is our baby, sister?" Mother you tell her softly,
      "He is in the pupils of my eyes,
      he is my body and my soul."

      - Rabindranath Tagore, from The Crescent Moon




      Honey At The Table

      It fills you with the soft

      essence of vanished flowers, it becomes
      a trickle sharp as a hair that you follow
      from the honey pot over the table

      and out the door and over the ground,
      and all the while it thickens,

      grows deeper and wilder, edged
      with pine boughs and wet boulders,
      pawprints of bobcat and bear, until

      deep in the forest you
      shuffle up some tree, you rip the bark,

      you float into and swallow the dripping combs,
      bits of the tree, crushed bees - - - a taste
      composed of everything lost, in which everything lost is found.

      - Mary Oliver




      Poem (The spirit likes to dress up...)

      The spirit
      likes to dress up like this:
      ten fingers,
      ten toes,

      shoulders, and all the rest
      at night
      in the black branches,
      in the morning

      in the blue branches
      of the world.
      It could float, of course,
      but would rather

      plumb rough matter.
      Airy and shapeless thing,
      it needs
      the metaphor of the body,

      lime and appetite,
      the oceanic fluids;
      it needs the body's world,
      instinct

      and imagination
      and the dark hug of time,
      sweetness
      and tangibility,
      to be understood,
      to be more than pure light
      that burns
      where no one is -

      so it enters us -
      in the morning
      shines from brute comfort
      like a stitch of lightning;
      and at night
      lights up the deep and wondrous
      drownings of the body
      like a star.

      - Mary Oliver




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