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#3601 - Wednesday, July 22, 2009 - Editor: Gloria Lee

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  • Gloria Lee
    #3601 - Wednesday, July 22, 2009 - Editor: Gloria Lee Nonduality Highlights http://groups.yahoo.com/group/NDhighlights Do not struggle. Go with the flow of
    Message 1 of 1 , Jul 23, 2009

      #3601 - Wednesday, July 22, 2009 - Editor: Gloria Lee
      Nonduality Highlights
      Do not struggle.
      Go with the flow of things,
      and you will find yourself at one
      with the mysterious unity of the Universe.

      By Chuang Tzu 

      So Far, So Good

      We often react as if life is attacking us.
      “I’m not going to be able to stand this,”
      we fret as life pushes us beyond our snug little ego comfort zone.
      But we have no evidence of not being able to handle anything life brings us.
      How do we know that? We’ve handled everything so far.

      –Cheri Huber, from When You’re Falling, Dive (Keep It Simple Books)

       I Loved What I Could Love

      I had a natural passion for fine clothes, excellent food, and
      lively conversation about all matters that concern
      the heart still alive. And even a passion
      about my own

      Vanities: they do not exist.

      Have you ever walked across a stream stepping on
      rocks so not to spoil a pair of shoes?

      All we can touch, swallow, or say
      aids in our crossing to God
      and helps unveil the

      Life smooths us, rounds, perfects, as does the river the stone,
      and there is no place our Beloved is not flowing
      though the current’s force you
      may not always

      Our passions help to lift us.

      I loved what I could love until I held God,
      for then—all things—every world

      St. Teresa of Avila

      * From Daniel Ladinsky’s Love Poems from God: Twelve Sacred Voices from the East and West

      posted to Daily Dharma by Amrita Nadi

      Buddha's Dogs
      I'm at a day-long meditation retreat, eight hours of watching
      my mind with my mind,
      and I already fell asleep twice and nearly fell out of my chair,
      and it's not even noon yet.
      In the morning session, I learned to count my thoughts, ten in
      one minute, and the longest
      was to leave and go to San Anselmo and shop, then find an outdoor cafe and order a glass
      of Sancerre, smoked trout with roasted potatoes and baby
      carrots and a bowl of gazpacho.
      But I stayed and learned to name my thoughts, so far they are:
      wanting, wanting, wanting,
      wanting, wanting, wanting, wanting, wanting, judgment,
      Don't identify with your
      , the teacher says,
      you are not your personality, not your
      then he bangs the gong for lunch.  Whoever, whatever I am is
      given instruction
      in the walking meditation and the eating meditation and walks
      outside with the other
      meditators, and we wobble across the lake like The Night of the
      Living Dead.
      I meditate slowly, falling over a few times because I kept my
      foot in the air too long,
      towards a bench, sit slowly down, and slowly eat my sandwich,
      noticing the bread,
      (sourdough), noticing the taste, (tuna, sourdough), noticing
      the smell, (sourdough, tuna),
      thanking the sourdough, the tuna, the ocean, the boat, the
      fisherman, the field, the grain,
      the farmer, the Saran Wrap that kept this food fresh for this
      body made of food and desire
      and the hope of getting through the rest of this day without
      dying of boredom.
      Sun then cloud then sun.  I notice a maple leaf on my sandwich.
      It seems awfully large.
      Slowly brushing it away, I feel so sad I can hardly stand it, so I
      name my thoughts; they are:
      sadness about my mother, judgment about my father, wanting
      the child I never had.
      I notice I've been chasing the same thoughts like dogs around
      the same park most of my life,
      notice the leaf tumbling gold to the grass.  The gong sounds,
      and back in the hall.
      I decide to try lying down meditation, and let myself sleep.  The
      Buddha in my dream is me,
      surrounded by dogs wagging their tails, licking my hands.
      I wake up
      for the forgiveness meditation, the teacher saying, never put
      anyone out of your heart
      and the heart opens and knows it won't last and will have to
      open again and again,
      chasing those dogs around and around in the sun then cloud
      then sun.
      ~ Susan Browne ~
      (Buddha's Dogs)


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