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#4583 - Saturday, April 28, 2011

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  • Mark
    Archived issues of the NDHighlights are available online: http://nonduality.com/hlhome.htm Nonduality Highlights: Issue
    Message 1 of 1 , Apr 29, 2012

      Archived issues of the NDHighlights are available online: http://nonduality.com/hlhome.htm

      Nonduality Highlights: Issue #4583, Saturday, April 28, 2011

      We are a haystack, the wheat entangled
      with the hay;
      Through the reviving wind, disentangle
      the wheat from the hay,
      Let the sorrow go to the sorrow, the joy
      to the joy,
      Let the mud go to the mud, and the heart
      rise to heaven.

      - Rumi, version by Muriel Maufroy from Breathing Truth - Quotations from Jalaluddin Rumi, posted to AlongTheWay


      Today I met a journeyman thatcher.
      He had not been born with that life in his blood;
      One day he just dug up his roots and left.
      Never looked back.

      He said that sometimes as he swept the thatch
      Up onto a roof and heard the shingle of the trees.
      The fields' chase, he was blown
      Out of the mad motorway of this age

      To a place that you never could buy,
      A place that is on no map.
      He had heard it and touched it in roofs,
      In thatch, just once or twice, for a moment.

      In him now the back lanes, the side roads
      Of a timeless time, a land where hay ricks
      Still jolt and topple. I sensed the sunlight in him
      Warm as a whole summer.

      - Kenneth Steven from Wild Horses, posted to allspirit

      unknown existence
      undiscovered beauty
      that's how you are
      so far
      one dawn
      just like a sun
      right from within
      you will arise

      - Rumi, from Ghazal 2840, translation by Nader Khalili from Rumi, Dancing the Flame, posted to Sunlight

      The Self

      It is small and no more visible than a cricket
      in August. It likes to dress up, to masquerade,
      as all dwarfs do. It lodges between
      granite blocks, between serviceable
      truths. It even fits under
      a bandage, under adhesive. Neither customs officers
      nor their beautiful dogs will find it. Between
      hymns, between alliances, it hides itself.
      It camps in the Rocky Mountains of the skull.
      An eternal refugee. It is I and I,
      with the fearful hope that I have found at last
      a friend, am it. But the self
      is so lonely, so distrustful, it does not
      accept anyone, even me.
      It clings to historical events
      not less tightly than water to a glass.
      I could fill a Neolithic jar.
      It is insatiable, it wants to flow
      in aquaducts, it thirsts for newer &; newer vessels.
      It wants to taste space without walls,
      diffuse itself. Then it fades away
      like desire, and in the silence of an August
      night you hear only crickets patiently
      conversing with the stars.

      - Adam Zagajewski, posted to allspirit

      ...pain and pleasure are the crests and valleys of the waves in the ocean of bliss. Deep down there is utter fullness.

      Nisargadatta Maharaj, posted to ANetofJewels

      You find peace not by rearranging the circumstances of your life, but by realizing who you are at the deepest level.

      - Eckhart Tolle, posted to The_Now2


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