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#4699 - Tuesday, September 4, 2012 - Editor: Jerry Katz

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  • Jerry Katz
    #4699 - Tuesday, September 4, 2012 - Editor: Jerry Katz The Nonduality Highlights http://groups.yahoo.com/group/NDhighlights/ ... Hi everybody. In my previous
    Message 1 of 1 , Sep 5, 2012
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      #4699 - Tuesday, September 4, 2012 - Editor: Jerry Katz
       
       
       

       
      Hi everybody. In my previous issue some links weren't working and here they are:
       
      Vicki Woodyard
       
      Website address is now http://www.vickiwoodyard.com.
       
      tumbler link:
       
       
      A  Guru in the Guest Room link is: 
       
      http://www.amazon.com/Guru-Guest-Room-Vicki-Woodyard/dp/1936539578/ref=sr_1_1_title_1_pap?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1333224537&sr=1-1
       
      Scott Kiloby's talks:
       
       
       

       
      For each of us, I would say, there are two sides to our nonduality story. There's the side of pain and suffering and the side of freedom along with the reactions of people around us when they see we are no longer known by our complaints and pain. These two poems by Elizabeth, a poet from Cape Breton, Nova Scotia, depict both sides. A third poem by Elizabeth makes for an effective triad.
       
      Endsville
       
      i dig at my skin ‘til my arms are raw i wait by the phone but you never call these are the things i can’t forgive they call it endsville where we live
       
      if you look at the sky you can see the moon the newspapers say that she died too soon there are cracks in the mirrors and holes in the streets there are lies in your eyes, there is blood on my sheets
       
      nothing was said that was ever done in endsville you can’t see the sun the playgrounds all are poison cracked where houses stood, there now stand shacks
       
      these are the things i can’t forgive they call it endsville where we live the air is wasted, no birds sing they fly aways on broken wings
       
      there’s nothing lost that can’t be found these days i stand on sacred ground with arms stretched wide, i scream to pray that someday i’ll forget your name
       
      where trees once stood are gnarled roots i fold myself in solitude these are the things i can’t forgive they call it endsville where we live
       
       
      ----------------
       
       
      The Lost Years (a ghazal)
       
      We tracked her to a point, then she was lost.
      With years that passed, all trace of her was lost.
       
      We thought that we had pinned down where she was.
      It did not last. All trace of her was lost.
       
      Someone saw her standing on a bridge.
      It happened fast. All trace of her was lost.
       
      They said that was the way that it should be.
      The stone was cast. All trace of her was lost.
       
      Isabel, what have you done? How could you?
      We stood aghast. All trace of her was lost.
       
       
      -----------------
       
       
      seashells drift

      seashells gently drift
      beneath these white-foam waves,
      this endless, rolling sea.
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