- ... its true for me I am closer to the rawness of Gospel vs the etheric Indian Classical music ... no, not even the 6 incarnations of Buddha remembered, justMessage 1 of 105 , Oct 2, 2003View Source
> > > > I abslutelly looove them, I used toits true for me I am closer to the
> > > > sneak into the Watts for sermon
> > > >
> > > > Ladies in big hats totally free
> > > > let it all out dancing ans singing
> > > > praising the Lord
> > > >
> > > > and Gospel music takes the Kundalini
> > > > high high way high into extasy,
> > > > better than Ravi Sahankar
rawness of Gospel vs the etheric Indian Classical music
> > > I know, I enjoyed a group when I lived in the city. They wereno, not even the 6 incarnations of
> > > masters of using sound in that way.
> > >
> > > > <grin>
> > > >
> > > > but white preachers belong to a circus
> > >
> > > Our old ethnic church was very sedate and they sang badly but
> > > things the preacher talked about, you would probably agree with.
> > > think he was a non-dualist but he might have believed in
> > > reincarnation, it was hard to tell. At funerals he talked about
> > > merging back with god but also about recycling.
> > >
> > oh Oniko, if there is an after-life
> > I most definetly want to spend some
> > time with you
> > we can go to search together for our
> > friends and see what are they up to
> Do you think we can remember who we were?
Buddha remembered, just sensed their
there is no "reincarnation" as its
entertained at these forums which are
at kindergarten level, best to leave it
its an exlopsive subject for those "who
wanna *LIVE*! for ever"
I believe in fairytales though
There are pools of ethical values,
levels of understandings, transperencies
to hold light and we dwell and share dwellings with the like minded
here and there
> I can't even remember whoplease don't forget to say hello
> I am most of the time when I'm dreaming. If you keep still at night,
> I might be able to come and say hello to you before I die and maybe
when you feel like it where ever I be,
I be happy to hear from you always
- ... Nina, you just made my day smilesMessage 105 of 105 , Oct 5, 2003View Source--- In email@example.com, "Nina" <murrkis@y...> wrote:
> > > When the inspiration fails, it is no worse thanNina, you just made my day
> > > a sandcastle being washed away by the beach tide.
> > > Tomorrow, I build another sandcastle.
> > >
> > > The thing is, I do know that at any time, I could
> > > let go of the sandcastle building... but why?
> > > Maybe you know why and would share the why...
> > SG: one perhaps builds sandcastles until there is no longer
> > an attachment to building and creating a structured form ......
> > Inspirations may be wrapped up in sandcastles .....
> > perhaps at that point one simply creates them out of the joy of
> > the moment..... not expecting them to last but simply for the
> > beauty and joy of spontaneous art and motion which flows from
> > the Bliss of Being here now in this place in this moment .......
> > it needs not carry behind it some representation or hidden
> > meaning it simply is as it is Beautiful and sacred within it's own
> > right.......
> > then as in all things (this creation of the moment) simply falls
> > away so that another image may take its place
> > First one goes beyond the transient unfolding play before it is
> > fully understood and appreciated for what it is ....... then one
> > steps back into the lila and play simply Enjoying that lila as an
> > expression of Infinite Love in motion........
> > Formless or Form it is the same Essense
> > minus the distinguishing factors .....
> > SG: hahahahaha perhaps so .... everything proceeds from
> > Source and returns to Source in some manner......
> > Infinite Love
> 1. There are pictures of this sandcastle building: faded square
> photographs with radiused corners, the blues and greens and sand
> colors of photographs from that time, the reds always slightly
> pungent, as if the pigment were wired and erratic, unsure of its
> place in the film. There we are, squatting in the sand: my blond-
> haired mother, sitting aside, arm around the barrel-chest of the
> small grey dog; my father and a very small I sitting together,
> scraping sand into forms. What the photograph barely hints at is the
> joy of building that sandcastle, part enjoyment of the sand and
> water, part thrill and satisfaction of building it with my father.
> What the photograph doesn't contain is what came later. After
> building it, I felt so much happiness and pride; we played in the
> water, and I kept looking back to see that sandcastle sitting before
> the waves. Then the two boys came, stepping into the sandcastle,
> crushing it. I cried salt tears to the sea, inconsolable, and unable
> to explain or even understand that the greatest loss was not the
> sandcastle, but what the sandcastle represented.
> 2. We like to go early to the beach, before the beach patrol comes on
> line, and let our dogs run off leash. One morning, on the way back,
> we are walking close to the dunes, past a sandcastle left above the
> tide line. One of the dogs stalks the sandcastle, circling it,
> sniffing it carefully, as if the castle might move. She notes the
> hollow center of the castle, and daintily scratches it with one paw,
> once, twice. Moving within the hollow, she begins to dig, throwing
> large arcs of sand beneath and behind her, very efficiently deepening
> the hollow. Sufficiently inspired, she leaps from the castle, and
> runs circles on the beach. She is amazing, lean muscle and arching
> back, her earth-pounding feet carrying her so close to us on her
> returns that her breath is heard and wake is felt.
> 3. After the walk, I remain on the beach after the others return
> home. The sun is coming up, pink and orange, and the sky is humid and
> a thick blue-grey. The moon is still out, and a few stars, but are
> gradually fading in a sky that is approaching their brilliance. I
> stand within the laps of the waves, and look out to the rocking
> shrimp boats, and the long, thin horizon beyond. With each receding
> wave, the water draws sand from beneath the edges of my feet.
> Eventually, I am balancing on two pyramids beneath my arches. I find
> that if I am not perfectly balanced through the soles of my feet as
> these pyramids form, that eventually I must cling to the tops of the
> pyramids with the muscles of my legs, lest my feet slide from the
> pyramids. I stand for a long while like this, trying on new pyramids,
> learning as a matter of course what it is to be perfectly balanced
> within my soles, and how transparent and effortless that feels,
> watching the night suns recede as I am warmed by the heat advancing
> in the eastern sky. At some point, the shrimp boats disappear, and I
> take that as my cue to leave.
> Thanks for your letter, SG.