You are perfect.
Pure gold.
Brighter than the sun.
– Dean Evans –
I
Before all experience,
Before all thought of identity,
Before all mirrors and photographs,
Before all vanity, gratification, and delusion,
Before all vexations of desire and fear,
Before all suffering of existence,
Who-what-when-where-why,
How are You, really?
* * * *
Move prior to concept, prior to known.
Return to the untainted awareness of the child,
The uncarved freedom of the empty tablet,
Prior to all said, all done, all imagined.
* * * *
You are the source,
The quantum ocean,
The absolute supreme,
The eternal unicity of isness.
* * * *
Discovering your true birthright,
Requires the persistence,
Of an aloof scientist,
Gradually scraping away,
At the layers of conditioning,
Until at some point, there is nothing left,
And what You truly are, and are not, is quite apparent.
* * * *
There is really no death,
Only the departure of the senses,
And the dissolution of imagined identity.
* * * *
When in every moment,
You see without a trace of doubt,
That there is no witness other than You;
That those many pedestaled images of great souls,
Were projections of the inherent longing,
To awaken to the birthright,
That is prior to consciousness;
You will be free of artificial limits.
You will have triumphed over illusion.
You will have discovered the indelible truth:
That you are, indeed, sovereign, indivisibly absolute.
II
Everything that appears real,
Everything that you have been told,
Everything that you have come to believe,
Is all the fabrication of your mind.
* * * *
There is no path.
There is no dogma.
There is only the absolute,
And a universe of appearances,
Disguising the way home.
* * * *
There has ever been now, is ever now, will ever be now.
Never has there been any time other than right here now.
* * * *
When you are satiated of identity,
Weary of meaningless experiences,
When you would even die to be free,
You will do whatever needs to be done,
To spin no more on the web of suffering.
* * * *
When struggle and resistance end,
When surrender to what is, is complete,
You will be the awareness that is home to all.
* * * *
Love can only be total, unconditional.
Other uses of the word are of self-absorption:
Incomplete, limited, conditional, manipulative, painful.
* * * *
It is natural to want to know who you are,
But the thoughts of self, the attachment to persona,
The encasements of identity: labels, definitions, assumptions,
Are not the instruments that will truly get you home.
All concoctions, all speculations of mind,
Are only obstacles to the journey.
* * * *
Call it by whatever sound you will:
God, Allah, Brahman, Tao, Buddha, Krishna,
Christ, Great Spirit, Way, Absolute, Supreme, Totality,
Or any of the many other labels it is given throughout the world,
It is ever the same indivisible mystery, cloaked by the illusion of diversity.
III
The manifest dance is timeless, ever-present, undying.
A dreamtime without beginning, without end;
Without cause or purpose or meaning;
Neither definable nor explicable,
For it is beyond all rational appearances.
It can never be known, comprehended, or understood,
Except in the most roundabout, circumspect, oblique, effortless ways.
And in that which is intuited, there is no gain or reward.
One simply wanders spontaneously free,
Whatever the course.
* * * *
Taste the tasteless,
Hear the soundless,
Touch the untouchable,
Smell that which has no scent,
And you will see the unseen.
* * * *
All identity is make-believe, a collusion of human scale.
* * * *
Manifestation is simply mask after mask,
Disguising an artful, mischievous trickster,
Playing an eternal game of hide-and-seek.
* * * *
The many teachers of suffering:
Illness, injury, aging, dying, and death,
Would you, could you, awaken without them?
* * * *
You who seek are already that which is sought.
You are the unequivocal source, the mystery, pure and simple.
Discerning it clearly in the everyday, without a trace of doubt, is the challenge.
* * * *
There can be no serenity, no contentment, in the restlessness of desire,
The dread of fear, the isolation of anger, or the arrogance of pride.
* * * *
Occasionally, attentively reflect within … "I am.”
That unadorned thought is the first and foremost assumption.
Contemplate it closely, thoroughly, add nothing to it.
See its subtle movement to the source within.
Those persistent and discerning enough,
Will dissolve into the inexplicable.
IV
This fleeting mystery is a whimsical kaleidoscope.
An eternal, immortal weaving; without beginning, without end.
A boundless, indivisible ocean of light and shadow, in which all forms dance.
All one can observe of the mystery, are the countless manifestations;
Never the dispassionate, unwavering witness beneath.
* * * *
All mythos, all sense of time, all sense of history,
Is nothing more than the make-believe of adults.
* * * *
What you call real,
Is merely a reflection,
A temporal, dreamy illusion,
An enticing, ever-changing lightshow.
Your true nature is none of it.
* * * *
So many words you cleave your Self into.
* * * *
The infinite source of manifestation,
Is tasteless and untouchable;
Without vision or sound or fragrance.
What one perceives is but imagination’s reverie.
The vague, obtuse, ephemeral quality of awareness called intuition,
Is as near to understanding as any one can ever come.
* * * *
Be serene, content, alert, cheerfully at ease.
It is your original state, your birthright.
It requires no choice, effort, or contention.
No outward manifestation or proof is required.
It is a natural state of awareness, of simple beingness.
An effortless wander in the unconditional, timeless aloneness.
* * * *
To maintain any one path most true,
To insist on duality in any way, any shape, any form,
Is to completely misconstrue the relativity of this manifest dreamtime.
* * * *
Worship martyrs, crosses, statues, crystals, photographs,
Nature, wealth, words, ideas, or whatever your own will manufactures,
Or simply attend nothing but your own momentary awareness.
But for the sorrow of continuity, in all but the latter,
All dreams pass in the same manner.
V
Put aside all hope, all gain and loss, all dreams of glory;
All yearning, hate, anger, fear, envy, and jealousy;
All dread of sickness, injury, aging, and dying.
Your mind-body is but a temporal dream.
You are eternal, sovereign, absolute.
* * * *
There appear to be many paths,
In the return to isness.
All are equal in the quest home,
Because, like Dorothy's adventure in Oz,
No one ever really left Kansas.
* * * *
Understand the subtlety, the discernment,
The judgement, the discrimination, the shrewdness,
Between claiming You are God, and knowing You are godness.
One cannot be, and the other never was not.
* * * *
You are a window to the eternal,
But must part the tattered curtains,
And wipe away the smudge, to see it.
* * * *
There are the ignorant who think they know,
And the ignorant who know they do not.
* * * *
Whether you were born by chance,
Or chose your parents through karmic design;
Whether you exist just once, or well past a gazillion times,
With a succession of identities playing out through the abyss of eternity;
From the indivisible perspective, it is all very much the same.
* * * *
Explore love as much as you might with all your beingness,
It is the awareness within all, that is its unfathomable cradle.
* * * *
You may sit quietly and breathe with your eyes wide open or tightly shut;
Chant spiritual songs or hum mantras until your mind is three shades of blue;
Practice every sort of rigid, dogmatic, death-defying diet or prescribed exercise;
Submit to ancient beliefs, rituals, and traditions; wear costumes and deify symbols;
Practice any discipline, worship any form your mind or another's might conjure;
Real meditation is the serene awareness of every moment's birth and death,
And no system is required to discern and freely perceive your birthright.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)