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The wind carves shapes into the beach sand

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Issue #1429 - Monday, May 12, 2003 - Editor: Jerry  

Hwy 24 South of Buena Vista in Colorado -- photo by "Ben and Diana" NDS


from Daily Dharma




"A free bird leaps on the back of the wind
 and floats downstream till the current ends
 and dips his wing in the orange suns rays
 and dares to claim the sky.


But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage
 can seldom see through his bars of rage
 his wings are clipped and his feet are
 tied so he opens his throat to sing.


The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
 of things unknown but longed for still
 and his tune is heard on the distant hill
 for the caged bird sings of freedom.


The free bird thinks of another breeze
 and the trade winds soft through the
 sighing trees and the fat worms
 waiting on a dawn-bright lawn and
 he names the sky his own.


But a caged bird stands on the
 grave of dreams his shadow shouts
 on a nightmare scream
 his wings are clipped and his feet are
 tied so he opens his throat to sing.


The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
of things unknown but longed for still
and his tune is heard on the distant hill
for the caged bird sings of freedom.”

~~ Maya Angelou


Live Journal

get a haircut hippies

Do people realize how incredibly boring they become when they
base their entire identity around a single hobby or cause? I
will cross the street to avoid people wearing Green party
buttons or "Meat is Murder" t-shirts, because the
hollow-yet-intense look in their eyes frightens me. I'm not
sure how people who endlessly proselytize about the benefits
of their alternative lifestyle differ from right-wing
religious fanatics, except possibly in that they wear clothing
made of hemp.

If you live in San Francisco, you may be familiar with our
REALLY AWESOME bicyclists. I had a bike, 'til it got stolen,
and enjoyed riding it, but I never felt the need to be a dick
about it. I never purposely veered into a car's way just so I
could scream, "SHARE THE ROAD," nor did I blatantly violate
traffic laws (and don't you bikers even try and tell me that
you don''t run red lights every chance you get) so I could
prove my point about how unsafe it is for bicyclists in the
city. Nor did I ever join Critical Mass rallies, which, even
when I lived in Gainesville, seemed pretty messed up.

For those of you who live in Guam, Critical Mass happens the
last Friday of every month in lots of cities, and basically is
a huge group of bikers who ride en masse around the downtown
area at evening drive time, clogging commuter traffic and
delaying the poor saps who are desperate to get home to their
miserable hovel in Hayward so they can finally get drunk. The
bikers are doing this to bring attention to the fact that we
should all be riding bikes, rather than wasting fossil fuels
in our "luxury SUVs" (read: 84 pintos). They wave away the
motorists' frustrations, explaining that they're doing it for
everyone's own good.

How much do you have to like yourself to fuck up someone
else's day for "their own good?" I'm not talking about busting
in on a pedophile's enjoyment of his 3 year old niece, but
fucking DRIVING, people. How would you like it if I randomly
busted in on you at T.G.I Friday's and slapped the curly fries
out of your mouth 'cause you look a little portly? Gah, the
sanctimoniousness of the whole business chaps my hide.

current mood: sickly
current music: bob wills- humdinger


Live Journal

I'm tired of discussing things, of analyzing them. They can be what they are in each person's eyes. I'm tired of debates.

Some things think themselves into existence, lift themselves out from the waters of imagination by their own power. You are just the prism through which these things arise.

I dreamed of a dark city some nights ago, gazing up at its spires I realized all of the horror and wonder of it was in the dream around me, nothing in the waking world would ever compare with it, no movie or no game. And most strange of all was seeing that the city is no place, just a half forgotten memory that through the power of being present in the mind, became a dark wonder. I tried to find that memory but it vanished. So now I'm looking for the memory and not the city but know neither will be found. I'm neither sad nor happy about that, just a little wistful. The next night may bring equal wonders from the seeds of memory.

I thought about pain today. I saw pain to be an entity in the I, and apart from it. The I is not the pain, the I is what is around and above and below it, in mind space. The I is just a cloud of light in the I space.

What do I want to be ? I have nowhere to go. My mind is becoming simple. I shy away from labels and committments of action. I don't know what I want to be or where I want to go. I have no program. I guess that'll be it, my epitaph in the future. "I have no program."





I used to see duality as
light and dark
hot and warm,  

but as I came to know 
the seer and the seen
are one,  

here is a temporary
two poled construction.



Let me give you a beautiful description of how Bhagavan spoke. It comes from part three of The Power of the Presence. It was written by G. V. Subbaramayya, a devotee who had intimate contact with Bhagavan. It illustrates very well my thesis that the words of a sage come from the Self, not from a mind: 

Sri Bhagavan's manner of speaking was itself unique. His normal state was silence. He spoke so little, casual visitors who only saw him for a short while wondered whether he ever spoke. To put questions to him and to elicit his replies was an art in itself that required an unusual exercise in self-control. A sincere doubt, an earnest question submitted to him never went without an answer, though sometimes his silence itself was the best answer to particular questions. A questioner needed to be able to wait patiently. To have the maximum chance of receiving a good answer, you had to put your question simply and briefly. Then you had to remain quiet and attentive. Sri Bhagavan would take his time and then begin slowly and haltingly to speak. As his speech continued, it would gather momentum. It would be like a drizzle gradually strengthening into a shower. Sometimes it might go on for hours together, holding the audience spellbound. But throughout the talk you had to keep completely still and not butt in with counter remarks. Any interruption from you would break the thread of his discourse and he would at once resume silence. He would never enter into a discussion, nor would he argue with anyone. The fact was, what he spoke was not a view or an opinion but the direct emanation of light from within that manifested as words in order to dispel the darkness of ignorance. The whole purpose of his reply was to make you turn inward, to make you see the light of truth within yourself. 


People who look for specific results from meditation but do not get
them, become discouraged and conclude that meditation has done them
no good; to them the Sage says: "It does not matter at all whether
these results are attained or not. The attainment of steadiness is
the main thing; it is the great gain. Anyhow they must trust
themselves to God and wait for His Grace without impatience. The same
rule applies to japa also; japa uttered even once does good, whether
the person is aware of it or not."

- Ramana Maharshi

Hari Aum !!!

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Nonduality: The Varieties of Expression Home

Jerry Katz
photography & writings

The wind carves shapes into the beach sand

Search over 5000 pages on Nonduality: