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#1867 - Friday, July 23, 2004 - Editor: Gloria  

 

Join the Day out of Time/Great Calendar Change!  

Celebrated annually since 1993, the Day out of Time is a global celebration of
"Peace Through Culture" promoting the paradigm "Time is Art."

This year's Day out of Time celebration on July 25, White Spectral Mirror
will be will be the largest yet,
as it is the launchpad for the July 26, 2004 Blue Crystal Storm Year
GREAT CALENDAR CHANGE!

Over a quarter of a million people now regularly follow the 13-moon/28-day calendar
(and tons more have heard of it!)
and it is now used in over 90 countries - spanning 6 continents
as the harmonic standard of time,
replacing the irregular 12-month Gregorian calendar!

This grand cycle of evolution will culminate winter solstice, December 21, 2012 AD.

This time we are now in has been called "The Time of Trial on Earth," "Judgement Day," "The Time of Great Purification," "The End of this Creation," "The Quickening," "The End of Time as We Know It," "The Shift of the Ages." It is foretold that the completion of the Precession brings regeneration of Earth, offering awakening to all open, willing hearts. Many peoples spoke of these last days of the Great Cycle, including the: Maya, Hopi, Egyptians, Kabbalists, Essenes, Qero elders of Peru, Navajo, Cherokee, Apache, Iroquois confederacy, Dogon Tribe, and Aborigines.

http://www.13moon.com/Home-of-SkyTime%27s-Natural-Time-Calendar.htm


  The Self in man and in the sun are one.
Those who understand this see through the world
And go beyond the various sheaths
Of being to realize the unity of life.
Those who realize that all life is one
Are at home everywhere and see themselves
In all beings.

-Taittiriya Upanishad

From The Upanishads, translated by Eknath Easwaran, copyright 1987.

Butterfly byAl Larus: http://www.ferryfee.com/bluesky/Sixteen.htm

 



There's a basket full of loaves on your head,
yet you're begging for crusts of bread from door to door.
Pay attention to your own head, abandon giddiness.
Why are you knocking at every other door?
Go, knock at the door of your own heart.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Yek sapad por-e nân torâ bar farq-e sar
to hami khvâhi lab-e nân dar be-dar
Dar sar-e khvod pich hel khireh-sari
raw dar del zan cherâ bar har dari

-- Mathnawi V: 1073-1074
Version by Camille and Kabir Helminski
"Rumi: Jewels of Remembrance"
Threshold Books, 1996
Persian transliteration courtesy of Yahyá Monastra)
 

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Sunlight/message/1941


In the stream,  

In the stream,
Rushing past
To the dusty world,
My fleeting form
Casts no reflection.

-- from The Zen Poetry of Dogen, Steven Heine

One of six verses composed in An'yoin Temple in Fukakusa, 1230:

Drifting pitifully in the whirlwind of birth and death,
As if wandering in a dream,
In the midst of illusion I awaken to the true path;
There is one more matter I must not neglect,
But I need not bother now,
As I listen to the sound of the evening rain
Falling on the roof of my temple retreat
In the deep grass of Fukakusa.

http://www.poetry-chaikhana.com/D/Dogen/index.htm#PoemList


Allspirit Inspiration - "A Parable"     f

rom "Leave Her Alone" by Megan McKenna:

  Once upon a time a young man sought out an old wise woman, whom some
said was a saint. The hut was almost empty, with only simple
necessities and a cherished possession or two. As they sat together
peace soothed the visitor. They spent time in silence together and
then he asked the burning question of his heart: "Do you know where I
can find God?" She looked at him with interest and didn't answer for a
moment. Then she said, "That's not as easy question. I need to think
on it so I can answer you clearly. Can you come back tomorrow after
I've prayed?" Immediately the young man nodded his assent. And then
the old woman added, "Would you bring me a glass of milk when you come?"
        The night could not pass quickly enough for the young man, and
he was back at the hut, with his glass of milk as requested, right on
time. He was welcomed in, and they sat together in silence again. As
he waited, not really with any patience, the old woman poured the milk
into her begging bowl. Then she stirred it with her fingers, swirling
it around and around, lifting it with her fingers. Of course, the milk
ran through her fingers, and she frowned as it fell back into the
bowl. She did this over and over and over again, never looking up at him.
        He was impatient and wanted his answer. He watched, wondering
what in the world she was doing with the milk. But she kept at
stirring the milk, lifting it and looking at her hand after it had run
down her fingers and back into the bowl. Finally the young man
couldn't stand it anymore and blurted out, "Please, what are you
doing? What are you looking for?"
        She looked up at him and said, "I had heard that there was
butter milk. I'm looking for the butter, but I can't seem to find it."
The young man almost burst out laughing. He was quick to correct her,
saying, "No, no. It's not like that at all. You don't understand. The
butter isn't in the milk. It's not separate from it. You have to
convert it. You have to make it into yogurt and then churn it to make
the butter come out."
        She beamed at him. "Very good! You do understand. And you have
the answer to your question." He looked at her dumbly,
uncomprehending. And she drank the milk in her begging bowl. "I
believe, " she said, "it is time for you to go home. Go and churn the
milk of your life, of your heart and soul and your relationships, and
you will find God!Remember - keep stirring, lifting, swirling,
converting, and transforming. God's there, hidden in your life, not
separate from it, or from you."
__________________________
 

from "A Book of Psalms" by Stephen Mitchell:

Psalm 93

God acts within every moment
   and creates the world with each breath.
He speaks from the center of the universe,
   in the silence beyond all thought.
Mightier than the crash of a thunderstorm,
   mightier than the roar of the sea,
is God's voice silently speaking
   in the depths of the listening heart.


  MillionPaths - Thus Spake Ramana - 52.  

52. Knowing the Self is being the Self, and being means existence - one's own existence - which no one denies, anymore than one denies one's eyes, although one cannot see them. The trouble lies with your desire to objectify the Self, in the same way as you objectify your eyes, when you place a mirror before them. You have been so accustomed to objectify that you lost the knowledge of yourself, simply because the Self cannot be objectified. Who is to know the Self? Can the insentient body or mind know it? All the time you speak and think of your "I", "I", "I", yet when questioned you deny knowledge of it. You are the Self, yet you ask as to how to know the Self!



 Yellow Petal by Al Larus: http://www.ferryfee.com/bluesky/Seventeen.htm  

Working Together    

We shape our self
to fit this world

and by the world
are shaped again.

The visible
and the invisible

working together
in common cause,

to produce
the miraculous.

I am thinking of the way
the intangible air

passed at speed
round a shaped wing

easily
holds our weight.

So may we, in this life
trust

to those elements
we have yet to see

or imagine,
and look for the true

shape of our own self,
by forming it well

to the great
intangibles about us.

-- from The House of Belonging, David Whyte

http://www.poetry-chaikhana.com/W/WhyteDavid/WorkingToger.htm

 

  It is Not Enough

It is not enough to know.
It is not enough to follow
the inward road conversing in secret.

It is not enough to see straight ahead,
to gaze at the unborn
thinking the silence belongs to you.

It is not enough to hear
even the tiniest edge of rain.

You must go to the place
where everything waits,
there, when you finally rest,
even one word will do,
one word or the palm of your hand
turning outward
in the gesture of gift.

And now we are truly afraid
to find the great silence
asking so little.

One word, one word only.
 

-- from Where Many Rivers Meet, David Whyte

http://www.poetry-chaikhana.com/W/WhyteDavid/ItisNotEnoug.htm


  A land not mine, still  

A land not mine, still
forever memorable,
the waters of its ocean
chill and fresh.

Sand on the bottom whiter than chalk,
and the air drunk, like wine,
late sun lays bare
the rosy limbs of the pinetrees.

Sunset in the ethereal waves:
I cannot tell if the day
is ending, or the world, or if
the secret of secrets is inside me again.

About Anna Akhmatova

1964

-- from Women in Praise of the Sacred, ed. Jane Hirshfield

http://www.poetry-chaikhana.com/A/AkhmatovaAnn/Alnotminesti.htm

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