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Nondual Highlights #2073 - Saturday, March 5, 2004 - Editor: Gloria 

"I think that all poets are sending religious messages, because poetry is, in such great part, the comparison of one thing to another... and to insist, as all poets do, that all things are related to each other, comparable to each other, is to go toward making an assertion of the unity of all things."   - Richard Wilbur    


THE SKY'S SHEETS

When He touches me I clutch the sky's sheets,
the way other
lovers
do

the earth's weave
of clay.

Any real ecstasy is a sign
you are moving
in the right
direction,

don't let any prude tell
you otherwise.

- St. Theresa



 

Your true substance is concealed in falsehood,
like the taste of butter in buttermilk.
Your falsehood is this perishable body;
your truth is that exalted spirit.
For many years, this buttermilk of the body,
is visible and manifest, while the butter, which is the spirit,
is perishing and ignored within it-
until God sends a prophet, a chosen servant,
a shaker of the buttermilk in the churn,
who skillfully shakes it, so that you might know
your true self which was hidden.

- Rumi  [Mathnawi  IV, 3030-3034]
'Jewels of Remembrance' Camille and Kabir Helminski



  Reality as it is becomes the right view of the meditator. Thinking of it as it is becomes the right thought. Awareness of it as it is becomes the right awareness. Concentration on it as it is becomes the right concentration. Actions of the body and speech are then aligned to reality as it is. In this way the meditator develops and is fulfilled.

- Majjhima Nikaya
From "Buddha Speaks," edited by Anne Bancroft, 2000
 


   

          Time is in the mind, space is in the mind.
        The law of cause and effect is also a way of
        thinking.  In reality all is here and now and
        all is one.  Multiplicity and diversity are in
        the mind only.
   
                            - Nisargadatta Maharaj

 


           Your strongest held beliefs about "how things
        are" will draw into your life those very experiences
        that will work to support and prove your strongest
        held beliefs about "how things are."

        The Universe loves you so completely that itıs
        compelled to present itself to you in ways that will
        tend to validate your strongest held beliefs - no matter
        how self-limiting or off-the-wall those beliefs might be.
   
        In short, the Universe wants to make you right.
 
                               - Chuck Hillig

 


 

What I point out to you is only that
You shouldn’t allow yourselves
To be confused by others.
Act when you need to,
Without further hesitation or doubt.
People today can’t do this.
What is their affliction?
Their affliction is in their
Lack of self-confidence.
If you do not spontaneously
Trust yourself sufficiently,
You will be in a frantic state,
Pursuing all sorts of objects
And being changed by those objects,
Unable to be independent.

- Linji (d.867


  You can say anything you want, yessir, but it's the words that sing,
they soar and descend . . . I bow to them . . . I love them, I cling to
them, I run them down, I bite into them, I melt them down . . . I love
words so much . . . The unexpected ones . . . The ones I wait for
greedily or stalk until, suddenly, they drop . . . Vowels I love . . .
They glitter like colored stones, they leap like silver fish, they are
foam, thread, metal, dew . . . I run after certain words . . . They
are so beautiful that I want to fit them all into my poem . . . I
catch them in midflight, as they buzz past, I trap them, clean them,
peel them, I set myself in front of the dish, they have a crystalline
texture to me, vibrant, ivory, vegetable, oily, like fruit, like
algae, like agates, like olives . . . And I stir them, I shake them,
I drink them, I gulp them down, I mash them, I garnish them, I let
them go . . . I leave them in my poem like stalactites, like slivers
of polished wood, like coals, pickings from a shipwreck, gifts from
the waves . . . Everything exists in the word . . .

From Memoirs by Pablo Neruda (NY: Penguin, 1974), p. 53.
   

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