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#2129 - Saturday, April 30, 2005 - Editor: Gloria     ***  

The only person who is with us our entire life, is ourselves. Be ALIVE while you are alive.
-  George Carlin


When you are stabilized in your own Self, then there is no otherness, you are everything. If you abide in your Self, you are like space and there is no duality left. You are as expansive and as subtle as space, and that is liberation. You are not conditioned by name and form. If you are like space, what is the point of going elsewhere? The space which is here is also everywhere else.

- Nisargadatta Maharaj


'Truth shall make you free.'
That's crisp, crystal clear.
It can survive any argument,
any discussion, or debate.
Truth can stand any challenges,
not by its own determination
but by its own proven victory;
not by what I say or you say,
but by Itself, Truth shines.
It shall prevail.

                      - Swami Amar Jyoti


How shall we seek real knowledge?
By renouncing knowledge.

How shall we seek salvation?
By renouncing our own salvation.

 How shall we seek Existence?
 By renouncing our existence.

                          - Rumi

from Along the Way

My Ashram is the universe  

A devotee from North India, Mr. Khanna, on his first visit  to the Ashram, asked Sri Bhagavan if he could become a member of the Ashram. Sri Bhagavan laughed and said,    

"My Ashram is the universe; you are part of the universe  therefore you are a member of the Ashram. Those who  |
come here cannot be given special preference and
 those who have not come cannot be ignored".  

~ Bhagavan Sri Ramana - A Pictorial Biography  

Viorica Weissman ~ MillionPaths  

photo by Gloria Lee      

"I sit firmly on my dried-up mat,
thoughts dead as ashes,
When the boy rushes in to announce
that spring has returned-

The empty cold smashed to bits,
the heavens dance with blossoms
That stir up what I've tried
all my futile life to still!"

~Gido Shushin

From dgsangha web page "Poetry:"

Heart and Truth

The heart's love of truth is not a thought or an idea.
It is not a matter of trying to live according to an ideal.
It's not a motive that comes from the mind. It is an
impulse from the depth of the soul, a deeply felt motive
from  the heart. It is not that we think and deliberate
and decide that truth is good for us, so we end up
wanting it. Love of the truth is not utilitarian. The truth
often ends up being utilitarian, but that is not what inspires
the right attitude for the journey. The correct attitude is
that of a lover who wants to be close to the Beloved.

~A. H. Almaas
'Spacecruiser Inquiry' pg 126

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Buddha image by Dave Mason  

Poems by Ryokan  

Ryokan’s Poem

Spring......slowly the peaceful sound
Of a priest's staff drifts from the village.
In the garden, green willows;
Water plants float serenely in the pond.
My bowl is fragrant from the rice of a thousand homes;
My heart has renounced the sovereignty of riches and
worldly fame.
Quietly cherishing the memory of the ancient Buddhas,
I walk to the village for another day of begging.


Fresh morning snow in front of the shrine.
The trees! Are they white with peach blossoms
Or white with snow?
The children and I joyfully throw snowballs.


My hut lies in the middle of a dense forest;
Every year the green ivy grows longer.
No news of the affairs of men,
Only the occasional song of a woodcutter.
The sun shines and I mend my robe;
When the moon comes out I read Buddhist poems.
I have nothing to report my friends.
If you want to find the meaning, stop chasing after
so many things.


A cold night - sitting alone in my empty room
Filled only with incense smoke.
Outside, a bamboo grove of a hundred trees;
On the bed several volumes of poetry.
The moon shines from the top of the window,
And the entire neighbourhood is still except for the
of insects.
Looking at this scene, limitless emotion,
But not one word.


The rain has stopped, the clouds have drifted away,
and the weather is clear again.
If your heart is pure, then all things in your world
are pure.
Abandon this fleeting world, abandon yourself,
Then the moon and flowers will guide you along the


Picking violets by the side of the road,
I forgot my begging bowl.
How sad you must be, my poor little bowl!


I forgot my bowl again!
Please nobody pick it up,
My lonely little bowl.


Everyone eats rice
Yet no one knows why
People laugh at me
If they laugh, that's just fine
Laughing is something I like, too!
Laughing and laughing, we won't stop
We'll welcome Maitreya here and now


Empty and fleeting My years are gone
And now, quivering and frail,
I must fade away.


At night, deep in the mountains I sit in zazen.
The affairs of men never reach here.
In the stillness I sit on a cushion across from the
The incense has been swallowed up by the endless
My robe has become a garment of white dew.
Unable to sleep, I walk into the garden;
Suddenly, above the highest peak, the round moon


First days of sky, bright sun.
Everything is gradually becoming fresh and green.
Carrying my bowl, I walk slowly to the village.
The children, surprised to see me,
Joyfully crowd about, bringing
my begging trip to an end by the temple gate.
I place my bowl on top of a white rock and
Hang my sack from the branch of a tree.
Here we play with the wild grasses and throw a ball.
For a time, I play catch while the children sing;
Then it's my turn.
Playing like this, here and there, I have forgotten
the time.
Passers-by point and laugh at me, asking,
"What is the reason for such foolishness?"
No answer I give, only a deep bow;
Even if I replied, they would not understand.
Look around! There is nothing besides this.


Autumn night.......unable to sleep, I leave my tiny
Fall insects cry under the rocks, and
The cold branches are sparsely covered.
Far away, from deep in the valley, the sound of water.
The moon rises slowly over the highest peak;
I stand there quietly for a long time and
My robe becomes moist with dew


The night is fresh and cool,
Staff in hand I walk through the gate.
Wisteria and ivy grow together along the winding
mountain path;
Birds sing quietly in their nests and a monkey
howls nearby.
As I reach a high peak a village appears in the
The old pines are full of poems;
I bend down for a drink of pure spring water.
There is a gentle breeze, and the round moon hangs
Standing by a deserted building,
I pretend to be a crane softly floating among the


My life may appear melancholy,
But travelling through this world
I have entrusted myself to Heaven.
In my sack, three sho of rice;
By the hearth, a bundle of firewood.
If someone asks what is the mark of enlightenment
or illusion,
I cannot say.......wealth and honor are nothing but
As the evening rain falls I sit in my hermitage
And stretch out both feet in answer.

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