Let me find what was not lost.
Lost only means I forgot where it is.
Let me now remember.
Let me know my one problem is solved.
All problems are really one.
Let me see my peace revealed.
The world I thought I saw fell away
as it seemed to appear.
There is nothing outside me.
I thought nothing was everything,
and everything, nothing.
I was mistaken.
One goes with me,
my Self.
As my Self, I am unlimited.
Let me lose myself.
Let me find my Self.
Only peace.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Saturday, April 9, 2011
I Am Gone Home
Bereft of words,
symbols of meaning.
They dance along the edge,
adrift from the heart of knowledge.
Am I a word,
then of what am I deprived?
From whose heart have I drifted,
have I lost myself?
Looted my own store,
ravaged my own crop?
Alone along the hills,
edge of a self not itself.
Mistaken,
but mistakes are corrected.
Mind forgot its power,
Thing itself, never lost.
Desert of words,
yet they grow.
Rooted purchase,
oasis of syntax.
The knowing Self,
my home.
That ancient house,
of many mansions.
Dreaming,
but dreams are healed.
Unalone after all,
the hills begin to sing.
Dimly,
I recall home.
More legend,
than memory.
Home is what matters to the far traveler.
Desert hills,
red, lowing sun.
Their song a choir's whisper,
angels robed, hems untouched.
Row upon row,
blue, gold, blue.
The quiet descends,
the ages weep for joy.
Memory comes to a quiet mind,
longing becomes a tenuous faith.
Behind me,
a garden.
Night sky,
pregnant with stars.
I walk,
under a whitelace moon.
Once dreamed of waking,
huddled in a corner.
Right angle of a century,
Who'd it been, speaking?
Just a thought,
did it say?
Voice without a face,
high-raftered owl.
Hot midnite wind,
to these ears, a thousand wings.
Justathoughtjustathought,
the deeper grows my forgetting.
Thinking made it so,
the cracking dawn said.
The horizon laughed,
but not unkindly.
Once a creator,
now a perceiver.
I dreamed ideas leave their source,
the owl only stared.
symbols of meaning.
They dance along the edge,
adrift from the heart of knowledge.
Am I a word,
then of what am I deprived?
From whose heart have I drifted,
have I lost myself?
Looted my own store,
ravaged my own crop?
Alone along the hills,
edge of a self not itself.
Mistaken,
but mistakes are corrected.
Mind forgot its power,
Thing itself, never lost.
Desert of words,
yet they grow.
Rooted purchase,
oasis of syntax.
The knowing Self,
my home.
That ancient house,
of many mansions.
Dreaming,
but dreams are healed.
Unalone after all,
the hills begin to sing.
Dimly,
I recall home.
More legend,
than memory.
Home is what matters to the far traveler.
Desert hills,
red, lowing sun.
Their song a choir's whisper,
angels robed, hems untouched.
Row upon row,
blue, gold, blue.
The quiet descends,
the ages weep for joy.
Memory comes to a quiet mind,
longing becomes a tenuous faith.
Behind me,
a garden.
Night sky,
pregnant with stars.
I walk,
under a whitelace moon.
Once dreamed of waking,
huddled in a corner.
Right angle of a century,
Who'd it been, speaking?
Just a thought,
did it say?
Voice without a face,
high-raftered owl.
Hot midnite wind,
to these ears, a thousand wings.
Justathoughtjustathought,
the deeper grows my forgetting.
Thinking made it so,
the cracking dawn said.
The horizon laughed,
but not unkindly.
Once a creator,
now a perceiver.
I dreamed ideas leave their source,
the owl only stared.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Peace
There is a peace that is not of this world. There is nothing beyond it, nothing outside it, not one thing before it, nor after it.
This peace has no opposite, knows no death, nor mourning, nor grave, only the eternal spaciousness of now.
What must be done to reach this peace, to know it, to share it? Nothing. It is simply ours.
This peace has no opposite, knows no death, nor mourning, nor grave, only the eternal spaciousness of now.
What must be done to reach this peace, to know it, to share it? Nothing. It is simply ours.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Let This Pass
Let this pass from me. Let it pass to my understanding that it never was. If it never was, it must have passed as it appeared, yet never appeared. How did the impossible happen? Well, it never happened.
Even this tiny sliver of the Whole, this “I”, yes I am loved as the Son, as I would love a cell from my body that suddenly gained conscious awareness and declared it was the whole body.
We are not meant to be separated, and so we in truth are not. We will not be absorbed into a vast gestalt. No, we already are Who and What we are.
What we call our individuality is just what we thought we stole from Heaven. We have but to give it back. I begin by telling myself not to fear my own mind.
The moment we say we have only to give back what we thought we stole, and the moment we see that we never left Heaven, are the same moment. Nothing has changed, nor could it. And so, I would let this pass.
Even this tiny sliver of the Whole, this “I”, yes I am loved as the Son, as I would love a cell from my body that suddenly gained conscious awareness and declared it was the whole body.
We are not meant to be separated, and so we in truth are not. We will not be absorbed into a vast gestalt. No, we already are Who and What we are.
What we call our individuality is just what we thought we stole from Heaven. We have but to give it back. I begin by telling myself not to fear my own mind.
The moment we say we have only to give back what we thought we stole, and the moment we see that we never left Heaven, are the same moment. Nothing has changed, nor could it. And so, I would let this pass.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
The Moving Hand
What is God? I ask myself this question, then I sense a deeper question: Why do I not know what God is? This is my real question, my true prayer. I should know my own Creator...I should not be apart from my Creator...I did not create myself.
Asking such questions is a sign that we are split off from our Creator, each other, and ourselves. But these questions are designed to distract us from knowing that we are not apart from God. We seek, but we are terrified to find.
It accomplishes nothing to ask a question but not desire the answer or accept it when it comes. Asking what is God keeps me here. The question comes not from idle curiosity, but from fear. An entire world and universe sprang up before our sight because we were afraid and forgot to remember that we are God's Holy Son.
Place your hand on the table. Let it be still. Now declare: "I will move my hand." As you make that declaration, hold your hand still. "I will move my hand now. It is fully functional, and capable of movement, so I will now move my hand"...All the while keep your hand still. You do not really want to move your hand, so you hold it there even as you demand that it move.
This is what we do when we ask a question but refuse the answer. We do not want to know.
We are not little creatures, we are aspects of our Self. Our Self is not some nebulous unknown into which we move, to ultimately lose ourselves. That is the illusion, that is what keeps us here. We really believe we did some terrible harm to our Home; we really believe we offended, even enraged, our Creator. All the while we remain Home. Our return to the place we never left has been accomplished. We already are what we seek. Being chased out of the Garden was a dream, a mistake on our part. The mistake was instantly corrected. It will not repeat because it never took place.
I must look at my fear, because if it is buried, I cannot heal the illusion. I must look directly at the illusion so I can see it for what it is. And so moves the hand.
Asking such questions is a sign that we are split off from our Creator, each other, and ourselves. But these questions are designed to distract us from knowing that we are not apart from God. We seek, but we are terrified to find.
It accomplishes nothing to ask a question but not desire the answer or accept it when it comes. Asking what is God keeps me here. The question comes not from idle curiosity, but from fear. An entire world and universe sprang up before our sight because we were afraid and forgot to remember that we are God's Holy Son.
Place your hand on the table. Let it be still. Now declare: "I will move my hand." As you make that declaration, hold your hand still. "I will move my hand now. It is fully functional, and capable of movement, so I will now move my hand"...All the while keep your hand still. You do not really want to move your hand, so you hold it there even as you demand that it move.
This is what we do when we ask a question but refuse the answer. We do not want to know.
We are not little creatures, we are aspects of our Self. Our Self is not some nebulous unknown into which we move, to ultimately lose ourselves. That is the illusion, that is what keeps us here. We really believe we did some terrible harm to our Home; we really believe we offended, even enraged, our Creator. All the while we remain Home. Our return to the place we never left has been accomplished. We already are what we seek. Being chased out of the Garden was a dream, a mistake on our part. The mistake was instantly corrected. It will not repeat because it never took place.
I must look at my fear, because if it is buried, I cannot heal the illusion. I must look directly at the illusion so I can see it for what it is. And so moves the hand.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Sing
We are afraid of being one. We think we are separated, individual, unique, special. Not only do we think it, we demand it. We fear being absorbed into some strange, vague, impersonal "oneness". But if it is true that "we" are one unlimited Self, it follows that we already are that Self; we are not becoming one, we are one.
The part of us that thinks it is separate is simply afraid. It thinks it must hide from its creator. The world we see sprang into awareness (perception) in reaction to our mistaken thought that we were suddenly apart from God.
We have become expert at claiming spirituality while at once clinging to our special individuality. We might believe God is all there is, but still demand the equation, "God plus me." And I am no different. Ego still tries to rule in me. It is just that I sense something else, another self.
I hear another song beneath what the ego is singing. This is because the ego is not singing: the ego does not exist. And yet, it is part of our mind, because we made the ego. But so powerful, so creative is mind, so powerful is belief, the ego appears very real to us. It demands, it attacks. Its question is not "What am I?", but "What are you?" Thus, our mind is split.
By and large, the world is afraid of exploring mind. Whole religions teach their followers not to go within: "Devils live there." We did not actually forget that we are mind (that we are spirit); we only dreamed it so. When I go into my mind, I know that if I come across something that frightens, I made that something. It is not something apart from me, over which I have no control or defense. I know my beliefs, emotions, expectations, come together to form my experience.
One night a woman had a nightmare. She was in a strange house. It was dark. She was being pursued by a monstrous demon. After being chased and nearly cornered several times, the demon's hot breath scorching the back of her neck, the exhausted, terrified woman at last could run no longer. As the hideous thing lurched up, nearly touching her, she screamed: "Who are you! Why are you chasing me! What do you want!" At that, the demon stopped, put its hands in the air, shrugged its shoulders, and replied softly, "I don't know, lady. It's your dream."
An old tale, not original with me. But it speaks to our forgetting that we are doing this. This is our dream. Thus, it is our song to sing. We did not write the song anymore than we created ourselves. We have a Creator, but we seem to not know "Him". We seem to be hiding. I no longer wish to hide. Sing we all the song.
The part of us that thinks it is separate is simply afraid. It thinks it must hide from its creator. The world we see sprang into awareness (perception) in reaction to our mistaken thought that we were suddenly apart from God.
We have become expert at claiming spirituality while at once clinging to our special individuality. We might believe God is all there is, but still demand the equation, "God plus me." And I am no different. Ego still tries to rule in me. It is just that I sense something else, another self.
I hear another song beneath what the ego is singing. This is because the ego is not singing: the ego does not exist. And yet, it is part of our mind, because we made the ego. But so powerful, so creative is mind, so powerful is belief, the ego appears very real to us. It demands, it attacks. Its question is not "What am I?", but "What are you?" Thus, our mind is split.
By and large, the world is afraid of exploring mind. Whole religions teach their followers not to go within: "Devils live there." We did not actually forget that we are mind (that we are spirit); we only dreamed it so. When I go into my mind, I know that if I come across something that frightens, I made that something. It is not something apart from me, over which I have no control or defense. I know my beliefs, emotions, expectations, come together to form my experience.
One night a woman had a nightmare. She was in a strange house. It was dark. She was being pursued by a monstrous demon. After being chased and nearly cornered several times, the demon's hot breath scorching the back of her neck, the exhausted, terrified woman at last could run no longer. As the hideous thing lurched up, nearly touching her, she screamed: "Who are you! Why are you chasing me! What do you want!" At that, the demon stopped, put its hands in the air, shrugged its shoulders, and replied softly, "I don't know, lady. It's your dream."
An old tale, not original with me. But it speaks to our forgetting that we are doing this. This is our dream. Thus, it is our song to sing. We did not write the song anymore than we created ourselves. We have a Creator, but we seem to not know "Him". We seem to be hiding. I no longer wish to hide. Sing we all the song.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Where is Outside?
We think we are looking at something outside us. "Outside" is meaningless, an invention we made to hide from what we really are. It feels as if we are inside what we call "bodies". That is why it seems there is an outside. Everything we see is images we made. This includes the body. It is an image too, but we tend to overlook that. This is an ego-trick. The ego wants desperately to keep what it thinks it has. Without the body, we are free.
In truth, we are free anyway. The body makes us certain that we are bound to limits. The body cannot contain us. If it can keep us convinced of an outside world, the ego can hold us hostage. Sometimes I can see my ego objectively, as if it were across the room. The ego is a thought of separation, and the body is the symbol of separation.
Certainly, there is no separation. Separation is not our nature. What is not our nature cannot exist, yet we are clearly capable of great imaginings. But perception is perception, as a child with imaginary friends. But creation is eternal. Creation is one. "What is one cannot have separate parts." --A Course In Miracles.
We have convinced ourselves that we do not know what "God" is. We do know. We are not separate from God. There is no line, no division, between us and God. This little body, its little fingers tapping away--it knows nothing. Nor does the self that thinks it is inside this body. So what is it that comes out here? It must be that everything I see, including the body, is in my mind. This means I am responsible for everything I see. Thus, it must be that I (we) never left Home (God).
Nor could we ever leave. "God Wills you be in Heaven..." --ACIM.
In truth, we are free anyway. The body makes us certain that we are bound to limits. The body cannot contain us. If it can keep us convinced of an outside world, the ego can hold us hostage. Sometimes I can see my ego objectively, as if it were across the room. The ego is a thought of separation, and the body is the symbol of separation.
Certainly, there is no separation. Separation is not our nature. What is not our nature cannot exist, yet we are clearly capable of great imaginings. But perception is perception, as a child with imaginary friends. But creation is eternal. Creation is one. "What is one cannot have separate parts." --A Course In Miracles.
We have convinced ourselves that we do not know what "God" is. We do know. We are not separate from God. There is no line, no division, between us and God. This little body, its little fingers tapping away--it knows nothing. Nor does the self that thinks it is inside this body. So what is it that comes out here? It must be that everything I see, including the body, is in my mind. This means I am responsible for everything I see. Thus, it must be that I (we) never left Home (God).
Nor could we ever leave. "God Wills you be in Heaven..." --ACIM.
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