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Monday, April 6, 2015

Confusion - Llewellyn Vaughan-Lee

“There is no end to this dynamic mystical journey
that leads to the beyond…

The wayfarer has to learn to leave behind the old understanding
and allow what is new to become known…

The journey Home has another dimension,
a deeper direction.
I have had to face the illusion of my own journey,
how I was caught in certain convictions,
especially spiritual convictions.
Now I sense something else,
a swirling quality
that carries
confusion,
chaos,
and
freedom


Always the journey, [&] the path changes.
Always we are thrown into something
beyond what we might have expected.

Now I sense something else,
something that was always at the borders
of consciousness…
and yet avoided in its intensity.
A quality of chaos envelopes me from within…
the chaos of life
and what is beyond life…

Where does the path go,
what strange byways does it follow?
Always we look for a sense of direction.
Are we going Home?
Is this the right path?
Are we in tune?

But the path is much deeper
and more ancient than any sense of direction.
It belongs to the timeless inner dimension…


~

There is a choice…
We can follow the ego
with all its subtleties of
self-defense.

We can walk away from our heart’s call…
And so the path dissolves,
its urgency hidden,
its demand neglected….

But how can the path ever be lost?

The path is a strange creature,
full of the unexpected,
born from the unexpected,
attempting to take us into the
unknown,
into the unknowable.
And always we want the security
of knowing,
and so our fear of the dark
betrays us...

What is this path,
this empty way?

There is a heartache,
a call,
and a sigh that comes from
the depth.

These are the signs,
but where do they lead?
Why do we expect something
tangible…?
Why do we look for
reassurance
when we stand at the water’s edge?

Follow your heart’s call – but where?

Deep within we sense the terror of an endless night
and will make sure that our path skirts around this

desolate place.
We may hear the phrase
”to die before you die,”
but what do we know of this ultimate desolation?

The path will take us to the water’s edge,
and may even provide us with the illusion
of a boat, with the fantasy of a further shore,
but really these are just mind games and
psychological gimmicks.
There is no spiritual board game,
no path to enlightenment,
because “The Beloved”
comes “like a thief in the night”…


~

Why do we look for answers?
Why do we try to dress with the right clothes
for the journey, the correct spiritual attitude,
when we need to be unprotected?
So many stories have been told,
books written, pictures painted,
and always we skirt around the edge,
frightened of facing the depth
of our longing….

Sorrow, endless sorrow is what we are given to work with,
to open us, to take us, to silence us…
This endless sorrow has oceans of joy
hidden within it, the joy that is life itself,
the hidden face of creation.
This joy is not a flimsy alternative to life,
not life skating on the surface,
but the intensity of emptiness
pouring into form,
“The Beloved”
manifesting.

Hungry for what is Real,
we know neither our self
nor the chaos that awaits us.
We like to think we are spiritual seekers,
lovers, wayfarers…
But what is there to name?

Those who remain behind carry names;
they carry banners of their own inner development,
their spiritual or worldly success.
They know who they are, and are
resplendit in their own recognition.
The lost are not like this;
all they have known is emptiness
and a hunger.
Maybe they have had experiences,
glimpses of the beyond.
But the real journey is beyond
any such knowing,
is too simple to be explained,
too ordinary to be noticed,
and far too intense to be talked about.

There are things that can never be said,
perhaps because they are too intimate,
too painful, too bewildering, or just
unspeakable…

It is not someone else’s experience,
but a vortex of undoing
into which I am drawn
or thrown.”


Excerpts from: Fragments of a Love Story
Llewellyn Vaughan-Lee
Sufi Mystic



Please Note: I have taken excerpts from various pages
in the book, putting them together in the form of this prose poem.



Photo: Vortex Art



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