Come meander with me on the pathless path of the Heart
in these anecdotal,
sometimes inspiring, sometimes personal meanderings of the Heart's opening in the every-day-ness of life...

Tuesday, November 1, 2016

When Seeking Ends - Dorothy Hunt & Papaji

I can no longer read the Teachings
or visit those awakened on the path
who sit amidst flowers and incense
and eager seekers waiting for morsels
of Enlightenment food.

I can no longer sit on my black cushion
waiting for the moment to appear
when the big bang will occur
and blow this world of work and life
into the heavens of bliss.

I can no longer search for what is missing
nor can I say that I have found it.
I listen to the furnace blowing at dawn
and watch a feather dance before its music.
I work and eat and sleep and simply live my life.

I no longer wonder if I should dye my hair
or give up eating meat
or lose ten pounds before summer.
If I do, I do, and if I don't, I don't,
and who is there to care?

The sound of the garbage truck
chewing up the remains of my week
offers just as much stimulation to my soul
as a church bell or the song bird's melody
lilting from the distant hill.

My candles of devotion sit unlit
upon the altar to the gods,
and the bell of mindfulness unrung
upon its hand-sewn cushion,
the incense resting in a drawer.

What has become of the one
who searched and chanted and read and prayed
and hoped for enlightenment?
She still laughs with her family,
sips champagne with friends, and sings in the shower.

What is life when the seeking ends?
Just what it is,
nothing more or less...

- ordinary -

not wishing to be more or less,
content to simply be...

Buddhist teacher, therapist and poet


There is simply the seeing of This as it is; just what is.
What is, is eternal movement that is eternally still.
What is, is never born and never dies.
This has no form and is every form.
I am This.  And you are This.
There is nothing special in This,
because everything is This.
When the sense of being a "me" fades
or is seen through,
then the
extraordinary ordinariness of This
can be seen...

East Indian Sage


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