"God leads every soul by a separate path." - John of the Cross
I cannot possibly know what is most important; that which will
transform me. If I already know what it is I will never be free,
because I have packaged "liberation" as knowledge, in the tight
wrapper of a concept. This means that spiritual transformation
can never become a program, a technique, or a course that I take.
The moments that liberate me are wild portals of unknowing,
when the blue sky of wonder outshines any cloud it contains;
vast emptiness shifts into the foreground; techniques, traditions,
concepts cultivated in the past, dissolve...
I cannot possibly know what is most important; that which will
transform me. If I already know what it is I will never be free,
because I have packaged "liberation" as knowledge, in the tight
wrapper of a concept. This means that spiritual transformation
can never become a program, a technique, or a course that I take.
The moments that liberate me are wild portals of unknowing,
when the blue sky of wonder outshines any cloud it contains;
vast emptiness shifts into the foreground; techniques, traditions,
concepts cultivated in the past, dissolve...
[.....]
The best meditation evaporates into amazement. The best mantra
melts into silence. The best guru dances in the mist at the edge of
a meadow, and disappears into your longing heart, where true path
has no beginning....
The best meditation evaporates into amazement. The best mantra
melts into silence. The best guru dances in the mist at the edge of
a meadow, and disappears into your longing heart, where true path
has no beginning....
No, I cannot possibly tell what is most important - how a blue
moth disguises herself in a petal of lupine, why cascade lilies
frolic in a rainy mountain meadow, what the hermit thrush means
to silence. I cannot know when the golden sun will burst my chest
wide open, turning the small dark chamber of self-doubt into a
boundless empyrean.
moth disguises herself in a petal of lupine, why cascade lilies
frolic in a rainy mountain meadow, what the hermit thrush means
to silence. I cannot know when the golden sun will burst my chest
wide open, turning the small dark chamber of self-doubt into a
boundless empyrean.
Fred LaMotte
~
Photo - Vortex Art
2011
2011
No comments:
Post a Comment
All comments are subject to moderation