Child of the Milky Way - Chet Raymo

 I am a child of the Milky Way.  I am made of the dust of stars.
Every atom in my body was forged in a star.  When the
Universe exploded into being, already the bird longed for
the wood and the fish for the pond.  When the first galaxies
fell into luminous clumps, already matter was struggling
toward consciousness.

The star clouds of Sagittarius are a burning bush.  If there is
a voice in Sagittarius, I'd be a fool not to listen.  If "God's" 
voice in the night is a scrawny cry, then I'll prick up my ears.
If night's faint lights fail to knock me off my feet, then I'll sit
 back on a dark hillside and wait and watch.  A hint here and
a trait there.  Listening and watching.  Waiting, always waiting,
for the tingle in the spine.

Chet Raymo
from: Soul of the Night: An Astronomical Pilgrimage

With thanks to Cate Kerr
Beyond the Fields We Know

Photo - Cate Kerr

~

How can you explain the mystery of the Inexplicable?
You can only surrender to it...
My "medicine" - my wild comfort -
is the wonderment and splendor
of the Infinite Cosmos...
It soothes my Soul.

MM

_/\_

A Moratorium on Names - LaMotte

 I've been in love for seven million years.
It was always you.
Don't ruin it now by telling me your name.

Isn't it time for a moratorium on names,
so that we may finally see?

A moratorium on the name of God
and the word Peace,
until we learn to use them as verbs.
A moratorium on Love, so that this body
may be love's exquisite synonym.
A moratorium on Better, Worse,
on Sin and Hell, or Heaven too,
so that our eyes may grow
accustomed to the earth.

A moratorium on the names Christ,
Krishna, Allah, Yahweh,
so the "goddess" may have room to breathe,
and we may hear her inscrutable murmur
from the cavern of the prophet in each
human heart, her infinitesimal thunder
in a violet's bell, rung by a dewdrop.

Isn't it time to reinvent the tongue,
so the Ineffable may babble sweet
new names for the One Who Is?

[.....]

Fred LaMotte
Uradiance

~

Photo - Mystic Meandering

El Shaddai - Fred LaMotte

Art by Joe Maccer on Deviant Art

Myriad names of God swirl from the womb of holy silence.
Just so, stars spiral from a black hole at the center of the galaxy.
Yet all the black holes in the cosmos are one and the same fertile
void.  This star-birthing singularity, the infinite hush of the maternal
dark, is not far away.  It is the core of your being, the bindhu at the
center of your heart.

In Jewish Kabbala, the Great Seal of Protection is a mandala
containing 72 divine names.  We can find similar mantra-mandalas
made of Tibetan and Sanskrit letters.  In the untranslated letters of
St. Pachomias, "father of Christian monasticism", I have seen such
mandalas of syllables written in Old Latin.  They were possibly
derived from the Demotic, the language of Egypt, home to the
wisdom schools of Christian Gnosticism.  In all these mystical
traditions - Indian, Tibetan, Hebrew, Christian - the names are
bija mantras, healing sound-vibrations used in meditation.

In the Old Testament , the Lord tells Abraham that, "my name is 
El Shaddai," usually translated God Almighty.  But the etymology
is uncertain.  As with many sacred Hebrew words, there are alternate
roots, each with its own significance, resulting in parallel
commentaries. These multiple roots are complimentary,
not contradictory.

One root of Shaddai means "fertile field, uncultivated wilderness."
This would suggest the other divine names, which are the very
energies of creation, spring from a wild impregnable field to which
the intellect of man may lay no claim - or what Christian mystic
Ruysbroeck called, "the wayless wilderness of the Godhead."

...in the most popular etymology of the Hebrew word, Shaddai means
"mother's breasts."  El Shaddai is the "God who is like a mother's
breasts," the feminine power.  So countless worlds, innumerable
energies, and all the names of God are born of one Mother,
who is the divine Silence.  This Silence we may experience,
 but never "know."  For this is the

Silence of The Beloved...

Fred LaMotte
Uradiance

 

The "Cosmic Mother"...

 Laying down the burdens of existence,
coming to rest in the 
"Mother Energies": the "originating
feminine energies" of the Cosmos...

Unfettered, Unbuffeted 
by the strain of life circumstances - well, some days...

Embraced, and tangibly Infused by
this Primordial Source Energy - Always...

This undefinable, formless "Cosmic Mother"
invites this meandering mystic to sit,
as I stumble across the threshold of a doorless door...
into an Ineffable space that holds all...

There is no "thinking" here - yet "thinking" still occurs
as mental images and constructs
of present life occurrences pass through,
which now hold no reign on the mind - well almost -

fledgling that I am...  :)

The past - just fleeting memories passing through
with no mental or emotional attachment - surprisingly;
like wandering through a foreign land
with no attachment to or somatic contraction from
the experience - so far, but it's only been a few weeks...

The shift to a new orientation, re-framing the perspectives,
untangling what I perceived to be real is still occurring...

Pathways of the Primal Mother Energies now leaving their
imprint in the brain and body - very subtly...

The body trying to self-correct after a life-time of walking
the energetic History Trail of Family Dynamics in physicality -
core survival issues that have left indelible scars - beginning to release...

Realizing that All That Is is this exquisite Primal Energy
expressing Itself through every experience; experiencing Itself
in many forms; morphing Itself into different expressions, 
different life experiences, reshaped by life occurrences that
also shaped my perspectives and perceptions...

Now finally experiencing the fluidity of the "Mother Energy"
that innately flows through me/us - like an Aurora Borealis
subtly streaming through this body, leaving its own illumined
energetic signature...

Mystic Meandering
Meditative Writings
March 21, 2021

Also see: Adi Shakti - The Primal Energy
and - "She"

~

Photo - Mystic Meandering
Cosmic Snow Chair
(created through lunapic)

Springtime?

 Our "Winter" snow here in Colorado often comes in March,
  The snowiest month of our Winter season that crosses into Spring.
 It did not disappoint this year.   Last week we got over a foot of snow
 with 3-4 foot drifts.  Today about 3 inches - clinging to the trees,
creating a winter wonderland, and tomorrow night another 2 inches maybe :)
  I love the snow, and this magical  season. 
  I grew up in New England and have missed the snowy winters.

Here's a short photo montage with a playful, artsy twist
at the end...

The picture above transformed into this, below, with the help of lunapic,
a photo editing website - looking like a folk art painting...

and into this - my favorite - a cosmic look...
Of course it all depends on your perspective... :)

Springtime is traditionally a time of renewal. 
but in the current zeitgeist, with yet another mass shooting, 
and the pandemic continuing, millions out of work, ongoing hatred
and racism etc., I don't see that happening until a mass shift in
human consciousness occurs which means a change in
perspective...

This Shines On - Miriam Louisa

 This shines on
whether I'm in bitch mode or radiating benevolence
whether I'm depressed or enjoying equanimity
whether I'm achingly weary or frolicking tirelessly.

This shines on
whether my bookshelves are stacked with scriptures,
chick-lit, crime or porn
whether my shoes are microfiber or leather, my coat cotton or mink
whether my fridge is piously vegan or robustly carnivore.

This shines on
whether my philosophical tendencies veer towards the
 scientific and secular
or the mystical and metaphysical
whether I'm a closet optimist disguised as a cynic
or a knee-jerk nay-sayer, jus sayin

Don't be fooled.  This shines on
- pristine, incorruptible -
regardless.

This shines on
whether you agree with me as you scan these words
or jump to defend your own view
whether you accept me as a flicker of the vast Light that we are
or turn your back on our inextricable intimacy.

This shines on
and in, and from, and through, every perception,
every experience and every face and fact of World
known by human and non-human Knowingness
|(and I exclude nothing, no thing in creation
from that capacity of Knowingness.)

This shines on
The sages call it Reality, but beware: it's not a thing, an object
or even a state.  To name it is to turn from it, but it could care less.
It shines on regardless.

Miriam Louisa Simons
This Unlit Light
and

Echoes of Emptiness

With thanks to No Mind's Land

~

Photo - Mystic Meandering

Stillness Speaks - Ginny Lonsdale

Photo: David Peters - Milky Way

 a field, transparent expanse
no inside, no outside,
no boundary
though all things
underneath all things
before all things
from which all things arise -
just movement rising and falling

no agitation
no naming
no reference - one thing to another
nothing is object
and no attributes
thus nothing strikes -
one thing against the other
no agitation

It is peace, utter peace
'the peace that passeth understanding'
the words 'peace' and 'calm'
are limp slivers of linguistic conceit
they cannot transmit this knowing

HOME of pure freedom
all-embracing
no me - no past, no identity - completely unbound
immersed
merged
dissolved
no-longer
only awareness
deep unfathomable peace

just the gift that always is
Reality's Self

emerging through the door of this transcendent HOME
one last kiss and wave off:
"this is Stillness. people live in this Stillness"

a respectful, gentle invitation...

with a dash of humour, like...
'you might like to give this a try ... there's nothing stopping you'
(nudge, nudge)

a white liquid light
poured
through the head into the crevices of the brain
down into the body
filling every vibrating molecule with
exquisite sweetness
scintillating divine light nectar
of which I had never known before
nourishing this material form.
A loving embrace - divine LIGHT pouring itself into 'me'
Every part of this body responded with delight
and 
fell asleep.

Ginny Lonsdale
Footnote from a moment

Perfect Pulsing Silence...

 Perfect Pulsing Silence...

Utter Stillness...

Breath-giving Life...

This is what I come to sit for;
to sit in utter and complete Silence of Being -
the pulse of Life;
to feel and sense "The Silence;"
to feel its Aliveness,
to hear Its Song...

Sitting in the silence of not-knowing
puts one in a place of really listening,
with no agenda or expectation,

leaving the space open for "The Silence" to speak,
to calm the mind and
sing Its Song to the Heart...

I listen deeply for the Song of Silence...

A breeze touches my arm gently from the window
inviting me to be more acutely aware...

I gaze inward
to "The Silence" within
that is mirrored
in the silence of the night.
It's all the same Silence that infuses everything...

The Rhythm of Silence begins ~

I sit back in my chair
listening to the pulsing Silence
within and without,
feeling Its familiar Rhythm,
feeling the dance of intimacy begin again...

Nothing disturbs It,
Nothing disturbs the depth of It,
Nothing prevents Its Song
from being sung ~

In this intimate Silence I am reminded that
everything occurs within "The Silence";
all life, all breath, all death, all movement

occurs within this vast space of Silent Awareness
that we are...

In "The Silence" of Awareness
I know everything is living according to Its
natural order - is following Its natural order,
including this life I call mine...

All life is being lived
by the hush of "The Mystery"...

All is the pulse of the Great Silence ~

The pulse of Life ~

Mystic Meandering
Meditative Writings
May 2011

~

Photo - Mystic Meandering

Pulsation of Life - Fred LaMotte

 The sign of life is pulsation. 'Spanda' in Sanskrit.
From Spanda comes our word 'expand.'  That which expands
must also contract, must pulse.  That which does not pulse
cannot play, cannot live.

Pulse is the nectar of creation, and the wine of health.  Atoms,
hearts, moments of time, cycles of history, worlds and
galaxies, all bubble up and dissolve as the pulse of the Infinite.
Music is the pulse of silence, dance is the pulse of stillness,
art is the pulse of the formless.  Spirit pulses into Matter.
Shiva pulses into Shakti.

If we are going to pulsate and live, we must not only know 
how to act, but how to rest; not only how to swell, but how
to empty; how to listen as well as speak; how to be dark as
well as radiant.

We learn to rest between the pulses.  Between our days. 
Between our moments.  Between our heartbeats.  And right
in the midst of busy lives, to be so vulnerable that we can
fall into the gaps and silences, coming Om even for an instant,
which could be an instant of eternity, as we let go of Doing to
sink into Being.

But we get stuck in the mind, do we not?  In dry abstractions,
brittle concepts.  Whether religious or political, is the same 
arid paralysis: lack of pulse.  Weak pulse is dis-ease. The
organic vibrancy of our body goes numb.  Confined to the 
cage of the intellect, we have no juice, and cannot feel the
kiss of God.

Ideology will never save the world.  Our world will be saved
by the call of a robin at dawn, the flavor of your grandmother's
mashed potatoes, the sting of dew on your bare feet.  Whatever
the question is, the answer is not an idea.  Nor will the answer
ever come as the conclusion of an argument.

The answer is returning to pulsation.  When you are stuck in the
mind, drop those inflexible concepts and come home to what
pulsates, the rhythm that softens and expands our heart.  This
life-giving pulse of Spanda need not be sensational or
dramatic.  It could be as gentle and intimate as your next breath.

Fred LaMotte

Uradiance

~

Photo - Mandala Art

Mystic Meandering

Doors through which we pass - Thich Nhat Hanh

 This body is not me.
"I" am not limited by this body.
"I" am life without boundaries.
"I" have never been born,
and I have never died.

Look at the ocean and the sky filled with stars,
manifestations from my wondrous true mind.

Since before time, I have been free.
Birth and death are only doors through which we pass,
sacred thresholds on our journey.
Birth and death are a game of hide-and-seek.

So laugh with me,

hold my hand,
let us say good-bye,
say good-bye,
to meet again soon.

We meet today.
We will meet again tomorrow.
We will meet at the source...
We meet each other in all forms of life.

Thich Nhat Hanh

via - Death Deconstructed

~

Photo - Mystic Meandering

The Present Darkness - Sutphen

 The present tragedy will eventually
turn into myth, and in the mist
of that later telling the bell tolling
now will be a symbol, or, at least,
a sign of something long since lost.

This will be another one of those
loose changes, the rearrangement of
hearts, just parts of old lives
patched together, gathered into
a dim constellation, small consolation...

Look, we will say, you can almost see
the outline there: her fingertips
touching his, the faint fusion
of two bodies breaking into light.

Joyce Sutphen

Original title - Naming the Stars

via Death Deconstructed

~

Photo Quote from tinybuddha.com

The Disguise...

 "She" - the Cosmic Primal Energy of all Life -
is hidden among us in the disguises She wears...

She" - the Primordial One,
Sometimes conceals Herself
Sometimes reveals Herself
through everyone as they are:
all expressions of Herself
in disguise...

Through this mystery we find
our way back to Who we are -
by simply being ourselves,
the Natural expression of ourselves...

And you recognize, at the core of your Being,
that you are Her - the Primordial One,
disguised in a body, playing yourself...

Mystic Meandering

March 7, 2021

~

Photo - Mystic Meandering

Everywhere Veiled - Fakhruddin Iraqi

 Art by Joe Maccer at Deviant Art

Everywhere veiled
by Your own Face
You are hidden from the world

In Your very manifestation.
Look where I will
I see your Face alone;
in all those idols
I see only You.

Jealous lest You be recognized
at every instant
You dress your Beauty
in a different cloak.

Farkhruddin Iraqi
English version by William Chittick and
Peter Lamborn Wilson

with thanks to Ivan Granger at Poetry Chaikhana

~

Life is a Cosmic Play, the Divine playing hide and seek,
playing us.

"She" has many disguises...

Rediscovering Myself - Derek Walcott

The time will come
when,with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here.  Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine.  Give Bread.  Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows your heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit.  Feast on your life.

Derek Walcott

Original title: Love After Love

~

Photo - me of me :)

 

Joy Returns - a little (maybe)

 I have recently experienced illness with a fever. 
During the night the fever broke, and I awoke
feeling lightness and Joy - if only for a few moments -
as I scurried to the bathroom and back to bed, excited
to be feeling Joy again :)  It lasted only a few moments,
but I felt relieved...

In my journal I wrote:

 the weight of illness,
 how heavy it is and how it
weighs you down,
like the dampening sound of a bell
 when struck - dampened by the weight of illness -

dis-ease...
dis-pair...
grief...

in this case a fever of unknown origin. I know that many 
have experienced this great weight of illness in the past year.

And yet - for a short moment
Joy breaks through
and sings from within the bell.

I am grateful knowing that Joy returns for
many of us - no matter what the illness, even if only a
little, for only a moment, and our bell begins to ring again...

Many Blessings

_/\_

~

Don't try to find it in the future.  Joy is not hope.
Don't try to find it in the past.  Joy is not an ancient story.
And all our stories are ancient, even the tale of yesterday.
And please don't travel to a higher plane, an elevated state
of consciousness, in search of joy.  You will never find it
there, because joy is not a "state" to be gained - or lost.

Neither is joy a condition of circumstance, the good fortune
of some but not others.

Joy is what Existence is doing...

It glows from the Heart of Presence...

Does the light of joy descend from "above"?
No, it wells up like a tear from within.

Joy is the light already embedded in the darkness,
the fragrance of the void, the music in the hollow
of the bell not struck, the overflowing wealth earned

by not-doing.  If you need a reason for joy,
it isn't joy.

Fred LaMotte
Uradiance

~

Photo - Mystic Meandering