Insanity...

My face hurts
Maybe from the mask I wear
that belies a deeper truth;
that hides the scream I feel inside,
and a piece of my Soul that has died;
and the clenched fist in my gut - anticipating
the evening's chaos -
by the sound of ice clinking in a glass;
and the heart's deep ache
for my True Life not being lived.

It withered in the daily madness of the drama of
"the visitor" in my house that I am captive in;
dancing too close to the edge
of my sanity...

I must reclaim the authentic Life hidden inside
this dance with the dark.
"It's time to turn the lights on!" and clearly see
what's really going on here.
And free myself from this insanity...

Mystic Meandering
May 23, 2023

The line in the last stanza:
"It's time to turn the lights on!" is
from Sarah Carlson's poem - Apple Blossoms and Snowflakes.
The words were spoken by her 2 year old grandson :)

What a wonderful metaphor to see clearly...

~

When we don't see clearly there is insanity...

~

Photo - Mystic Meandering

 

Remembering What You Love - Chuck Surface

What is there to do,
But Remember what you Love,
And ache with all your Heart,
However distant Heaven may seem,
However much a fairytale and a Dream

What is there to do,
But rest, with each breath and heartbeat,
In that U n b e a r a b l e Longing,
Which will not be consumed,
By the fires of doubt and despair.

For you did not choose to be stricken,
But simply found yourself afflicted,
With a Remembering beyond memory,
A Feeling beyond emotion.
A knowing beyond knowledge...

As yet unKnown.

What else...

For when faith fails, Longing endures,
When belief crumbles, Longing endures.
When other's paths prove not our own,
Longing endures.

Longing... endures.

What...
But to Remember what you Love,
However She presents Herself,
Within the Secret Heart,
Of your own unique Longing.

You are not cursed, weary Friend!
For this Longing, Unbearable,
Is both Path and Guru,
For those of us so Blessed.

And Love...

Chuck Surface

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Website

 

The Beautiful Wound - Rumi & Mirabai Starr

The wound is the place where the light enters you...
Rumi

Your most secret wound is the doorway...
Ivan Granger
Poetry Chaikhana

~

The Christian Mystic, Teresa of Avila, speaks of "the
beautiful wound" of longing for God, describing
the depth of suffering as a doorway to union with
The Beloved.  John of the Cross coined the term
"dark night of the soul" and developed a teaching
that shows how to surrender to radical unknowing
and allow ourselves to be stripped of all that stands
between our souls and The Divine.
These and other mystics see deep sorrow as a
great spiritual blessing, rather than a problem
requiring a solution...

Mirabai Starr

~

There is a cure,
an individual medicine
not a social remedy,
sit quietly
and listen
for a voice
within
that will say:

Be more silent.

As that happens
your soul
starts to revive.

Rumi
Be More Silent

~

Photo - taken by my brother
after the Nor'easter
in the Northeast yesterday...

Unbearably Holy - Matt Licata

Today may not be the day for answers,
but let your heart break open to the vastness
of the questions, the longing, the burning, the uncertainty;
the sense that a miracle is here,
just beyond the veil, but how to reach it?

How to fully show up and participate
in your immediate experience
and be fully alive...

All the teachings.....and worn out ideas about who you are
and why you've come here, about the true source of meaning...
At times, can be overwhelming...
The questions that once had answers...only a tenderness remains,
with no sign or resolution.

Only a burning where the questions once existed...

An old vision seems to be dissolving...
There is no life without the willingness to fully participate
in the shattering and the death of an ancient dream.
No life without embodiment to the vulnerability
as it surges in its eternal forms within you.
Perhaps it was never resolution you were after,
but the pure surging of life.

The heartbreak found here is not a mistake,
but to let your heart break open to the vastness
of the questions.
To fall to the ground as a humble lover of the mystery.

Trust in the flow of your immediate experience,
exactly as it is,
and participate in the raging truth that nothing is wrong with you...
For what you are is unbearably Holy...

Matt Licata

Matt's words, my format.
This is also a synthesis of two
different posts:
Unbearably Holy
and
A Humble Lover of the Mystery

~

Photo - Vortex Art Digitally Altered.

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