Jewel in the Lotus: Thoughts of a Yogini


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Again

What arises is impermanent

So dance on the skyline like

Chagall’s fiddler.

Hold space.

Be space. Wrap yourself in love.

Soften. Breathe. Watch. Be.

Give space and love to all that arises

Again and again and again

The permanent becomes impermanent,

Lift up the veil,

Waking up to the preciousness;

The being-ness of to be; the be-ness of being.

A morning walk in the snow

The pink coloured skies

Crack the night.

Space. Spaciousness. Stillness.

Aware of the heart; the breath.

Soften. Soft. Softest. I hold my heart,

Holding ground. Being ground. Deepening.

This is the suchness of life; the muchness of the suchness.

The being; the non-being; the no thing; the nothing.

The space. The stillness.  The openness. Spaciousness.

The such-ness of such.

How precious a life.

 

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Stuck in Silence

Daniel Craig was here
Or at least I think he was.
He of James Bond fame.
Yes, the Spy who loved me fame.
He who likes his martinis shaken, not stirred.
He with his Ray Bans and British accent.
Yes, that Daniel Craig was here.
I think.
Of course, I’ll never know for sure
since I was stuck in silence—
couldn’t ask; couldn’t talk.
a promised newly made — not yet broken —
to just be.
taking in the green-dappled light of the trees
and the blue-blue skies,
watching broken-winged butterflies
dance on lavender,
listening to joyous bellied, belly full
laughter
yes, stuck in silence — with no way out.
So I nodded; he nodded.
I smiled; he smiled.
A flash of recognition swept across my face;
He smiled again, glancing down
at my “In Silence” badge.
I looked away and
he was gone as though it never happened.
Gone. Gone Gone. The moment gone.
And I sat with it. My excitement, my joy,
my desire to break silence, to burst from the stillness
and shout the news.

And then I remembered
another briefest of brief encounters
with the famous and nearly famous.
A phone message from Leonard Cohen
he of poetry fame
to a friend.
“Marilyn, darling,” he said. “ So nice of you to call.”
And then he paused. And the pause grew and grew and grew.
And then there was a click.
Stillness, silence and spaciousness
from Los Angeles to Toronto.
And now here I am in Rhinebeck, New York.
I can’t help but smile
at the being-ness of it all —
the here, the now and the forever.
the expanding illuminating nature;
the spaceless-ness of awareness.


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Untitled #3

 

Aldous Huxley slept here

in this very room so aptly named for him,

long after Brave New World and the Doors of Perception.

Now it is where i sit overlooking the Pacific Ocean, meditating,

looking out at the edge of the world and the shard-like cliffs of Big Sur.

In the stillness seated under his black and white photo i write these words to you,

my love: silence is the container for an unwritten love.

shall we rise up and dance?


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ode to a poet

When I am no longer this — no longer this valued thing–

will I be that?

That over there; now; here; there; before; after.

In between this breath and that.

There again — here; soft; there;

circling ever deeper,

cutting even deeper,

walking a razor’s edge,

feet burnt, cut,

burnt heart,

exploding into the now,

the near, the far

like a supernova.

 

When I am no longer this

will I be that?

A poet; a sage; a seeker of truth.

Now will be then. Then will be now.

In between

the unformed thing

and the formed thing,

an untold story, a folded origami heart.

Cracked. In the light.

When I am no longer this

will I be that?