the capacity for love
in your heart, a hollow drum,
can stretch on and on
one ocean into another
filling endless beats
the guacamole of love
is always free
did you know
this video, these people, this culture, these names, this sound
"The chorus alludes to the famous prayer of historic saint, Queen Kunti, who prayed that her attraction be ever drawn to the Lord, as a river forever flows to the sea."
"The chorus alludes to the famous prayer of historic saint, Queen Kunti, who prayed that her attraction be ever drawn to the Lord, as a river forever flows to the sea."
"Like a River is the title track from the debut album of Jahnavi Harrison, 'Like a River to the Sea', released on July 24th 2015.
The track features a refrain from the Govinda Damodara Stotram by medieval saint-poet, Srila Bilvamangala Thakur and is a meditation on protecting sacred environments internally and externally.
The film features the landscape and people that live alongside the holy Yamuna River. After years of constant protest and petitioning, as of March 2015, the Indian Government has promised to make drastic changes to divert industrial waste and sewage, and restore the purity of the water."
wanting all things
all lives
to experience the happiness you experience for your self (especially when you're a cookie-jarrin selfish scrub),
what a selfless sweetness
embracing each soul you pass with eyes of ears of listening of receiving
all parts witnessed by the third high eye, third eye high
how you gonna recover from your original sin
one nation of bodies rising from
the double edged swords of our words
when not aligned with love
a double-edged cup of pouring to receive
which side's best?
oh give they say but how can I give what I don't get
get?
get?
it's not for getting,
why do you always want to get?
yes YOU?
and you and you and you and every karmically bound fool
and
yes
me, too, oh me too
IT,
it's for having
awakening
to the reality
that you are loved
no holes to fill
and the ones that are left lost
empty in the dross
well those my friend,
you don't have to want
all lives
to experience the happiness you experience for your self (especially when you're a cookie-jarrin selfish scrub),
what a selfless sweetness
embracing each soul you pass with eyes of ears of listening of receiving
all parts witnessed by the third high eye, third eye high
how you gonna recover from your original sin
one nation of bodies rising from
the double edged swords of our words
when not aligned with love
a double-edged cup of pouring to receive
which side's best?
oh give they say but how can I give what I don't get
get?
get?
it's not for getting,
why do you always want to get?
yes YOU?
and you and you and you and every karmically bound fool
and
yes
me, too, oh me too
IT,
it's for having
awakening
to the reality
that you are loved
no holes to fill
and the ones that are left lost
empty in the dross
well those my friend,
you don't have to want
|
After some time, time between reflection and expression, back to reflection, your realizations may seem sophomoric. A little sheepish, you shrink into the shadows to quietly contemplate in private.
Or if, by the grace of deep seeking, you've been put in touch with sources that satisfy, you come into periods of consumption, contemplation, testing... Less apt to extend out and share, spell out, pledge allegiance, you simmer in the practice of what was initially simply declaration.
I've always sought to share in the spirit of timelessness, or if not, at least in jest; which is a sort of get-out-of-jail-free card.
And the brevity of poetry (and dang twitter brain) satisfies the desire for expression with a lightness of open-ended meaning. You don't have to invest...
But what does that do,
to push progress?
Eh.
I'm stirring the pot, hoping to pull out some things worth sharing again.
It's been a bit too long...
Or if, by the grace of deep seeking, you've been put in touch with sources that satisfy, you come into periods of consumption, contemplation, testing... Less apt to extend out and share, spell out, pledge allegiance, you simmer in the practice of what was initially simply declaration.
I've always sought to share in the spirit of timelessness, or if not, at least in jest; which is a sort of get-out-of-jail-free card.
And the brevity of poetry (and dang twitter brain) satisfies the desire for expression with a lightness of open-ended meaning. You don't have to invest...
But what does that do,
to push progress?
Eh.
I'm stirring the pot, hoping to pull out some things worth sharing again.
It's been a bit too long...
Can't wait for him to blow up and make more cool shi::::::
New old soul, where You be,
can You bring me up the mountain, flow Me down a river
release my whole being from this body, deliver?
while still on Earth, still turned on by breath
O but will You imagine with Me the possibilities
beyond our telescopic lens?
Birth the words of time immemorial by Your speech;
That it's not just all about you and me
Tell me the real real good stories;
Subconscious shared memories
Can You take it to the place before this mask
Open as I found my Self at the lowest?
But unalone
and rising
The substance behind the noise, playing to the melody in perfect timing
Can you dig it?
Can you take Her hand?
and dance, dance, dance
run, let Her heart lead the way
Lead you back home to You
at the end of these days
can You bring me up the mountain, flow Me down a river
release my whole being from this body, deliver?
while still on Earth, still turned on by breath
O but will You imagine with Me the possibilities
beyond our telescopic lens?
Birth the words of time immemorial by Your speech;
That it's not just all about you and me
Tell me the real real good stories;
Subconscious shared memories
Can You take it to the place before this mask
Open as I found my Self at the lowest?
But unalone
and rising
The substance behind the noise, playing to the melody in perfect timing
Can you dig it?
Can you take Her hand?
and dance, dance, dance
run, let Her heart lead the way
Lead you back home to You
at the end of these days
ALove Supreme
|
HAMLET: Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue. But if you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had as lief the town crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus, by use all gently, for in the very torrent, tempest, and (as I may say) whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. O, it offends me to the soul to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings, who for the most part are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb shows and noise. I would have such a fellow whipped for o'erdoing Termagant. It out-herods Herod. Pray you avoid it. Be not too tame neither, but let your own discretion be your tutor. Suit the action to the word, the word to the action, with this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature. For anything so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature, to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure. Now this overdone, or come tardy off, though it make the unskillful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve, the censure of the which one must in your allowance o'erweigh a whole theatre of others. O, there be players that I have seen play, and heard others praise, and that highly (not to speak profanely), that neither having th' accent of Christians, nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted and bellowed that I have thought some of Nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably. Reform it altogether! And let those that play your clowns speak no more than is set down for them, for there be of them that will themselves laugh, to set on some quantity of barren spectators to laugh too, though in the mean time some necessary question of the play be then to be considered. That's villainous and shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it. Go make you ready.
This doesn't just exist within the corporate realm, although that environment creates the perfect hermetic seal needed to divorce consciousness from truth, the heart from essential nature, from love, from the present. This can happen to anyone: artists, mothers, models, athletes, politicians, doctors. It can and does happen when we as humans, with all the best of intentions, are driven by the fruit of our labor, by the appearance and eventual (momentary) possession of ideals; ideals painted by the mind instead of heard by the heart. This can happen when we place material at the center of our lives, and place ourselves at the center of the world, seeking to serve the rabid and undying hunger of the scared dog, the defensive dog, the dog all about survival. There is another choice. Feed the dog within that gives, feed the dog that loves, the one that seeks to understand instead of control, the one that seeks to serve instead of being served.
The central tenant of wisdom traditions is the antidote. It is this: do your work, but, give the fruits to Me. Work not with the intent for self-satisfaction, but with the understanding that when we work to give and love, our minds can live in ease and truly taste the joy at the heart of life.
Wake up from this nightmare:
The central tenant of wisdom traditions is the antidote. It is this: do your work, but, give the fruits to Me. Work not with the intent for self-satisfaction, but with the understanding that when we work to give and love, our minds can live in ease and truly taste the joy at the heart of life.
Wake up from this nightmare:
First of all, I want to say something I didn't precisely voice this video: God is Love. That is all. Enjoy!
*also, some of my examples are really...basic. anyway, you get the jist!
This is the album that will deliver it:
The Formalism of the Formless or, Old Age is Wasted on the Dying
On
Monday, December 29, 2014
0
comments
Life teaches you how to let go
With each betrayal and each fall
Another brick stacks around that feeling,
There goes another wall
And life teaches you how to test
After being tested, failing countless times
You learn the art of questions
Avoiding giving answers,
Seeking them, your law
From whomever holds up their end through each round
Watching: will they sustain the long haul?
Can they make it through a layer..
Or four
?
Time seems impossible as a child, like a horizon stretching out forever
Bestowing each circumstance with the permanence of
Boundless joy or terror
As you learn its flexibility, by some newly blurry sight
It starts to fly by fiercely,
Passing in the night
And by the time you're ready,
To accept its ebbs and flow,
Here's a breakaway set on your step
That takes you with its call
With each betrayal and each fall
Another brick stacks around that feeling,
There goes another wall
And life teaches you how to test
After being tested, failing countless times
You learn the art of questions
Avoiding giving answers,
Seeking them, your law
From whomever holds up their end through each round
Watching: will they sustain the long haul?
Can they make it through a layer..
Or four
?
Time seems impossible as a child, like a horizon stretching out forever
Bestowing each circumstance with the permanence of
Boundless joy or terror
As you learn its flexibility, by some newly blurry sight
It starts to fly by fiercely,
Passing in the night
And by the time you're ready,
To accept its ebbs and flow,
Here's a breakaway set on your step
That takes you with its call
It's easy when the stakes are low.
And terrible when there are so many expectations, so many, be they real or imagined, people depending on you
Not always, doesn't have to be..
It's enough to have a family
But what about raising the vibration(s)?
This film Frequencies got me thinking so clearly about what it really is to strike a clear note, perfect pitch. Effective and impact-full living. It means sacrificing humanity, machine-like in the execution of duty, of a life that goes according to plan and grandly effortless.. On the higher end of the spectrum
And those that struggle, perhaps of a more frenetic or out-of-tune vibration, can live with empathy and compassion, with the boundless ability to love and take others in, showing that inner space, messy and embarrassing as it may be.
Taking down the pressure
Mounting the integrity-backed action
Just Do It
It's more important to be connected up to your own process. You know the sweet spot, what it feels like, how you get there. For some it means meticulous organization, for others it means diving right in to a stanza or scene that is full of meaning and importance and building around it. Same with getting dressed. Some need a whole look. Others can riff off a scarf or pair of pants or great boot. Just as nature has limitless variety so does the human expression.
This was just a little blowing steam train of thought, I want to ride em more.
And terrible when there are so many expectations, so many, be they real or imagined, people depending on you
Not always, doesn't have to be..
It's enough to have a family
But what about raising the vibration(s)?
This film Frequencies got me thinking so clearly about what it really is to strike a clear note, perfect pitch. Effective and impact-full living. It means sacrificing humanity, machine-like in the execution of duty, of a life that goes according to plan and grandly effortless.. On the higher end of the spectrum
And those that struggle, perhaps of a more frenetic or out-of-tune vibration, can live with empathy and compassion, with the boundless ability to love and take others in, showing that inner space, messy and embarrassing as it may be.
Taking down the pressure
Mounting the integrity-backed action
Just Do It
It's more important to be connected up to your own process. You know the sweet spot, what it feels like, how you get there. For some it means meticulous organization, for others it means diving right in to a stanza or scene that is full of meaning and importance and building around it. Same with getting dressed. Some need a whole look. Others can riff off a scarf or pair of pants or great boot. Just as nature has limitless variety so does the human expression.
This was just a little blowing steam train of thought, I want to ride em more.
|
Love is funny. It's definitely work, it takes work to keep engaged, or rather, to keep the negative space engaging you. In an uplifting way, moreover. You know what I mean? The gap, the blank, the breath of air between the living colors of memories; the outline that defines the space.
Dysfunction is when that negative space is, well, actually negative. Filled with the silent treatment, passive aggressiveness, wandering motives, plotting for wholly selfish fulfillment.
Healthy negative space is stimulating. It creates that fondness, it's the right amount of fodder for yearning, for the height of loving feelings, the kind that can only exist in separation.
Like a baby who comes crashing down, and is about to wail, that breath of silence before the flurry, in it we are delivered to fully face pain, and through it, to come to the experience of love, it serves as a journey of development. From one point to another, the mind, body, soul has space and time to piece together, to become conscientious, to become ready for the next bout of fullness and the presence that it requires.
If it hasn't changed you, was it love?
Dysfunction is when that negative space is, well, actually negative. Filled with the silent treatment, passive aggressiveness, wandering motives, plotting for wholly selfish fulfillment.
Healthy negative space is stimulating. It creates that fondness, it's the right amount of fodder for yearning, for the height of loving feelings, the kind that can only exist in separation.
Like a baby who comes crashing down, and is about to wail, that breath of silence before the flurry, in it we are delivered to fully face pain, and through it, to come to the experience of love, it serves as a journey of development. From one point to another, the mind, body, soul has space and time to piece together, to become conscientious, to become ready for the next bout of fullness and the presence that it requires.
If it hasn't changed you, was it love?
Here I am the epitome of cliché
sitting in an East Village bohème-chic café
belly full of Momofuku and tongue acrid with the burnt bean of artist's dreams
cramped in a tight corner, lap top on my lap because that's where it was made to be, and comfort compromised with not a thought about it
not when we know what we want, are rapt in the process of manifesting.
Warm; good because it's grey-slap-your-cheeks cold out there,
and fiery on my insides, burning with a hunger to create and unleash
suppression might not be healthy
But here I am, battling back after months of attack,
approaching the writer who must be shrunk away in some corner,
cowering like a neglected child in a dark basement,
terrible but true [thanks SVU]
maybe some drama-inducing duct-tape strapped over her mouth
or hands bound to a chair of her own carving, cobbling
little toothpicks digging into her skin, mouths cleaned out of all meaning
Anyway, begging this writer to make herself heard again.
God damn day jobs.
What are they good for, really?
Ah roof, ah meal, ah some sense of stupid security
To hell with it
wait, wait -- let's not put the book before the horse
and anyway, some astrologer once told me something that's twisted my mind away from print publishing, personally
My mystic moon movements take to these nuances and believe... mind over matter but come now, does it matter if I don't mind?
I am the dreamer of the dream
Being dreamed by a dream beyond my wildest dreams,
Lord all mighty why won't you show yourself to me?
I really wanna see you, really wanna be with you
:: sorry, (not sorry) music break ::
Where was I?
Maybe it was the two days of sitting in an apartment, banging my brains against my skull against a desk working on the stuff of nightmares.
A kind of boring I cannot tolerate
machine I am not
So why do we do it to ourselves?
the narrative builds?
Well, stepped out and took a walk and the words started writing themselves on the clicks of suede boot heel (judge a wo &/or man by his shoes, don't be shy, you know it kinda matters) against the path to said cafe where I was, honest to God, planning to continue my brain-banging work
but you know what? TGIF
Thank God it's fuckday.
Approaching the muse with the seed of an idea, it's all you need
and some bravery to let it roll, to trust the thought to unfold you more and more and more --
Just some nice ornamentation to bring us to the head
crescendo
A build
just like in bed
just like in the movies,
songs
...takes some time to learn the flow
or maybe you're a straight-up animal and you already know, know you know, that is
If you only knew how much magic --
the level of magic that happens when you create, express, publish, ship.
It's crazy, I don't know if this is some Pavlovian conditioning
but --
this silly little white box - to-be-blog -
It excites me like no other. The ability to hit publish and call the magic forth
My potions are in thought and word
Some other people, like Rene Redzepi, find it in nature, in the alchemy of tongue and imagination.
What an inspiration,
Genius cannot be less than freakish sensitivity and deep, deep, desire, excitement, sourced within and aimed out at the world like a divinely-inspired fire hose of "can I show you how I see it?"
sitting in an East Village bohème-chic café
belly full of Momofuku and tongue acrid with the burnt bean of artist's dreams
cramped in a tight corner, lap top on my lap because that's where it was made to be, and comfort compromised with not a thought about it
not when we know what we want, are rapt in the process of manifesting.
Warm; good because it's grey-slap-your-cheeks cold out there,
and fiery on my insides, burning with a hunger to create and unleash
suppression might not be healthy
But here I am, battling back after months of attack,
approaching the writer who must be shrunk away in some corner,
cowering like a neglected child in a dark basement,
terrible but true [thanks SVU]
maybe some drama-inducing duct-tape strapped over her mouth
or hands bound to a chair of her own carving, cobbling
little toothpicks digging into her skin, mouths cleaned out of all meaning
Anyway, begging this writer to make herself heard again.
God damn day jobs.
What are they good for, really?
Ah roof, ah meal, ah some sense of stupid security
To hell with it
wait, wait -- let's not put the book before the horse
and anyway, some astrologer once told me something that's twisted my mind away from print publishing, personally
My mystic moon movements take to these nuances and believe... mind over matter but come now, does it matter if I don't mind?
I am the dreamer of the dream
Being dreamed by a dream beyond my wildest dreams,
Lord all mighty why won't you show yourself to me?
I really wanna see you, really wanna be with you
:: sorry, (not sorry) music break ::
Where was I?
Maybe it was the two days of sitting in an apartment, banging my brains against my skull against a desk working on the stuff of nightmares.
A kind of boring I cannot tolerate
machine I am not
So why do we do it to ourselves?
the narrative builds?
Well, stepped out and took a walk and the words started writing themselves on the clicks of suede boot heel (judge a wo &/or man by his shoes, don't be shy, you know it kinda matters) against the path to said cafe where I was, honest to God, planning to continue my brain-banging work
but you know what? TGIF
Thank God it's fuckday.
Approaching the muse with the seed of an idea, it's all you need
and some bravery to let it roll, to trust the thought to unfold you more and more and more --
Just some nice ornamentation to bring us to the head
crescendo
A build
just like in bed
just like in the movies,
songs
...takes some time to learn the flow
or maybe you're a straight-up animal and you already know, know you know, that is
If you only knew how much magic --
the level of magic that happens when you create, express, publish, ship.
It's crazy, I don't know if this is some Pavlovian conditioning
but --
this silly little white box - to-be-blog -
It excites me like no other. The ability to hit publish and call the magic forth
My potions are in thought and word
Some other people, like Rene Redzepi, find it in nature, in the alchemy of tongue and imagination.
What an inspiration,
Genius cannot be less than freakish sensitivity and deep, deep, desire, excitement, sourced within and aimed out at the world like a divinely-inspired fire hose of "can I show you how I see it?"
Putting out the flames of delusion
I'm like a man desperate for some flesh after being locked away for some misdemeanor crime.
I'm like a housewife who imagined the wrong dream and got what she wanted, hanging over empty trivialities, knocking over and over with the hopes that what she needs but doesn't know of answers.
Fuck the shiny manicures, leather bags and walk-in closets, toss aside the bottle of 4pm Pinot Greej and empty bed, heart, head
Time to come home to your baby and get what you've been missing so long
And then it shows up on your door, virtually, unexpected and the riptide sweeps you off your feet and you say hell yes, I'm letting go
And you run away
Run on the words
Run on the grass
on the fragrances and subtle and smack of it in your face, slammed into the surf,
blood coursing better than the little games you make up to play,
Pulling your clothes off the shelf, a bag you don't even think you'll need, getting its fill of the past, just as security, a memento so you know just where you're coming from
though some part of you can see, through the crack, the opening of rage-in-action,
you can see the future holds all you'll need, and the present is broad and spacious enough to let you not give a --
I'm like a man desperate for some flesh after being locked away for some misdemeanor crime.
I'm like a housewife who imagined the wrong dream and got what she wanted, hanging over empty trivialities, knocking over and over with the hopes that what she needs but doesn't know of answers.
Fuck the shiny manicures, leather bags and walk-in closets, toss aside the bottle of 4pm Pinot Greej and empty bed, heart, head
Time to come home to your baby and get what you've been missing so long
And then it shows up on your door, virtually, unexpected and the riptide sweeps you off your feet and you say hell yes, I'm letting go
And you run away
Run on the words
Run on the grass
on the fragrances and subtle and smack of it in your face, slammed into the surf,
blood coursing better than the little games you make up to play,
Pulling your clothes off the shelf, a bag you don't even think you'll need, getting its fill of the past, just as security, a memento so you know just where you're coming from
though some part of you can see, through the crack, the opening of rage-in-action,
you can see the future holds all you'll need, and the present is broad and spacious enough to let you not give a --
"They trespassed upon my thoughts. They were intruders whose knowledge of life was to me an irritating pretense, because I felt so sure they could not possibly know the things I knew. Their bearing, which was simply the bearing of commonplace individuals going about their business in the assurance of perfect safety, was offensive to me like the outrageous flauntings of folly in the face of a danger it is unable to comprehend. I had no particular desire to enlighten them, but I had some difficulty in restraining myself from laughing in their faces, so full of stupid importance."
I want to fly
I want to paint
To sing and dance and breathe the winds of the ocean in
Exhale the mountains
To dream my life into being
To walk with inspiration
I don't want to wait
I want patience made of faith and vision,
Understanding higher messages, missions
Hearing when I'm lost or unsure
Knowing growing upon knowing as the intuition roots deeper and deeper
I want to sweep away the stagnant
Put the world on hold to hold my lover
I want to live in truth and laugh with joy,
Open to the mysteries of each new day
And open to the people that come my way
I want to be self-realized
And compassionate
Remember the down days when someone needs a hand up
I want it to be effortless
I want to feel what yes means in my bones
No more confusion
No more moans and groans
I want to wake up to a day before me with inspired action aplenty and my own decisions guiding
A schedule of right mind and left action
Meditation, love, interaction
Soft and strong
No more waiting
Time for Flying, celebrating
Life will give you what you need when you need it, with your participation, of course, but not always in the ways you think it's happening. If you're not making the choices you need to, and your heart is saying something different from what your hands are doing, life will eventually intervene. And when given the choice, shown the writing on the wall, we hardly have the time to choose, really. It chooses us.
|
fruits tumbling, mossy notes and straw baskets
sweat equity at its peak, born to the careful farmhand
hands salved in salvation, owning his station
"It ain't fancy but here -- take a bite"
fragrance precludes the watering
like a root thirsty for the whole tree
the nose gets the mouth gets the body gets the soul
ready
to experience that simple bliss
of a first taste
and when you've been on the journey
for the length of the year,
picking out seeds
preparing the ground
consulting almanacs, the moon, feeling the wind on your back
a push from the elements, all aligned
planting, persevering along with the sprout, a spout
supplying water
or
Indra, responding to the grains, the fire, the
thank yous
offering in return a bit of
quenched desire
to grow and grow and
that magic-trick of a little bud
still green, still young
pushes forth
this is how the man can be the mother
and the mother, the man
with just a little work
and just a little listening,
waiting
for the ripening
for the harvesting
of the bounty of September
sweat equity at its peak, born to the careful farmhand
hands salved in salvation, owning his station
"It ain't fancy but here -- take a bite"
fragrance precludes the watering
like a root thirsty for the whole tree
the nose gets the mouth gets the body gets the soul
ready
to experience that simple bliss
of a first taste
and when you've been on the journey
for the length of the year,
picking out seeds
preparing the ground
consulting almanacs, the moon, feeling the wind on your back
a push from the elements, all aligned
planting, persevering along with the sprout, a spout
supplying water
or
Indra, responding to the grains, the fire, the
thank yous
offering in return a bit of
quenched desire
to grow and grow and
that magic-trick of a little bud
still green, still young
pushes forth
this is how the man can be the mother
and the mother, the man
with just a little work
and just a little listening,
waiting
for the ripening
for the harvesting
of the bounty of September
...which was apparently banned in much of Europe and the US. Too many good/powerful messages...
You know that untapped percentage of our brain? It's actually a treasure trove of eternal / timeless knowledge and wisdom, deep psychic abilities -- radio towers / signals with which to communicate without words; a dream-power so intense, it will actually project out into reality, as if a hologram took it to the next level and bound into atoms and solid matter. And the puny percent we do use? Well that's just a storage locker for new information, a small allowance to take in certain temporally-influenced, circumstantial realities. Trouble is, we're cramming that tiny locker with information, with reflections of reflections, distorting the original film, blocking the harmonic, universal rhythm, it's compressing in on itself, short-circuiting the whole system.
The huge trove? Picture this: a brain with only a tiny section lit up in colors, sparks, motion, commotion -- the rest is grey and dead-looking. That grey matter? the untapped, forgotten well-of-all we'll ever need? Fully equipped. It just needs a good dusting, to be plugged into a higher source. Tesla on to it, the capstone of Egypt? Check. Vedic scripts? Yip. All these under, above ground truths in myth.
____________
I saw God in a new way today. Well, not entirely new, but the rasa, the feeling, was newly nuanced.
God could be our best of friends, a well-wisher supreme, but we exclude Him from our lives. Like, how would you like it if the people you introduced and help get together just started hanging out without you, having tons of fun on your dime, on your resources and, let's say you're an inventor and artist, on the things you've built and designed? Would make you feel pretty annoyed huh? But if we were to include you? Guess what, you'd probably be super happy and want to share more of your discoveries, your personality, more of your light. Yea, God too.
_____________
This life is actually a hologram of a higher reality. It's not that the invisible, higher platforms of thought, action and existence are manifestations beyond reality; it's that they are reality, and we are living a dream, and these days, an increasingly darkening dream. I find it painfully ironic that in order to maintain 'security' (ego security), police forces are using violence and causing harm. Oh how the natural order has been reversed.......
_____________
The Six Loving Exchanges:
Offering gifts in charity
Accepting charitable gifts
Revealing one's mind in confidence
Inquiring confidentially
Accepting prasada
Offering prasada
are the six symptoms of love shared by one devotee and another.
More of these, please. Always.
______________
Krishna's birthday is this weekend.
______________
What are we living for? What are you living for? Is it your family? You career? A good salary? Your community? Satan? God?
Which of these things echo into eternity and which, like the periodicals that land in the litter box, turn over and pass into history, forgotten and buried in the sands of time? How can we develop understanding of the former, and remain cognizant of the latter, checking the ego towards the pursuit of what is inherently beneficial instead of what twinkles and fades? To develop understanding of eternity... huh, from some little contact I've had with yoga, 13 years of my 28, (such a drop in the ocean) I've come to understand that being properly situated is half the battle. So many distractions today, I certainly get caught up, especially the political ones... Hmm, like father like daughter. And seek the balance in the spiritual... Hmm, mama I owe you. So, so many distractions. Seemingly benign. But our most precious resource, our consciousness is sapped... I find solace in the yoking of the two. It's not that we reject the world and its delights, it's that we include God in our pursuit of it all and fit that last puzzle piece into place; so that we can find some measure of completion while we still have time to breathe... With the right association and friendship, anything is possible.
Three of my favorites:
If one offers Me with love and devotion a leaf, a flower, a fruit or water, I will accept it
Whatever you do, whatever you eat, whatever you offer or give away, and whatever austerities you perform -- do that, O son of Kunti, as an offering to Me.
In this way you will be freed from bondage to work and its auspicious and inauspicious results. With your mind fixed on Me in this principle of renunciation, you will be liberated and come to Me.
It's nice to spend time with new people sometimes.
With the right consciousness (reality) we can transform our lives (dreams, they take shape and fade into the night with the dawning of death and a new life). It's just a little consciousness that needs a polishing. The lens of the heart needs some dusting. Prabhupada said that the heart is like a camera, it takes so many pictures, snapshots of memories; hurt, love, joy, pain, celebration, mourning; and they compress into the unconscious mind. These layers become so heavy, our wings fold down our backs and we forget how to fly on, float on the miracle of here, now, all together as soul. We need to clean that lens, the mirror of the heart to see clearly again. To see the true picture. Sound vibration. The most powerful energy there is to aid in this cleansing. Mantra. From man - Sanskrit for mind and tra- to cross over. Seed sounds which originate in another platform, the transcendental platform, of life and reality. When we utter them, from the heart, sincerely, listening with all of our ears, inner and outer, we begin to become transformed. Something softens. The layers caked onto the heart begin to dissolve from the powerful acid-like potency of nectar in sound. Every time, I shit you not, every time I'm mad or my mind is running a story, a cheap and ugly one, maybe, a junk-food thought, I chant and immediately it's pacified. The sensation increases hundred fold when in a group of people doing the same. We all might have different reasons or experiences, on different rungs of understanding and acceptance, of devotion and insight, but the brilliant thing is -- that heart is getting clean.
_____________
There was a period of time when I was annoyed by "Waiting on the World to Change". I thought it was so defeatist. So weak and lame. I understood the general gist, but it felt impotent. It made me feel jipped. I didn't want to get messages telling me, subliminally, to give up, or worse, not even try. But then I realized tonight, it's really just the wheel of time turning, and when it's our turn, how are we going to handle reality, and temper the dream?
I really do believe it's our turn. So, are we going to act selfishly, or are we going to share resources, share our toys, playing with each other through the consciousness of the divine as our lens, inviting God to the party, working together with hostility a faded shell, buried in an ocean of grounded bliss.
The huge trove? Picture this: a brain with only a tiny section lit up in colors, sparks, motion, commotion -- the rest is grey and dead-looking. That grey matter? the untapped, forgotten well-of-all we'll ever need? Fully equipped. It just needs a good dusting, to be plugged into a higher source. Tesla on to it, the capstone of Egypt? Check. Vedic scripts? Yip. All these under, above ground truths in myth.
____________
I saw God in a new way today. Well, not entirely new, but the rasa, the feeling, was newly nuanced.
God could be our best of friends, a well-wisher supreme, but we exclude Him from our lives. Like, how would you like it if the people you introduced and help get together just started hanging out without you, having tons of fun on your dime, on your resources and, let's say you're an inventor and artist, on the things you've built and designed? Would make you feel pretty annoyed huh? But if we were to include you? Guess what, you'd probably be super happy and want to share more of your discoveries, your personality, more of your light. Yea, God too.
_____________
This life is actually a hologram of a higher reality. It's not that the invisible, higher platforms of thought, action and existence are manifestations beyond reality; it's that they are reality, and we are living a dream, and these days, an increasingly darkening dream. I find it painfully ironic that in order to maintain 'security' (ego security), police forces are using violence and causing harm. Oh how the natural order has been reversed.......
_____________
The Six Loving Exchanges:
Offering gifts in charity
Accepting charitable gifts
Revealing one's mind in confidence
Inquiring confidentially
Accepting prasada
Offering prasada
are the six symptoms of love shared by one devotee and another.
More of these, please. Always.
______________
Krishna's birthday is this weekend.
______________
What are we living for? What are you living for? Is it your family? You career? A good salary? Your community? Satan? God?
Which of these things echo into eternity and which, like the periodicals that land in the litter box, turn over and pass into history, forgotten and buried in the sands of time? How can we develop understanding of the former, and remain cognizant of the latter, checking the ego towards the pursuit of what is inherently beneficial instead of what twinkles and fades? To develop understanding of eternity... huh, from some little contact I've had with yoga, 13 years of my 28, (such a drop in the ocean) I've come to understand that being properly situated is half the battle. So many distractions today, I certainly get caught up, especially the political ones... Hmm, like father like daughter. And seek the balance in the spiritual... Hmm, mama I owe you. So, so many distractions. Seemingly benign. But our most precious resource, our consciousness is sapped... I find solace in the yoking of the two. It's not that we reject the world and its delights, it's that we include God in our pursuit of it all and fit that last puzzle piece into place; so that we can find some measure of completion while we still have time to breathe... With the right association and friendship, anything is possible.
Three of my favorites:
If one offers Me with love and devotion a leaf, a flower, a fruit or water, I will accept it
Whatever you do, whatever you eat, whatever you offer or give away, and whatever austerities you perform -- do that, O son of Kunti, as an offering to Me.
In this way you will be freed from bondage to work and its auspicious and inauspicious results. With your mind fixed on Me in this principle of renunciation, you will be liberated and come to Me.
It's nice to spend time with new people sometimes.
With the right consciousness (reality) we can transform our lives (dreams, they take shape and fade into the night with the dawning of death and a new life). It's just a little consciousness that needs a polishing. The lens of the heart needs some dusting. Prabhupada said that the heart is like a camera, it takes so many pictures, snapshots of memories; hurt, love, joy, pain, celebration, mourning; and they compress into the unconscious mind. These layers become so heavy, our wings fold down our backs and we forget how to fly on, float on the miracle of here, now, all together as soul. We need to clean that lens, the mirror of the heart to see clearly again. To see the true picture. Sound vibration. The most powerful energy there is to aid in this cleansing. Mantra. From man - Sanskrit for mind and tra- to cross over. Seed sounds which originate in another platform, the transcendental platform, of life and reality. When we utter them, from the heart, sincerely, listening with all of our ears, inner and outer, we begin to become transformed. Something softens. The layers caked onto the heart begin to dissolve from the powerful acid-like potency of nectar in sound. Every time, I shit you not, every time I'm mad or my mind is running a story, a cheap and ugly one, maybe, a junk-food thought, I chant and immediately it's pacified. The sensation increases hundred fold when in a group of people doing the same. We all might have different reasons or experiences, on different rungs of understanding and acceptance, of devotion and insight, but the brilliant thing is -- that heart is getting clean.
_____________
There was a period of time when I was annoyed by "Waiting on the World to Change". I thought it was so defeatist. So weak and lame. I understood the general gist, but it felt impotent. It made me feel jipped. I didn't want to get messages telling me, subliminally, to give up, or worse, not even try. But then I realized tonight, it's really just the wheel of time turning, and when it's our turn, how are we going to handle reality, and temper the dream?
I really do believe it's our turn. So, are we going to act selfishly, or are we going to share resources, share our toys, playing with each other through the consciousness of the divine as our lens, inviting God to the party, working together with hostility a faded shell, buried in an ocean of grounded bliss.
DISCLAIMER: I wrote this to myself (now, to whom ever can relate to these words & find inspiration) a few months ago… I'm kind of a natural teacher, an impulsive sharer. If it isn't shared, I think, what's the point? Just like ol'boy in 'Into The Wild'… I just won't need to starve myself and forage alone in the wilderness to figure it out… Here goes nothing:
HEY – DON’T YOU EVER GET FUCKING LAZY, you’ve got too much
good stuff in ya to squander it on passive consumption and commentary. Anything
you touch you can allow Him to manifest and master. You picked up a guitar and can carry a tune
and throw a few chords together. Cake. No you’re not a Jeff Buckley or B.B.
King or no Ella Fitzgerald, Etta James, ‘At Last’ geniusness. But damn it, you
know your way around a melody. You can kick ass at any sport. Great. You can
debate and massage and heal and intuit and read birth charts and tarot cards
and be a Gypsy and talk to business people and offer obeisances and get kids to
listen and get up on stage and improv some decently funny shit and cook a
fucking vegan roast. You’re a competitive motherfucker who wants to be good,
maybe not the best because you don’t want to see it as trying for the best, and
anyway, you’re smart enough to know there’s no such thing, truly, plus then
that would require 100% focus and commitment and you’re a bit chicken-shit-amateurish
to commit to anything that hardcore at this point. Except for maybe words.
Better turn that maybe into a life-sentence ya dig? The muse shows up, just
like it just did. You see how that double entendre just spilled out? It’s not
you, it’s the muse. It’s the flow and the truth combining to manifest because
for some God-knowing reason you have a little way with words and can take
yourself around a page, and you’re detail oriented as a Nazi looking for his
next hit. Fuck that wasn’t right. Too soon. It will always be too soon with the
Holocaust.
AND DON’T BE THINKING IT’S YOU WHO IS SO DAMN AMAZING. YA
HEARD? It’s not. It’s not fucking you who has all these talents and opulences
and skills. Don’t forget that and don’t let shit get to your head. Don’t get
too fucking proud, not about anything, never so fucking proud that you look
like a damn fool. But don’t let that be your motivation – not looking like a
damn fool. You should beg to look like a fool, maybe not that far, but you are
just the vehicle. Ok I’ll back off, this is getting to be a little abrasive.
Don’t take it badly, I’m just a ball buster, the inner voice in you, you
internalized your crazy dad (love him, God bless him), after all. We went over this, hello superego. The
moderns call it the superego and it’s in your mind. The ancients call it the Supersoul and it’s in your heart. One is your material father the other is your
eternal father. One chides, the other guides. You are a spirit-soul
contaminated and covered up by a lot of millions of lives of mistakes and
karmas and habits and patterns and conditionings. You’ve been honestly trying
on this path, you have. You chose some other-level shit and not everyone cares.
But hey, sometimes you don’t try worth a damn. There’s always someone else
doubling down. Someone else with a clearer vision than you, and crisper
intentions, and more decisive actions when they jump out of bed in the morning.
Maybe their sights are not as lofty, but in-hand, someone who has a plan and is
stepping down that road, someone who spends nights in while you kick around
with pals, putting shit off. Someone
who’s making a plan and has the friends and partners to make shit happen. So
don’t compare yourself but don’t forget to buckle down and just do it, but do
it without the laziness. Try damn it. Cut out that Twitter nonsense, that
Instagram hokie, that Facebook time-crook crap. I know you know this. Sometimes you give only
as much as it takes to get over the hump so you can sit your lumps back down
and kick back and fuck around. I know you do this. And know this. But what
about taking it higher? No, not just with your words and thoughts, but with
your deeds, too. Not just to ‘show it’ to people. No, do it for real, for
quiet, for keeps – slink around minding your business and keeping your head in
the right place and your heart pouring out goodness and just doing the damn thing. Eyes on the practice. Leave the
prize for the Gods. I wanted to write dogs and it came out Gods. YES. THE PRIZE
IS FOR THE GODS. Let them pick it up.
You don’t even have to call it in. They KNOW. Like that. Don’t ever get so
puffed up that you forget it’s all His. Offer it up to your teachers. They’re
offering it up to their own. So it’s just due diligence, keep passing it back
up the line, and eventually you know you’ll get to the source. Here, you can
get there now. Remember that—everything you have came from the source. And you
know thissssss.
And next time you’re stuck, because there WILL be a next
time, you don’t have to come back and read this pump-up piece because you will
be stuck in a new way, but the same, but a new way. And that will require
another rant to yourself about what the fuck you need to remember and what it
takes, what you must give up and what you absolutely, life-or-death must pick
up and soar with.
NOW SOAR ON THE WINGS HE GAVE YA.
__
PS -- This writing-out-your-motivation stuff works ;) try it for your self
xo
__
PS -- This writing-out-your-motivation stuff works ;) try it for your self
xo
7.3.14, midnight hour
by Alexandra Moga
For all you people putting in the time, putting out the light, either with an inhale or an exhale by night,
On
Saturday, June 07, 2014
0
comments
Everything's on the line for you
Oh all the flubs and magic too
You made the choice
You walked the wire
Committed to the power of fire
High above the rest
Warrior making the most of the mess
Simply born different
Oh you were trained up all right
Spent your shakti on the wise needle hidden in the hay of night
Bypassed the stomping grounds
Quietly marking up the books to tip the scales
In your favor the heavens unveiled
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Great bit from The Shift Has Hit The Fan blog:
“Having a taste for things is so much more important than owning them – This is why, for those who lack nothing, it is better if money remains of secondary concern. You can see what life is like for so many business people – all that time they spend in the office and at meetings. When they leave, it is so they can race around from one end of the globe to the other without seeing anything of the regions they pass through or of the people who live there. And that is how their sensitivity to what is beautiful and poetic in life eventually becomes dulled. So, what was the point of amassing a fortune? They cannot even enjoy the advantages it gives them, as they have destroyed that something in them that gives the most exquisite flavour to things, events and people. And that is what is sad: to have the possibility of acquiring anything you want but to feel no joy from it, except the vanity of owning it. So if you have to choose between these two situations – owning a lot but no longer being able to appreciate it, or owning very little and keeping your taste for it – choose the latter, and the smallest thing will give you joy.”
- Omraam Mikhael Aivanhov
Ohhh I'm so excited to tell you about this gem of a troubadour!! His name is Robert Leslie. I found him on the subway platform at the 2nd avenue station of the uptown F. Which is a terribly smart place to be on a Tuesday night as a blossoming musician. I had just gone to see another great act, Zane Carney (actually, two great acts because his brother was playing with him that night and hot damn they were good) and myself and a flood of other show-goers were treated to Mr. Leslie's stylings while waiting for the train. What good luck. I even skipped getting on the first one so I could hear some more of his tunes.
Such a cutie! Though he can't be older than 25, he's got a from-another-age-like quality, just a hint of something special that's not too modern and not affected either; the way he speaks in stanzas and impossible imagination, with the confidence of a young person too dependent on intuition and too wary to accept authority. He's a writer, a poet. A singer and musician almost only as if by necessity, to make his musings come alive in another way off the page. Ok, so maybe I'm projecting and whipping up stories a little bit. But if you're a sensitive and interested person, ya can't help absorbing more than what is told and shown when consuming another's intimate arts. And album explanations. The back-story along with his latest album, Sense of Distance, stirs the vagabond in me to wake in a palpable dream. I fell in love more. When I met him, he was wearing the obligatory hat with a big old poppy-like plastic flower and a knit scarf. He told me he's from England but also American. Ah, tis a certain blessing to hold multiple passports.
Anyway -- I just got to listening to his CD and am I excited for what I hope will be his inevitable success. Good stuff like this, souls that strike your inner chord clearly, you just want 'em to succeed.
Great to listen to on a run, by the way. Especially if, like me, you haven't gone for a run in AGES and are panting and ready to collapse after one minute and find yourself walking every other block; nice and soothing in such states of mild physical distress.
LYRICS
.....Piece of mind or piece of ass / gotta live and make it last / and gotta get it down somehow / pocket all the cents and dimes / And if another lecture hall / locks me in or tries to teach / more flawed ideas or battle calls / tell them that I can't be reached / tell them they've already leeched my happiness, my wherewithal / they must be sick of all my sighing / oh come on now everybody stop / I'm leaving soon I've had enough / I've jumped the cliff, I've made the drop / don't think twice now call the bluff / yes it's painful, yes it's rough / but I'll be gone before ida flop / so long guys I'll be alright
Do you hear the earth telling us, talking to us, showing us, talking back? Earthquakes. Land slides.
Reality is multi dimensional. There are other states of living, breathing, being.
Why are we stuck in the grind that grinds down all life?
How to lift it up? Lighten your load.
There are other dimensions of time.
Here—wanna blow your mind? Simple.
It takes an ant 5 minutes to cross the same distance that you cover in 5 steps.
To the ant, you stand in the future. Your sense of time is greater, you can do more, and faster.
What makes us believe that there aren’t beings whose one step covers 500 years? It’s a bit too much to believe, to accept, so the ‘adults’ will label it myth. Fun story but no fact.
Then they’ll turn their OWN stories into fact. Aghhh how annoying is that? #egotrip
You wanna know what blew my mind today? Nearly every single person in Union Square this afternoon either had a device iphone something or other in their hands or was plugged in through their ears. Holy shit. This is that future. We’ve all got a badge here in the developed world.
But the tool is innocent. What is the user? A tool himself? Used by the mouthpieces of distortion? Or emboldened by the power of realization, austerity, and curiosity?
My prayer is for the awakening to quake and break through all the souls covered, trapped, ignorant to their own ignorance.
Pray it with me now:
Rise up, fellow men and women!
Awaken, sleeping souls
Break the lies and find the love
Don’t lose your mind’s control.
Time is tiny
Or vast and ever-grand
So
take long strides and deep breaths
Extend your draining sands
Extend your draining sands
Connect to eyes
Connect to subtle replies
Turn off the lies
The lies that close us all off from the pulse of what is wise
And ritualize your life to channel the divine
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