When the trees sing
it is the wind that
gives them voice.
When the heart sings,
what, but the
mystery of love
is at hand.
Cast wide the sails
of your heart
into the star filled
firmament
and love’s wind
will guide
you unerringly home
Somewhere,
in between
reality and illusion,
love and fear,
duality and nonduality,
sinner and saint,
truth and lie,
there exists a crevice,
a line so fine as to be nearly invisible.
One day,
while walking barefoot in the snow
with your nose close to the ground in search of food,
you trip and fall into the abyss of the crevice.
In the falling you suddenly realize that you are gazing
into the compassionate eyes of the One
Who is gently cradling you in warm and loving arms.
frail flowers abound
the gardener is sound asleep
my mind, the graveyard
joy, tears and laughter
the gardener woke up again
the mind, a great yard
no joy, no sadness
spacious as the vast blue sky
no yard, no graveyard
no mind, no gardener
the garden of the unborn
frail flowers abound
This picture is suggesting a perspective
What is flat from one perspective isn’t from another
What is smooth from one perspective isn’t from another
What is huge from one perspective is tiny from another
An ordeal from one perspective
A blessing in disguise from another
No perspective can be seen from another perspective
Non-perspectiveness underlies all perspectives
The sun neither rises nor sets
Easily to be observed from outer space
Yet the picture is suggestive of a sunset
Phenomena arising and subsiding
Like the sun seems to rise from the ocean and to subside in it
Although that doesn’t really happen
Awareness neither rises nor sets
Everything seems to arise and to subside in it
Although that doesn’t really happen
Silence is most natural. But it doesn’t mean “no thinking”. The majority of thinking revolves around one item or more of the “unholy trinity,”, other(s), my feeling(s).. Unholy, because all wars and conflicts are regarding “I and mine…” or its plural “We and our…” so it is obvious that without “I”, the sense of otherness has gone too and Silence just IS, irrespective of thinking. It will be clear that religions, systems of meditation and yogas are aiming to diminish the sense of “I” to such an extent that one becomes aware of the Silence. If this results in a preference/like for Silence above anything else, that could be called Grace because it will transform seeming austerities into a joy and “attainment” will be swift.
The Epic of Gilgamesh is one of the oldest known written stories, the earliest versions date to about 2000 B.C. The epic hails from ancient Babylonia, a kingdom that was located in the area between the rivers Euphrat and Tigris in what is now Iraq. The epic was originally written on clay tablets in cuneiform, the wedge shaped characters of the Sumerian language. The fullest surviving version of the epic, however, was written in Akkadian, another Babylonian language.
To be a spiritual seeker is to be concerned with moving beyond the limits of the ordinary mind. The main obstacle we encounter in attempting to do this is our own psyche and no tinkering with outer circumstances or systems will help advance us. We must go to that center within to bring about a change in ourselves. It does no good to travel from one place to another to find spiritual enlightenment. If you cannot find God in your own backyard, it is not likely you will find God along the Jordan, the Ganges or the Nile; nor will you find Her in the flower or a smile.
We must be living expressions of truth, not fossilizing custodians of ancient theosophy. The spiritual seeker knows that life is being moved by powerful unseen forces. At times traditional beliefs and dogma are insufficient. Recasting old ideas and collecting knowledge is not synonymous with spiritual experience. It may serve to activate our interest but it does not provide an inner awareness. There is no set course of instruction which, after completing, we receive an S.D. (“Saint’s Degree”) or an M.D. (“Mystic’s Degree”). Each of us has a unique past to draw from and each is drawn to and responds to certain practices in our own unique and individual way. Individual differences are neither better nor worse, just different. To compare one’s self with others is to forget the uniqueness of your own journey.
Luthar.com 
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