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Through the Veil: By Joyce Sweinberg

flower

Misty mystical morn
born of last evening’s tempest,
clothed in Maya’s veil.

Children of the cloudbursts return to the source,
dancing reflections of Infinity
rising to the call of the Beloved.

Lingering droplets, moist and luminescent
reflections of Infinity
playing in the filtered light of the sun.

Laden with the fullness of nothingness,
quiet clouds of misty air dancing, glistening, listening
to the music of the morning.

Hark! the birds are calling,
declaring the perfection of All That Is Brahman.
Let me not care for reason!

flower

Photographs courtesy of Joyce Sweinberg

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The Ascent: By Madathil Rajendran Nair

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A mountain side afire,
Crimsonness aflame,
Seated Mother drowned in your thought,
The flame of forest I am.
A perineal flow of molten lava
That weaves serpent-like,
Breathing heat and fire alike,
That is how You begin
Raising Your head
Answering the call,
The call of my Immortality!

Thunder claps aloud,
Lightning streaks the skies,
It rains on the peaks
Setting rivers in rage,
Down abdominal foothills.
Mother, I am
A deluge
Of joy nonpareil,
Electric, ecstatic.
That is how you move,
Answering the call,
The call of my Immortality!

The earth splits apart
To show her mines
Of dazzling gold and gems.
Mother, I am
Your red robe sprinkled
With golden dots,
Covering the navel
That upholds
Creation from dust to stars.
That is how you smile
Answering the call,
The call of my Immortality!

Heart beats a rhythm,
As sanguine turns
The skies around
Into vastness unbound.
Rosy redness I am.
Where I borrow the hue,
There you are,
Humbling the damsel dawn
In her blushful sheen,
Answering the call,
The call of my Immortality!

Air sings your glory,
Tunnels of light awake,
Up the bronchial paths,
As sounds of music play,
Distant anklets clank.
A sky of quiet I am,
Drowned in a joyous brood
That the breeze soothes
Into sky-like evanescence.
That is your ascent,
Answering the call,
The call of my Immortality!

A temple zooms upward,
As space stands aghast,
Time loses her support,
Events come to naught,
A boundless beauty dawns
On the temple heart.
There You are!
Mother of all!
Seated on a matchless throne,
Fondling the strings
Of my being on your lap,
To play an eternal note,
Answering the call,
The call of my Immortality!

Galaxies in spate
Glitter the crown
That adorns a forehead
Where countless skies
Find at last their resting place.
Light-years without a count
Lose their way,
Listening to an immortal lullaby,
And seeking their essence
In the moist eyes,
Oceans of kindness.
Mother, You are
Seated on the Lotus
Of a thousand petals,
All crimson red,
Like a sunset
That human eyes
Have never ever beheld.
There You are! Mother!
My own Immortality!

Vanquished distance cries,
With time undone,
In the ocean
Of your magnificence
Of unsurpassed shine.
Unwanted are the eyes
To know it all
In me the fullest thing,
For You are the One,
Brittle mortality beheld
So far with a wrinkled mind
And blinded eyes,
As it did a distant star
In the wilderness of the skies.

With your ascent now made,
You have never been
Other than the unknowing me.
Mindless, formless here I burn,
A speck of camphor at your Feet,
In an endless flame
That never can be
Other than You, my Immortality.

Image can be found at www.vishvarupa.com

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Mr. Madathil Rajendran Nair was born in 1946. He is currently stationed in the Middle East working as a PRO for an Oil Company. Mr. Nair is a prolific contributor to Yahoo Group Advaitin on Vedanta and a Moderator of the Group. He often writes at other Yahoo Groups too, which focus on spirituality. He dabbles with poetry in English and Malayalam, his native tongue, but has no published works yet.

Note: Perineal = Of the perineum corresponding to the first cakrA

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Freedom: By Jeff Belyea

poison

Poison tipped
white lies
Fly Swiftly
Their whispered hissings
Silently decry
My burgundy dark deeds
These arrows drunk
With excessive wine
Still easily find
Their mark
Sharp merciless fangs
Drag me to the ground
Biting wounding truths
Have found me out
Pleading for release
I am left bleeding
Deep blue eons of time
Confine me find me
In a beggar’s grip
But then I am delivered
Before the queen of kindness
Who melts my chains
Lays claim to my sanity
And grants my
Freedom

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Photographs by Sam Pasiencier

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More of Sam’s photos can be found at :
http://home.hccnet.nl/sam.pas/heres_looking/index.html

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Photographs by Alan Larus

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Paramahamsa Gayatri.

hamsa hamsAya vidmahe
paramahamsAya dhImahi
tanno hamsah prachodayAt

“Let us know Hamsa.
May that supreme Hamsa illumine our intellect
May Hamsa protect us.”

Alan Larus

“I live in Norway and work with database programming. When I have the time I walk in the mountains, forests and along the sea. I also listen to music and read and write a little poetry and take pictures.”

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Photographs by Mazie Lane

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Mazie Lane

“Well, I guess I’ll just tell what led me to where I’m at now: At the age of 20 I had a near-death experience and was guided to Paramahansa Yoganandaji, my guru. The path he’s shown me is the path of devotion as advised in the Bhagavad-Gita. At the same time as this, Sri Ramana Maharshi also stepped into my life, presenting the query “Who am I?” I studied literature and poetry while at Sacramento State University, and, also the study of figure-drawing was a keen interest. My interest in the “spiritual” began as a child contemplating “how far is far?” During the past year my chief occupation has been the writing of mystical poetry, inspired mainly by Rumi and Hafiz. Being in the company of this Advaitist group has been the best lesson I could turn to each day.”

Copy of In_the_Cave_1.sized[1]

More of Mazie’s photographs can be found at http://www.1heart.us/gallery/
Mazie is founder and moderator of the following group:

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/unsaymyself/

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Paintings by Bill Rishel

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Picture of Bhagavan: By Alan Larus

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A strange visit
on Holy Saturday.

Talking about this and that.
( I never imagined
I would lift you into your chair )

In this world
of coming and going,
arriving
after I had gone,
Below the mountain,
on the long way home.

And here I am
in this backwards play
knowing I did nothing
( for it )
to be so.

When I was 17 years old I went to my teacher for the first time. I had been reading several books and discussed yoga with two friends of mine.

She asked me what I wanted to learn, and I said Pranayama. She asked why and I referred to something from a book.

So she gave me a long lesson on discipline and hard work, telling me she was quite sure I did not have what it would take. I felt very uncomfortable and just wanted her to finish so I could leave.

Then I saw a picture on the table behind her. I did not know who was smiling so alive inside the silver frame, but I knew I had walked through the right door.

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Alan Larus “I live in Norway and work with database programming. When I have the time I walk in the mountains, forests and along the sea. I also listen to music and read and write a little poetry and take pictures.”

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You Will, Won’t You?: Image and words by Al Larus

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this winter, so slow

the ivy’s coming in

above


fifteen pancakes

heating in my stove

and

this love


Continue reading

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Short Visit To Paradise: By Al Larus

obscura

You welcomed me with closed eyes

On the last evening of September.

When I lit a fire you got warm inside

rousing two flies,

now and then

hovering close to the flames

like sleepy old winos.

Undemanding and quiet

you made me settle down.

I fetched a log for the fireplace

and fell towards eternity

listening to the waves

interrupted by small sounds

from your drying wood.

No speedboats or cries from feeding gulls

in the morning.

No hamburgers and overprized pints.

on the tables by the marina.

Paradise returns with empty beaches.

as undisturbed cormorants turn to icons,

unfolding their black wings

on the rock

below the lighthouse.

Before I leave a promenade

along the narrow road.

A fisherman with lobster traps.

A yawning cat.

A caterpillar.

Alan Larus

“I live in Norway and work with database programming. When I have the time I walk in the mountains, forests and along the sea. I also listen to music and read and write a little poetry and take pictures.”

Illustration by Brian Johnsen.