All there is is goodbye, goodbye. Leaving, leaving this wonderful illusion. Empty. Full. Peace is my home, homeward-bound. No regrets, just live flowing in no direction. Bubbling in stillness. Dancing in emptiness. Hello, hello. Goodbye, goodbye. Take care. Look. Listen. See. Om.
@TeresaRJ3 Because each apparent person is under the impression that they need to get this or that object in order to be happy. If you get in the way of that or in the case of relationships, if you deny them what they want then you had better watch out!
@JalagamManoj@moojiji Go inside? Who goes inside what? Realise instead that everything is already inside of you. You are the one who is aware of everything. Everything is in fact just a thought form in you. What is there that you could go inside? Just sit and see the simple truth. Only awareness, you.
Silence pulsing, chirping, rolling in the shifting dark. The eyes unseen; a shakey camera. It used to be so captivating, so real, so full of mystery. Now my stillness surrounds it all, making it seem so quaint, faint and predictable. Maya - Queen if the Jungle - clues everywhere.
Reading my own words in chapter two of Bhagavad Gita. I am stillness itself. I am Krishna talking to Arjuna. Even the darkness shines around and within. Meditation has no meaning this morning as I chant with Swami Dayananda. Deep, silent, endless, free! Om shanti, shanti, shanti.
Falling asleep over the Bhagavad Gita in the cold misty morning. Incense burns, candle flickers. The dullness and sadness of Tamas floods the system. Ha, ha! I shine bright in the darkness. The dawn comes up, old thoughts and feelings sink back down the well or fly up, out, away.
After all these years, lifetimes, world ages, this little apparent person called Tom, oh how I love him, is till looking for love and acceptance. Doesn’t he know? I love and accept him. I’m him, although he doesn’t seem to see that yet. I am here though, where I have always been.
Dirty concrete mind. Memories of wet, 70’s council estates. Memories of steel drums ringing out and the smell of incense, African shirt and endless summer. Looking out of those eyes. Looking out of these eyes. The eyes have changed, blurry now but I, I am still, bright as always.
Snowed in. Spring cleaning. I have lived most of my life snowed under with fears, desires, doubts, regrets and obligations. This year I am throwing them out with the drab old clothes, the empty books and the fucking family heirlooms! All I ask in return is peace, peace, peace Om.
This night is truly dark. The just beginning. The prayer is deep. The silence within and without is the same. This body has had it’s edges taken away. The mind is bewildered, weakly grasping at ghosts. Peace slowly raises the crown, but needs my permission to place it on or down.
I am a result of desire, my own and other people’s. It is quite disgusting to contemplate really. Sitting here, still and in silence, worries appear in the simple joy. I have no desire, except for the happiness of myself and others. The market place has nothing for me or for you.
@adamjtaher A great actor knows what is real and what is not. They know what fantasy is and how to use it. They know they are not their thoughts and feelings, that these are instruments to them. They know that they are infinite consciousness and that they are therefore always one with every-
Waking without fears. Walking from the bedroom, kneeling before myself to find that today surrender is redundant. This world is vividly unreal today and the stillness that I am is in love. Bhagavan appears as the oak tree, the sunshine, the purring cat. Ok, time to feed the Lord!
Wet, misty, pigeons calling, breath in the nose and that old longing. Thoughts from the past, old houses, empty, crumbling, back to before I was born. Goodbye again and again. I see it all around, the loneliness, the ambition, the fearful, tentative relating. The not knowing why.
@adamjtaher The experience in Calais was transformative. We found an experience of the divine in the midst of pain, violence and defeat. There was considerable post traumatic stress when we returned to England and working through it has also been illuminating.
Every day the ghostly shaman arises. He mourns the past and fearfully predicts the future. He exists in a confusing world of separate events and creatures, of conflicting values and meanings, of relationships, duties, crimes and punishments. Snow is white. Leaves are green. I am.