Bear the Unbearable

To love with passion and totality
But accept loss and death
Without closure or bitterness
To be willing to open to it all
Bear the unbearable
And still love
To be kind in the face of cruelty
And not drift into cynicism
Or the lure of righteousness
To hold it all, tenderly,
In the palm of your hand
Like a delicate bird
We have that choice
And it is a difficult one
The pull to closure is so strong

We are fragile creatures
Surrounded by loss
Our daily lives are lived
In an uncertainty
It is difficult to face
So we turn away, again and again,
But denial is no answer
To truth

The wise one
Holds uncertainty
And inevitability
As intimate companions
Yet identifies with neither
Choosing instead openness
And loving kindness

This is the choice
Either this
Or the agony of closure.

Abiding in Kindness

I have said this before
The door to liberation
Is marked KINDNESS
Kindness is hidden grace

It sounds easy and effortless
But kindness challenges
Our defended and righteous ego
We may be kind to ourselves
And others
For a while
But we have our limits
And at some point
They are challenged
And we react
Where did our kindness go?

Kindness is easily hijacked
By the ego self
And it will use kindness as another way
Of keeping itself intact
And defended

Kindness is not a tool
It’s a state of consciousness
And a way of being
It’s not another add on
An optional spiritual tool we can employ
To feel better about ourselves or life

Abiding in kindness
Is a room with no doors
The end of the search
KINDNESS is
The openness of love itself.

Soften

When the fiery mind reacts
With great indignation
Soften
When righteousness rises up
Ready for attack
Soften
When the trigger comes
And the threat is felt
Deep inside
And emotions run wild
Tearing at the throat
Soften
When all seems lost
When victory is assured
When you feel right
Or wrong
Good or bad
Soften
Soften at the very core
Soften all parts
From the tight breathing
To the rigid mind
Soften
And keep softening
Until clarity
Awareness and discernment
Become your abiding state.

Love’s Hidden Hand

Let not age domesticate me
Or make me bitter
But let it ripen me like a fruit
Let it tenderize and soften me
So I am worthy of savoring

Let age not weaken my spirit
But make me wilder and more free
May it open my heart
And sharpen my wit

May I value time itself
And see each day as a precious jewel
Attach to nothing
But commit to peace

Let it not scare me
With it’s proximity to death
But bring depth and wisdom
May I see the beauty of others
And not their faults

And may I forgive
The human experience
Its failures, wars
And needless suffering
And instead see
Love’s hidden hand
In all actions
Even the most cruel.

Sky Nature and the Cloud World.

First there was Innocence. Pure, untouched innocence. The emptiness of the sky.

All I knew was the sky. I was the sky, and the sky was me. Everything was sky.

Soon the clouds came. They started slowly but over time more and more came. And they got thicker and thicker. After a time they covered the sky.

I forgot the sky existed. I thought there was just cloud, and so did everyone else.
Sometimes someone would say,’ Have you heard about the sky?’ but I no longer knew what they were talking about.

Occasionally I saw something bright and open and beautiful and free, but it didn’t last long and soon the clouds returned. A constant cloudy world.

I was depressed, disillusioned, unsatisfied, alienated, angry, dysfunctional and lost. Searching inside the cloud world revealed nothing satisfying, just the same old things over and over.

One day I met a wise man who said. ‘The clouds are always blowing through the sky, but the sky is always there.

I decided to investigate this riddle. What happened was a journey into the darkness, an unravelling, an adventure and a systematic endeavor to remove, dissolve, ignore or accept the clouds and begin to remember the sky, consciously accept that there is a sky and there always was, I just forgot it.

It didn’t disappear, I did!

Slowly I began to see the sky more and more. I had to change many things. There were some things that made the clouds come again. Like a veil they would return and trap me in their darkness, their sticky darkness. But I learned more and more what was sticky and what was not.

And then strange new things started happening. I began to see things in a whole new way. There was always more sky than clouds. There were a few clouds but mostly it was clear sky. And it was a similar sky to when I was a baby, but this time I had a choice where previously I had none. Now I knew about the clouds and how they come, how they bring darkness and foreboding, how they cover everything, and how everything ends up covered in clouds. And I saw clearly with wisdom, but childlike wisdom. The relief in living in a clear sky was unspeakable and beautiful.

People asked me why I seemed natural and relaxed and real. I told them the story of the clouds, and the sky, and the forgetting, and the remembering, and they asked me to tell them. So I decided to write down the story of sky nature and the cloud world.

When you are a newborn baby, all you see is sky. That’s all you can see as pure and innocent consciousness. The clouds come soon in the form of learned responses and behaviors. We call it conditioning but really these are, at first, survival techniques. After the first few years of life we no longer see or know the sky exists. All we know is clouds, clouds and clouds. The great forgetting. The great thinking.

BUT…if life proves unsettling, unfulfilling and empty, we may start to wonder why. Something is wrong.
We may have a flash here, a glimpse there, of something beyond the clouds, but it is fleeting and soon covered up again. Just clouds and more clouds, and everyone else’s clouds.

Don’t let thinking dominate your sky.

Remember your sky nature, the truth beyond the clouds.

The Artist Saves Humanity From A Dry Existence

The linearity of this level of consciousness
Preoccupied by past, present, future
By the rational, practical and ordered mind
By survival and shelter
Is so dry and barren
When left to it’s own devices

It is only salvaged by creativity
By the artist
The poet
The mystic
The wild one
Who goes beyond
Who stumbles into the unknown
Who goes beyond the limit

They bring meaning
Something extraordinary
They shine a light
Remind us of our mystery
Our fragility
Vulnerability
They show us our own soul
And our broken hearts
They cry for us and with us

The artist
The beautiful, crazy ones,
Fit for nothing reasonable
And mostly hopeless
At fitting into anything
Save us from
Rigidity
And the constant sameness
Of things

For god’s sake
Buy their stuff
Share it, rave about it
Love them, tell them you love them
You may be all they have
You may be what stands between them
And giving up

And if you are one of them
Know this
What you do is of value
It doesn’t matter who sees it
Who hears it
Who reads it
What matters is your soul
What matters is you do it
Just do it anyway
Give up on the reason why
Or the outcome
What you do matters
On levels of consciousness
Unseen and invisible
If you get reward on this plane
Great
If you don’t
Great
Do what you must
And do it with your brazen
Broken
Wounded
Wild
Crazy heart wide open.

 

A Man Must Serve Something

At some point as a man
You have to take stock
And decide
What you are going to serve from now on
And it inevitably comes down
To one of two things
Either you serve your own ego
And everything that comes with it
Or you serve love
And you surrender that resistant ego self

Only one of those choices
Will lead to peace, joy and enduring relationships
Only one of those choices
Will lead to wisdom, depth and maturity

But the choice for freedom
Comes at a price
You will have to sacrifice old grievances
Old defended ways
All your righteous indignation
Every chip on your shoulder
Everything must be thrown willingly
Onto the fire of love

At first that feels terrifying
Then you get used to it
Then you like it
Then you wonder
What all the fuss was about
And then you realize it was inevitable.

At some point you have to decide.