A little song of four reminders with music by Adam Moes. This song is about how to make the best out of our human life, and Adams Ukulele and his unassuming devotion is a winner. It melts away self-importance and self-aggrandizement, paving the way for true spirituality.
I had heard the day before that Tulku Urgyen, a great Dzogchen master, would be offering a special long life empowerment to Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche, a contemporary and also a great Dzogchen practitioner, who had not been well for some time.
As the lord of heart and mind, He wears gold earrings shaped like sea-dragons. His dragon-patterned brocade robe is turquoise. His sash is pale red like an early winter moon. In his right hand he holds a white lotus on which stands a crystal Vajra; In his left a silver bell. He sits on a glowing golden throne. beneath the rainbow-colored parasol of complete fearlessness, which is vast as the sky.
I’d been dreaming. Something about that dream made me feel like I was soaked with joy. Not joy like kicking it at a party. Joy all through me. Every muscle loosened, like during the night I’d set something heavy down I’d been carrying my whole life. It felt important. But Buddha? Really? Who would ever have thought that this black girl from the East Bay would be meditating and dreaming about Buddha?
A poetic description of a pilgrimage through the eight main sacred buddhist places of Northern India by Pema Dragpa.
By having studied, I’ve only filled my empty head.
By doing prostrations, I’ve only ruined my fragile knees.
By making offerings, I’ve only fallen further into poverty.
Now, without logic or consequence, sight, sound, smell, taste and touch, shine. Free from the limits of perceiver, perception or consciousness. This is the all-encompassing radiance of the cosmic mirror.
This art is my personal passion, the place where I can loose myself in the space where there never was a person, the ownerless and groundless dimension of life in each single moment. There is no entrance fee and no ticket to the art exhibition in daily life. There is no frame around each picture of this exquisite display.
Sometimes I get mislead,
The path or by my own head;
Sometimes I cry,
The truth or because of the truth of lies…
Among my favorite writers, especially during my younger years as a freelancer in Asia, was John Blofeld, whose books helped inspire my early interest in Buddhism and Taoism and fired my imagination with colorful visions of life in China before the communist revolution swept away traditional culture there.
Giving our attention to this huge unknown, which we call death can help us to open another door into the even greater mysterious cavern of, what we call, our life. Which in turn, can point us at last, towards the greatest of all mysteries; that of our awareness.
The births of all who dwell here are free of pain. Following the ways of their ancestors and the guidance of elders. They are raised according to the inner path of meditation, and cultivate the outer paths of art and warrior discipline. Their manner is dignified, direct and considerate, and their lives are untouched by sickness, hunger, unhappiness or poverty. Both men and women are true warriors, but live the lives of ordinary household.
A thunder has risen inside my mind. My breaths are intermingled with each other, I am frozen, stunned, speechless, shattered. I am victorious, yet lost to myself, standing powerless and vulnerable, I am reflection as well as the mirror, shimmering, sparking and reflecting. What intoxication is that?
In 1991 in Beijing, one of my Chinese colleagues at the Beijing Airbase English Academy asked me: “do you know what teacher, laoshi, 老师, means?” I knew that yes was the wrong answer. I said no. He said it means father. From this ancient word, morphed in meaning as roshi in Japan, I began to understand the nature of my connection to Kobun.
Each day, carve a moment to reflect, to find the vast, blue stillness within you. Don’t trip on the obstacles. There is a part of you that knows the way. Just nod and follow. Each time you return here, You will receive a radiant and warm welcome. You’ve been awaiting your own arrival, quietly preparing with attentiveness and love.
I’ve heard it said that when we see, we should just see, and not color what we see with hopes, dreams, aversions, fears, doubts or dichotomizations, and when we hear we should just hear. And by doing that, we free ourselves from our suffering because in those moments there is no self intervening in the process.
The whole meditation set-up is built on unfounded assumptions, but hey, so is everything else, nothing new there. Here is the difference: In the meditation state you can find out, what is real and not, because you are not occupied with something else.
Passages of an empty hourglass, reflected in a receptacle of water, rippleless still. A crystal visage mollycoddled by dense clouds apparition. A wintry ice-glazed chill. That kills with matricidal harm, woe of hearts as shattered remnants, calm not the anxious calamity of death.
With a mind completely fixated on hurrying to meet my friend until I was stopped by a relatively loud shout: “Mikk!” Turning around I was a little confused. Where did this come from? Who called me?
Writing is for another. Like talking, speech is for the other. May this white space surrogate for the natural appearance of thought, uncensored. In bygone years, mother’s vision took upon a likeness of ‘white space’. Her thoughts took flight. They were like wings of creative energy, expressed without pause, without censorship.
