All phenomena are like dreams (Osho)

It is all a dream. All I see, feel, think or do
But I close my eyes and see more dreams
everywhere I look, dreams
decaying dreams
nothing real.

I don’t want to dream
I don’t want to see or think or feel
the dreaminess.

There is too much
I can’t shut it out
it won’t stop screaming at me.

I don’t know how much longer
I can keep this up.

There is no rest, no relief or escape.

Valium, pain meds, muscle relaxants
more pills
and glasses of scotch
nothing helps.

Perhaps I just need a few more.

Where is my ticket to oblivion?
Where is the sleep
the night when all is quiet
when it all slows down
when I can close my eyes
and it all goes away?

When will it all go away?

It has already started
gone is desire
gone is color
gone is fragrance
gone is meaning
and purpose.

I want for nothing
it is nothing only I crave.

Outside the winter wind blows
the rain falls
and it is no different
than a spring morning
filled with sunshine

Why am I writing this?

I have nothing to say
I have nothing I want to say
there is nothing meaningful to say.

These are only words
spoken to phantoms
from the mist drifting
in my decaying mind.

Soon, soon it will all go away.

Soon it will all end
I tell myself.

But, it doesn’t end.

The whole cycle of birth
and rebirth continues
unending.

This eternal cycle ever repeating
this maelstrom of consciousness
forever twisting
wrenching all the joy
that might have been
from the soul.

A soul that should die
that wants only to die
but is cursed to eternal
unending existence
with no hope of redemption.

And so ends another year
as I sit in this dark corner
and wait
once again
for the sun to rise.

I Am Moment

I am now and eternally all that I am
I am not what attempts to contain me
and yet I am my container
I am not my form
and I am form
I am not
my hands
my eyes
my brain
my thoughts
or feelings
Yet I am
all of these things.

I am not joy
or sadness
pleasure
or pain.

I am all these!

I am the ones
I love
and those I hate
I am the loved
and the hated

There are no limits
to what or who I am

I am the rock
on the face of the mountain
the trickling stream in spring
and the frozen branch bare in winter

I am God
I am Satan
I am demon
I am angel.

Whatever I see
or conceive
I am
Whatever you see
or conceive
I am.

There are no limits
to what I will do
There are no limits
to what I will give
There are no limits
to what I will take.

I will take all
that you possess
all your thoughts
I will take your heart
your soul
and have
all of mine taken
in return.

I am the hawk
descending upon its prey
I am the mouse
its final breath
wrung out
by the talons.

I am the stone
in the river
I am the water
that wets the stone.

I am the one
who gives you orgasm
I am the orgasm
you feel.

I am you
all you know
all you taste
all you touch.

There is nowhere
I am not
I am everywhere
I am nowhere

I am
those dark secret
thoughts
that excite you
alone in your bed.

I am the fire raging
devouring the world
I am the rain gently
quenching the flames.

I am the parched
sands of the desert
and the damp
blossoms of the rain forest.

It is my words spoken
by Osho
Rumi
Jesus
Lao-Tzo
Mohammad
and Buddha

It is my words
spoken
as I walk
homeless
conversing with
personal demons
in our rotting
inner cities.

The are no words written
that I am not writing
None spoken
I am not speaking

There is no pain
within you that is not mine
no joy that is not my joy.

When you hear
my voice
or read my words
it is I who am hearing
and I who am reading
your words.

There are no songs
that I am not singing
no lyrics
I have not written.

All that can be
all that is
all that is not
I am

I am nothingness’s
nothingness
and whispers
of silence.

I am Moment…

Prayer to My Muse

(As part of The Artists Way workshop I took, we were asked to write an Artist's Prayer. So here is mine.)

I pray to Source and with all your many masks of Gods, Goddesses
and muses.
And I implore you my muse.

I ask for your inspiration for words to express the inexpressible.
I pray for understanding for that which I do not understand
but feel in some illusive obscure corner of my consciousness
just beyond feeling.

Give me the acceptance
for what is
acceptance such that
if it is only
my rotting corpse I can offer
that I will stink proudly and profoundly
in its offering.

I pray to be always reminded
that darkness
gives birth,
often painfully to light;
for this is the dance, the play
of the Ying and the Yang

Give me the strength to experience what I feel
no matter how wrong it feels.

I pray for peace amongst the
storming angry crowds
in my mind
pounding and hacking at me
with their axes and curses
so that I may gently stand aside
to let you
flow through
and dance with me.

I pray that I may express in words, song and form
that which is the voice of Awen
and the inspiration you whisper in my soul
and that it will be understood
by those who see and hear it.

I ask you,
my muse
to embrace me
make love to me
as my soul intertwines
with you and I taste
once again your
epiphanous lips.

Let me go complacently
as I walk often blindly
amongst impossibilities
surrounded by the jeering
possible possibilities
shouting from my thoughts.

Let your magic shine through me
into a world where magic
has long since been declared
dead and banished from existence.

Though my mind and eyes
see only illusions
let me brush away
with my heart
the realities
that try to smother them.

Let my lips, my pen, my fingers
speak the unspeakable
though a myriad of voices
scream SILENCE,
You fool!

I pray that your words
songs and expressions
will touch and be as cherished
by the souls of others as they are
by me

I pray for seed, water and good soil
with which to plant and tend my dreams
I ask for the perseverance to nurture them
during the long dark times
before the first green sprouts
peak though the cold spring soil.
I ask for unyielding devotion to my dreams
and for my works as they unfold.
I pray also for unattachment
that I will joyously let their fruits drop
when they have ripened
and grown to maturity.

I ask for the acceptance of those times
when I am touched so deeply by you
that only silence
can be painted on the canvas;
times when our love making
is so private that
it could never be shared.

Help me to not feel abandoned
when my art is only
the tears of joy wept
when I hear your music played
or see your majestic beauty
unfolding before my eyes
and I am but the spectator.

I pray that you sit with me
in moment
and that I will remember always
you are there
arm around my shoulder
whispering softly in my ear.

I pray to remember to slowly exhale
and let go completely
opening my mind and heart
so your breath may fill my chest
and I may sing your song
in whatever voice you
have given to me.

The Invitation

Paradox

"Paradox as it may seem, we likewise find life meaningful only when we have seen that it is without purpose, and know the 'mystery of the universe' only when we are convinced that we know nothing about it at all."

~ Alan W. Watts from "The Wisdom of Insecurity"

The Grand Mistake

So what if in the perfect nothing. In a nothing, where there was no matter, space, time, or even consciousness; there was a random defect. What if that defect was an infinitesimal blip of consciousness and this colossal mistake was God.

So is this whole universe but a delusion of a mad God driven insane trying to find meaning and quell the immeasurable loneliness of being the only conscious entity, a freak in such a perfect nothingness that there is nothing to even be conscious in?

Are we only the phantoms of dreams, nightmares and delusions of his/her madness? The final screaming exhale of the single and only breath to ever exist.

Or are we the saviors of this God, the only tools who can ease the pain and bring peace to existence; the only hope in all the hopelessness that fills all that is?

So are we God’s attempt to find meaning and give purpose to his/her existence?

Is finding meaning in meaninglessness the purpose of life? Is that purpose, what gives it meaning? When our job be done, will our existence be swept away?

Should I bother finishing work today or have another cup of coffee and stop thinking?

Windering

Sitting and wondering
pondering
things that stop
my thinker
from kerthinking

All the klanking
and klattering
banging
and drumming
loudly
cantankerously
rattling
tapping
mapping
wandering lost
frantically trying
to exit from
my mind

All those thoughts
wondrously
splendiferous
awesome-iferous
mountaintopious
and iferouslyiferous

All
just a breeze blowing
in vacant
cavernous voids
wailing and howling
through cracks
and crevasses
swirling dust devils
whirling dervishes
dancing to an
otherworldly beat
in a hole
dry, desolate
wrung dry of
any gist
somewhere between
ears deaf
and lifeless

All these wonderings
dust ladened wind
winderings of
of a perverse
and twisted
mind

Brokenness

by J.J. Lafferty

We are shards
of our shattered dreams
jagged, wounding and wounded
in our incompleteness.

We move
drifting together,
to make a new form,
but fail to fit exactly;

there are holes
where the dark seeps through
destroying the dotted lines
to any destination.

The dark is empty
save for the whimper
and the whisper of a last song,
a light laughter, and
brighter days that like butterflys pass
fleeting away,
through holes
where the light never comes
and the dotted lines
of destination are invisible.

A SPIRITUAL CONSPIRACY

LOVE IS THE NEW RELIGION/ A SPIRITUAL CONSPIRACY

On the surface of the world right now there is
war and violence and things seem dark.
But calmly and quietly, at the same time,
something else is happening underground
An inner revolution is taking place
and certain individuals are being called to a higher light.
It is a silent revolution.
From the inside out. From the ground up.
This is a Global operation.
A Spiritual Conspiracy.

There are sleeper cells in every nation on the planet.
You wont see us on the T.V.
You wont read about us in the newspaper
You wont hear about us on the radio
We dont seek any glory
We dont wear any uniform
We come in all shapes and sizes, colors and styles
Most of us work anonymously
We are quietly working behind the scenes
in every country and culture of the world
Cities big and small, mountains and valleys,
in farms and villages, tribes and remote islands
You could pass by one of us on the street
and not even notice

We go undercover
We remain behind the scenes
It is of no concern to us who takes the final credit
But simply that the work gets done
Occasionally we spot each other in the street
We give a quiet nod and continue on our way
During the day many of us pretend we have normal jobs
But behind the false storefront at night
is where the real work takes a place

Some call us the Conscious Army
We are slowly creating a new world
with the power of our minds and hearts
We follow, with passion and joy
Our orders come from the Central Spiritual Intelligence
We are dropping soft, secret love bombs when no one is looking
Poems — Hugs — Music — Photography — Movies — Kind words —
Smiles — Meditation and prayer — Dance — Social activism — Websites
Blogs — Random acts of kindness…

We each express ourselves in our own unique ways
with our own unique gifts and talents
Be the change you want to see in the world
That is the motto that fills our hearts
We know it is the only way real transformation takes place
We know that quietly and humbly we have
the power of all the oceans combined
Our work is slow and meticulous
Like the formation of mountains
It is not even visible at first glance
And yet with it entire tectonic plates
shall be moved in the centuries to come

Love is the new religion of the 21st century
You dont have to be a highly educated person
Or have any exceptional knowledge to understand it
It comes from the intelligence of the heart
Embedded in the timeless evolutionary pulse of all human beings
Be the change you want to see in the world
Nobody else can do it for you
We are now recruiting
Perhaps you will join us
Or already have.
All are welcome
The door is open.

(Anon edited version of Brian Piergrossi original)

I Came Here

I came here to have fun;
to ride an awesome Kingda Ka
high into the azure skies,
wandering,
wide eyed
amongst the clouds.

Then to plunge ever faster,
deep into seemingly endless
dark sinister chasms
filled with nightmarish
phantasms.

Only to burst through
into the light
flying once again
towards the stars
on an endless ride
of thrill and ecstasy.

But,
I didn’t expect
it to feel
so real.

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
As an unexpected visitor.


Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.


The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

From Essential Rumi
by Coleman Barks

Just and Fair?

It isn’t fair they said. Life just isn’t fair.

Well it isn’t fair and shouldn’t be fair. We are all here for a reason, a purpose with lessons to learn and teach. Some are here to learn the experience, for example, of picking up garbage, thoughtlessly scatter by others, whose purpose is to provide them with the garbage to pickup.

So when you get crap dumped on you, remember if you can, all involved agreed to play these parts before you came here. The worse it is, the better everyone has an opportunity to play with abandon the role in this awesome game.

Money, is there ever enough, is more always better, shouldn’t everyone have the same? Is this not the “fair” way it should be? Isn’t this similar to having all parts of a canvas being covered equally with equal amounts of all colors, to be fair to the canvas? But, it is only in the way each color’s unique character is inequitably painted on the canvas, that the Mona Lisa is the awesome masterpiece it is. It is only through the opportunity to be generous where much is given and fugal where there is never enough, that character can unfold. It matters not at all what or how much but rather the love, with which the gift of abundance or scarcity, is accepted and used for “All” it has to offer.

Love is the same way. Can you ever, love another without condition or expectation if they always love you back? When you meet those special individuals who light your fire to a raging inferno, remember they came here to light “your” fire, not to have theirs lit by you. In the same way remember if you are loved and kindled a flame in another and they have not sparked one within you, be happy for the fire you have lit, for there is none more beautiful in all the cosmos and it was you, who sparked it.

Never try to be other than you are, never be a traitor to yourself in the name of fairness. It is not about equality, it about playing the being you are, plucking every string, to the best of your ability, and in playing thusly being in harmony with the song of the One. You play your part of the symphony that is life, while others to play theirs as well, without ever requiring equality, fairness or justice. There is no place in Life, in Love or in our world for any of these. There is either uniqueness or equality, not both. Truth is there is only uniqueness and in this, all us is uniquely one of a kind; none “equal” to another.

My Heart's Friend

(Shoshone Love Song)

Fair is the white star of twilight,
and the sky clearer at the day's end;
But she is fairer, and she is dearer.
She, my heart's friend!

Far stars and fair in the skies bending,
Low stars of hearth fires and wood smoke ascending,
The meadow-lark's nested,
The night hawk is winging;
Home through the star-shine the hunter comes singing.

Fair is the white star of twilight,
And the moon roving
To the sky's end;
But she is fairer, better worth loving,
She, my heart's friend.

~ Author unknown

Some Days

Some days are a battle with no satisfying rewards; something akin to fighting the stench for the opportunity to suck the puss from a putrefied corpse

Then others are better.

Petals of a Lotus

Perhaps like petals of the same lotus blossom,
we feel and are immersed
in the fragrance of our blooming.

Perhaps if we stop to inhale it all
we will hear its song
whispering to our souls.

And in the quiet whispers
know it is Our voice
singing

Impending Doom

Dive deep into impending doom
and find it is but a rose bloom

Forgotten Words

The purpose of a fishtrap is to catch fish, and when the fish are caught, the trap is forgotten.
The purpose of a rabbit snare is to catch rabbits. When the rabbits are caught, the snare is forgotten.
The purpose of words is to convey ideas. When the ideas are grasped, the words are forgotten.
"Where can I find a man who has forgotten words? He is the one I would like to talk to."

~ Chuang Tsu


Or "Where can I find a woman who has forgotten words? She is the one I would like to talk to."

Validation

We all need a little of this, sometimes more than others.

Rainbow Flight

Learning to fly
with rainbows
on a starry night

Colors
raspberry
blueberry
lemon or lime

Space bending
lifting like
wings soaring
into luminous
nebular clouds

Where is time
the earth
the self?

all left behind

Flying
with rainbows
into a starry night

Worlds of Time

Riding life’s brush
dragging time
cross landscapes unending

worlds of time
and none do we posses

We, you and I
Shaper
Shape
and Shaping
mysterious 3

Existential transcendent being
eternal birth, never born
nor conceived

Becoming always and never
not being and being
neither one nor the other
lost eternally in the loneliness of God

Sky inseparable from blue
stars dazzling an infinite void
dolphins
in a primordial sea
effortlessly swim
as the red giant sun
engulfs it all
eons beyond their birth

Past and future
forged together
shaping now
as this moment
shapes them all
while the shaper
wanders lost
knowingly
within our soul

No here nor there
or earth or air
no post or pre
no you or me

Yet countless
subatomic beings
each named
dancing into and out
of existence
as I transcend it all

I known by no one
known only by piece
and slivers
parts and partials
divided divisions of separate crumbs
of inseparable One

All a mystery, all

Worlds of time
and none to do I posses

i thank You God for most this amazing day

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of all nothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

~ ee cummings

More IS

The more what IS opens up to me, the less of me I find remains. I envy those who can be a father, lover, husband, friend or the man who does/is his job. I am finding I am none of these things (and yet all of them to everything). Through it all, only the questioner remains, who is forever asking who am I and what IS? The questioner who shatters all of reality as soon it is grasp, leaving not even dust to float silently in the emptiness.

The agonizing part is that no one seems to be OK with their not understanding, and feels I need to be fixed, changed or more often that they have been cruelly betrayed by me, by who I am. The crushing death I often feel inside these moments is so excruciating; it seems to overwhelm the joy of my rebirth.

But the stones smile tenderly as the music carries me amongst worlds beyond the stars…


All blossoming there is inside my soul.

Soul and Reason's Confliction

"Just as the heart is hidden in the human body, so is the body surrounded by the powers of the soul because these reach to the ends of the earth."

~ Hildegard of Bingen


Perhaps the soul comes from and goes nowhere, because it is and always has been everywhere. Perhaps the alien soul I feel is mine is so only because I haven’t traveled far enough within it to know to just how vast it is. If so, why does what is so obvious to others elude me so? There is so much to learn from everything and all those around me and I have nothing to give in return. So many epiphanies, and not one coherent sentence I am able to articulate. Perhaps silence is the best elucidation.

So the mind rambles on, and on with this mesmerizing confliction called reason.

A heartfelt request

Love Poems

Love poems of Rumi, My Burning heart & Bittersweet

The World Is a Beautiful Place

by Lawrence Ferlinghetti

The world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don't mind happiness
not always being
so very much fun
if you don't mind a touch of hell
now and then
just when everything is fine
because even in heaven
they don't sing
all the time

The world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don't mind some people dying
all the time
or maybe only starving
some of the time
which isn't half bad
if it isn't you

Oh the world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don't much mind
a few dead minds
in the higher places
or a bomb or two
now and then
in your upturned faces
or such other improprieties
as our Name Brand society
is prey to
with its men of distinction
and its men of extinction
and its priests
and other patrolmen

and its various segregations
and congressional investigations
and other constipations
that our fool flesh
is heir to

Yes the world is the best place of all
for a lot of such things as
making the fun scene
and making the love scene
and making the sad scene
and singing low songs and having inspirations
and walking around
looking at everything
and smelling flowers
and goosing statues
and even thinking
and kissing people and
making babies and wearing pants
and waving hats and
dancing
and going swimming in rivers
on picnics
in the middle of the summer
and just generally
'living it up'
Yes
but then right in the middle of it
comes the smiling

mortician

Realizing

Realizing that there are some things, no one in this world will understand and there is no one to talk to about it except myself; so I need to listen.

I Am

I know that I am one with beauty
And that my comrades are one.

Let our souls be mountains,
Let our spirits be stars,
Let our hearts be worlds.

From Ansel Adams, An Autobiography
A mantra of Gaelic origin given to Adams by Ella Young

Pale Blue Dot

An excerpt from a talk by the late Dr. Sagan

"We succeeded in taking that picture [from deep space], and, if you look at it, you see a dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever lived, lived out their lives. The aggregate of all our joys and sufferings, thousands of confident religions, ideologies and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilizations, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every hopeful child, every mother and father, every inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every superstar, every supreme leader, every saint and sinner in the history of our species, lived there on a mote of dust, suspended in a sunbeam.

The earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that in glory and in triumph they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of the dot on scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner of the dot. How frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds. Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity -- in all this vastness -- there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves. It is up to us. It's been said that astronomy is a humbling, and I might add, a character-building experience. To my mind, there is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly and compassionately with one another and to preserve and cherish that pale blue dot, the only home we've ever known."

Perhaps for some, it not the only home they have ever know.

There are those whose souls have come from other planetary systems, other worlds, universes and even other dimensions, so different from our own that all known reason is lost and futile. Yet, even for those, the experience of being human here, on this wondrous blue world, is little different and the challenges of living each moment no less than those who have always been on Earth. Perhaps for them it is even more frustrating and painful. Perhaps the memories of who they are, drives many to madness and suicide.

Discussions

How do you have a dialog with people, when there are no words to describe what you are seeing and/or feeling? When every attempt at articulation is shattered into countless pieces by reason or just melts like ice cream on a hot rock, mid day, mid July in the Death Valley sun; leaving only a gooey, oozy mess. How do you have any kind of meaningful discussion when no one gets it?
Fortunately a few do seem understand; yes perhaps there is one or two who do. And you only need just one parachute grabbing at the wind as it rushes by when you’re falling out of a starless night sky into some dark rocky abyss. I am very thankful for my parachutes. And even if they’re not there, the rocks aren’t fatal, they just hurt a lot. LOL

Today

To love without condition
to accept without judgment
to choose freely without consideration

with each and every breath.

When I Am Old and Wise

Sweet Madness

Sweet madness, luscious cerebral nectar of divinity.

Isn’t madness nothing more than simply seeing and accepting the illusion we call reality as illusion? An illusion which is just a trick played upon the mind by the senses. Senses, which we formed as part of a game we created for the playing of life. A game called Life, which is an interesting hodgepodge of board game, scripted stage play and improv; rewritten, painted and acted out, fresh each moment, where moments are strung together like a pearl necklace, flowing into and out of our being with each breath. And with each breath, worlds come and go; strung together with remnants of who thought we are.

Consider the possibility that we are not contained in space and time, but just reading it a page at time like a book; and “we” are the ones holding the book and can choose to cast our vision to any place on the page we choose and can choose to be at any page.

We identify too much with place and time. We let it define who we are.

So what of madness? It has been said that, “those whom the gods wish to destroy they first make mad.” What would anger a “god” so much that they would want or take the time to destroy a lowly human? Is it out of jealousy? Did not the God of Jews declare he was a jealous god. But, was he really honest as to why he was jealous and of what? Was it other gods, goddesses or something else and why would any of them wish someone mad and destroyed? Consider that the source of this anger and jealousy was because they knew that we are the potential to be, and are, the unspeakable which whispered “them” into existence; and have simply forgotten who “we” are, and they fear our remembering. So who should be worshiping who?

Such is the nature of madness; turning everything inside out, over and over again. Like washing an ice cube in hot water to make it cleaner and purer, until soon nothing is left. Nothing, no duality, no right, no wrong, no separateness, no oneness, nothing; sadness and joy swirled into blissful unspeakableness.

A smile, without a face.

Hands Full of Dirt

Scoop up soil
fertile
dark
thirsty for life
with weary hands

Sun beams
plant seeds
into darkened earth
held
watered with
moist
life-giving hands

Life in darkness
grows
breaking free
rising into luminance
kissing my eyes
caressing my being
as joy’s dance we sing

Spring flowers
erupting in
splendiferous
unbridled colors
exploding
penetrating deepest
furthest reaches
of earth
and sky.

Silently
floating to
earth
where we
lie.

Which Came First?

So what came first?
The question or the answer?
Was there an answer
simply there waiting
for the right question to be asked?

Or perhaps there aren’t
and never were any answers
perhaps that’s why each question
only leads to more and more questions
endlessly.

Perhaps it is only questioning
wonderment that is real.

Perhaps that which is searched for
can never be found
and it is really only
the searching that has purpose.

Perhaps it is all pointless
and that IS the point.

And the point is to get
the pointlessness of it all.

But, how do I get pointlessness?

Perhaps I can’t get pointlessness
I can only be pointless.

To be the silence
be the emptiness
be the void

to be nothing
which IS
to be it all.

Atisha's Heart Meditation

Osho -

And the method is, when you breathe in - listen carefully, it is one of the greatest methods - when you breathe in, think that you are breathing in all the miseries of all the people in the world. All the darkness, all the negativity, all the hell that exists anywhere, you are breathing it in. And let it be absorbed in your heart.

You may have read or heard about the so-called positive thinkers of the West. They say just the opposite - they don't know what they are saying. They say, "When you breathe out, throw out all your misery and negativity; and when you breathe in, breathe in joy, positivity, happiness, cheerfulness."

Atisha's method is just the opposite: when you breathe in, breathe in all the misery and suffering of all the beings of the world - past, present and future. And when you breathe out, breathe out all the joy that you have, all the blissfulness that you have, all the benediction that you have. Breathe out, pour yourself into existence. This is the method of compassion: drink in all the suffering and pour out all the blessings.

And you will be surprised if you do it. The moment you take all the sufferings of the world inside you, they are no longer sufferings. The heart immediately transforms the energy. The heart is a transforming force: drink in misery, and it is transformed into blissfulness... then pour it out.
Once you have learned that your heart can do this magic, this miracle, you would like to do it again and again. Try it. It is one of the most practical methods - simple, and it brings immediate results. Do it today, and see.

Source: " The Book of Wisdom " - Osho

In the Spirit of Madness

In the spirit of madness
I start a new year
as a chapter in a book
yet to be written

I vow to drink my fill
of all that pleases me
to take what ever I desire
and fulfill my deepest
fantasies and cravings.

In the spirit of madness
I vow to hold myself
to NO expectations
restrictions
obligations
or moral and
ethical codes.

I shall eat what
delights my pallet
listen to what
feels sweet
to my ear
and
touch all that
tastes delightful
to my fingers tips
and lips.

In the spirit of madness
I will grope into the
most intimate
and darkest corners
of life herself
feeling out her
essence
licking her nectar
as I probe
deeper to posses
all that she is
and ever will be.

I will delve
and dive into
the depths of it all

be it
a placid pond
in an Eden
only dreamt of

or a cesspool
in the pit of
despair.

In the spirit of madness
I will take each moment
for all that it offers
devouring it whole
without thought
or care
or concern
of what may
ever come to pass.

I will consume it all
without guilt
or shame
of what it is
I am
or do.

It is in the spirit of saneness
that I make this proclamation
this declaration of
my freedom and
desire to be
all that I am.

New Years Tribunal

Four gather together
defender
prosecutor
Judge
executioner
six chambers filled
though only one
may be needed

Case to be pleaded
against screaming
voices within
all judgments final
no appeals
no reconsiderations.

Trial, Parole Hearing
is it one or the other
or both and the same?

Sentencing
one more year
in life
or end of life –
acquittal
a stay of execution
and one more year
of life
or freedom
from life.

Which is it
to be?

Execution
end of hope or
hope for freedom
granted?

Life
cursed
incarceration or
exquisite gift?

Which is it?

Is it one or the other

or
both and
the same?

Are THE facts
only stories
fabrications
meanings
created
formed
and imagined
from deafening
mental noise

or echoes of
those voices
lost
in reason?

Can a trial be convened
if neither
Accusers
Prosecutors
or Judges exist?

All like static
between channels
on an aged television.

Faces seen
and voices heard
hallucinated from
a noisy cacophony

by one exquisitely
creative mind.


A mind
imagined also
from the noise.

So a trial was convened
black and white speckled
static
each arguing their
case
vanishing
as fast as they appeared
replaced by more
and more
equally vanishing
specks
like bubbles
in a pot of
boiling water
rising to a surface
bursting into
unconsciousness.

Music from the
silent
void
all
that remains

all
that
ever was.

Music orchestrating
dancing of
innumerable parts
of the indissoluble
One.

Stepping onto the
dance floor
I hear one
last fading
speck whisper

“Don’t try to explain it,
you will only look
like a fool.”