The Tao is Now

"Truth cannot be conveyed in words.
Words disguise the subtle essence.

We give names to truth,
but these names are unreliable
as a finger pointing at the moon.

As soon as the moon rises,
the finger points to empty skies.

Let's face it.
Truth is naked, unadorned.
It has no name. It has no form.

Nameless and formless,
the subtle essence gives birth
to all the forms that walk the earth.

Words and concepts come later,
giving rise to all kinds of theories,
explanations and beliefs.

Complexities abound.
Misunderstandings proliferate.

The more words people use,
the harder it is to understand them.

Truth is not to be found in thinking
or conversing.

It is not found in preferences
or opinions.

If you want to find the subtle essence,
get quiet and accept what is.

Wise beings do not engage
in selective seeing.

They see what is in front of them,
whether it pleases them or not.

To see what is, is to rest in the Tao.
Tao is neither for nor against.

It has no expectations.
It makes no judgments.

It is transparent like a window.
It lets in both sunlight and shadow."


The Great Way of All Beings ~
renderings of Lao Tzu ~
Translation by Paul Ferrini

Warrior of Light

Every Warrior of the Light has
felt afraid of going into battle.
Every Warrior of the Light has,
at some time in the past, lied or betrayed someone.
Every Warrior of the Light has
trodden a path that was not his.
Every Warrior of the Light has
suffered for the most trivial of reasons.
Every Warrior of the Light has, at least once,
believed he was not a Warrior of the Light.
Every Warrior of the Light has
failed in his spiritual duties.
Every Warrior of the Light has
said 'yes' when he wanted to say 'no.'
Every Warrior of the Light has
hurt someone he loved.

That is why he is a Warrior of the Light,
because he has been through all this
and yet has never lost hope of
being better than he is."

- Paul Coelho

Foolish Optimism

A man told me that he was going to know,
for certain.

I laughed at his foolish optimism
as I headed off to scoop up
the ocean, with my bucket.

Painting Reflections

When I learned to harvest the sun and draw it's brilliance into my home, I discovered that, in the window through which I view the outside world, I could see a reflection gazing back at me. The quieter I would dim the sun outside, the brighter it became inside and the clearer and more defined the image became.

It wasn't long before I discovered that I could paint on the glass with my words, and I cleverly proceeded to paint in the stencil of the reflection I saw, so that the image appeared more defined, constant and substantial. Granted, it didn't dance on the glass like the vague shadow did and it obscured my view of the outside, somewhat. But I found it considerably less disorienting once I used my words to paint in the outer vista as well. Then, it too, appeared stable and reliable, from any angle and in any light.

I was happy for a spell. The consistency of the picture felt reassuring, even pacifying, but somehow, I began to sense that something was missing. As easy and comfortable as it was to relate to the stable, two dimensional, polychromatic vision I'd created, that flat, unmoving picture was lifeless and, ultimately, uninspiring.

Misty memories still lingered. A world that moved, had weather and seasons, and offered sights inspiring wonder and surprise, daily, hourly, continually. The soft reflection that used to smile and dance with me, in expressions of spontaneous exuberance. And the window so clean and clear that it even let the breeze through.

Perhaps there was a flaw in my scheme. Maybe the uncertainty and inconsistency of a living world is better than the stability and predictability that accompanied my painted representations.

New habits, by then old and ingrained, I tried to use my words to paint the window clean. The images changed, became more defined in areas, perhaps more accurate. But the more words I applied the thicker and heavier the coating became.

My desire to see the way I used to was powerful. So I took some of my strongest words and ideas, shaped them into a chisel and tried to use it to scrape the pane clean. Who knew that mere words could set into such a hard, permanent and impenetrable barrier? The chisel chipped, sending only some small flakes flying, revealing still more layers of beliefs lying beneath, left over from fantasies past.

I tried different words and languages. I empowered my messages with different emotions and intentions, as I attempted to create the perfect solvent. As much and as long as I tried, I couldn't manage to cleanse the glass. After much effort, feeling completely powerless in this struggle, I sat down, exasperated and exhausted.

In my fatigue, there remained a remnant of my desire to see clearly once again, but no impetus to act. I just sat down and fell into silent surrender. My gaze, softly aimed in the general direction of the once window, soon detected a glimmer of outside coming through a tiny hole. I immediately focused my attention there trying to figure out what was happening, why it was happening and if it was really happening. As soon as I did so, new words added to old worries, they dripped over the shiny spec and, in an instant, it was gone.

So I sat again and stared at the window, willing an opening in my masterpiece, through which honest light could shine. All I accomplished was to give myself a headache. Tired and frustrated, I let go of my efforts and let my vision engulf the entirety of my surroundings. And wouldn't you know it, as soon as I did so, my artified verbiage began to thin and sag, hinting at it's true nature of insubstantiality.

In time, I learned that the most potent solvent is quiet surrender, and as I practiced the window became cleaner and clearer and, yes, I even began to feel fresh air flowing through the membrane, once again. I still clumsily spill words all over it from time to time, but can now feel my misstep as it's happening, and I know, full well, the value of clear vision and how to tidy up my messes, when need be. My world moves again. It sighs and cries, doles out extreme insights, and giggles like a baby. And I've rekindled my friendship with the malleable mystery man who's always ready to share a friendly smile with me.

I love my clean window and I accept that it's not always so. Brush teeth, wash dishes, clear the window. It's a duty and a desire – a part of fulfilling the obligations that I assumed in gratitude for this gift of being.

My experiences have inspired and empowered me to help others to see the illusions obscuring their own vision, and to provide them with the means to clear the field for themselves. It may not sound like much, to the uninitiated, and it often feels like I'm speaking to the air. But I can think of no more meaningful contribution to make with this life of mine – for the individuals I can reach and for the people and planet that they're shaping.

Surrender. Let the words fall away. Let the light in. Let the world begin, again.

To Practice is to Serve

Pretty much everyone comes to yoga and/or meditation for specific personal benefit. We're attracted by the promises of health and happiness, it's doctor recommended, we see the shapely bodies and composed personae of dedicated practitioners, our forerunners have reported being made better by it, and it seems only natural, as this is pretty much how we're always motivated into action. What's the point in doing anything, if we don't get something out of it, right? But this attitude becomes an obstacle when applied to yoga/meditation.

As many people know, yoga translates as “union” - commonly taken as the union of mind, body and spirit. Making the body and mind preform as the mind's ego desires does not a union make. We can't think our way out of thought. And we can't force our body to do things it doesn't want to do, with any more success than we can demand obedience from a stubborn uncooperative animal.

It is, of course, possible to treat yoga asana as a fashionable form of exercise, and reap positive side effects from it. But this is not the intention which summoned yoga into being. Yoga was created by spiritual devotes. There's a world wide knowledge that the thinking/feeling/imagining mind, is not our true nature – no matter how much as it may seem like it from within the cacophony of those mental processes. Assuming that this self concept is the reality, most act as though their thoughts and desires compose their entire being; and consequently, their young are brought up, brainwashed with this notion.

When people are conditioned to this belief, by necessity, they must motivate and act from that place, until they learn better. And it's obvious that yoga is no exception. But that's just the initial entry.

Unfortunately, yoga's popularity has spawned hundreds of thousands of teachers, many of who's teachers are unaware of the bigger picture. Money motivated marketing targets the ego's desires and sensibilities. Schools grow up to serve different segments of societies, building up from a particular musical style, medical condition, combination of exercise forms, … Yoga is destined to evolve, just like everything else, but the original selfless ambitions have been largely diluted and/or forgotten. Even where it hasn't been completely discounted, it often gets little more than a splash of lip service, and is frequently addressed in such a way as to support the notion that spiritual work is done for the benefit of the individual or to serve the ego's priorities.

To get respect for knowledge in the arena of the workings of the human mind many people get degrees in psychology or philosophy. Education is great, but if it's all built upon false beliefs and extravagant theories, and then used as the language to teach through, it's obvious that problems will arise when discussing intangibles.

It's hard to get people to see outside of their preconceptions; but even more so, when our “spiritual teachers” are little more than exercise instructors with a few sweet sounding quotes or poems to share, or scholars with tomes of hand me down rational to dispense.

One can always get glimpses and grand insights, wherever they are and whatever they're doing, because knowledge is always floating in the air, eager to be inhaled. However, seeking spiritual growth from a psychologist or an aerobics instructor is like trying to eat broth with a fork. It kind of works. There's a hint of flavor and eventually, with enough tine fulls, you can get a smidgeon of nutrition. But substantial evolution requires a relatively major shift in perspective and understanding.

The same as a child needs to leave the sandbox in order to learn how to drive a car, we need to let go of what we think we know in order to clear the space for new knowledge to take root. It seems to be so uncomfortable for people to admit that they really haven't got a clue, both to others and to themselves, but it's so freeing and it creates a perfect environment for discovery and growth. But people spend their lives sensing that there's something more to all of it, yet act like a dog wanting to pick up a big juicy bone, while being unable to do so because it refuses to drop the old gnarled one in it's mouth.

To be a blank slate, a freshly tilled field, an empty vessel - this is the key to spiritual growth. All the words in the world can't compete with the potential of open awareness. So if we desire to become more than our conceived selves we need to invite and nurture a sense of selfless presence while we practice meditation and/or yoga. This way, practice time becomes an opportunity for us to be of service to a greater, nameless, faceless force - for it's through this surrendering and opening that we're able receive our most meaningful rewards.

Learning by Listening.

Praying is speaking to Mother Universe.
Meditating is listening for what She has to say.

One Big Stew

The root of all religious communities
is a shared calling for an intimate
personal experience of oneness
with the indefinable self and
the unknowable universe