The Ubiquitous Blessing

bless softly the mystery

lest madness explodes into
unnumbered, phantom gesticulations

the bile of a thousand miscarried dreams
the weapons, the lightning, the wars

and many outraged angels felled
silently descend, drifting
as bodies into chasms

whilst snarling devils perch
licking their long tails
like arrowfeathers
on the uppermost peaks

and limbs spurt blood, sputtering tendons
white ribbons of undone muscles
and flesh flutter ghost-like
around marble bones

bless softly
the pale green sloshing
of mighty ship-sides
as they pitch and groan
turning their faces to the dark

bless

the tanned loaves

and salted meats

they carry

and bless cities
silhouetted on the horizon
like the ocean's diadem

bless
the languoring elephant
the hissing leopard
the fierce dragon perfection

the terrible birds of prey
their harsh, stark eyes
and talons flashing
like struck flint

bless
the shriek of whales
tremendous eyeballs surfacing
but lost in inhospitable depths

bless coins
cascading flakes of gold
purple, blue and bronze

taut hands with garish rings
hemming soft, bare, puckered throats

magenta-hued silks that tarry
over crevices and curves

bless
pleasures that cloy
and slink as shadows
on the steep walls of sleep

bless branches
drooping ejaculate pearls
and lush, many-colored fruits

sapphire and gold flames
stretching into the sky
dissolving in traces of spark

apes stamping their feet and staring
with violent, black, diaphanous eyes

superabundant serpents
vomited from cavernous guilt

eagles feasting indifferently
on violet pigeon breasts

bless
the tradewinds culminating
the rough basalt
and variegated light

the slow sap pressing forth
from shuddering oaks

the grapes,
translucent, clustered,
balanced on silver shields

wine streaming down
the mountain god's beard

Shiva's trident in the side of Christ

bless
and marvel
at wild tangents of dance

souls in the aviary of light
that squawk and trill
their mysteries

resinous souls
attracting ideas like flies
that circle and stick

bless
lepers, eunuchs, chandalas
corpses rotting in the summer heat

virgins grouped in placid grottoes
touching powder-blue hyacinths
with dainty hands

faeries emerging
from tangled horse manes
and dwarves punctuating cliff-sides
like sentries

wild-eyed magicians
summoning lightning
and dragons
for no other reason

bless
clouds breaking in the sky
fish sunk into the sand

the panting hart
the wild, tireless Zeus

the earth sending groans
and rocks with their vacant plaints

the waters that tremble, uncertain,
and recede into the vacuum of space

the planet that quakes and keels
and suddenly slips into the sun

bless
vehement streams of light and lust
wrangling in a wilderness of choice

great mountains of sand
encapsulating secrets

and withering like sunsets

the scarab, the mantis, the mite

coquettish nymphs
charming bewildered saints
and stupefied brutes

rose-petals tumbling after
like hurried attendants

bless fervent visions
that rape the mind

dizzy resolution
and stubborn astonishment

undisdained incense
of simple devotion

red-faced charity

condescending to ascend

babe that wails in the breast
whom no mortal mother can coax

the canticles of Providence
and Submission

bless all of these

bless everything

and be at peace with all

Living Flames

Humility is not an attitude towards oneself.

It is thru the dual state that one reaches the non-dual state,
and there learns to embrace the dual, for the sake of all beings.

If the way to God were from body to spirit,
then body were mere hindrance, and godliness selfish;
but the journey from darkness to light is only half of the way,
for light is gathered so that it might be carried into darkness.

As the lower is transcended in approaching what is higher,
so, also, the higher is transcended in approaching what is lower.

One does not enter into the presence of the King
without receiving a missal for the instruction of all subjects.

We are not truly free until we wholeheartedly desire our chains.

Words strain to uphold a spirit,
and to secure that in the mind,
which silence would let drop into the heart.

The mind in prayer should hover, ever-so-gently,
like a honeybee, over the flower of the heart,
patiently drawing sweet nectar therefrom.

There is no single "enlightenment",
crushingly prosaic or adorned with all novelty,
but there are saints endowed, respectively,
with various charisms; each privy to different lights.

There are realms of unspeakable bliss,
populated with angelic hosts and living lights.
They are not abstract, or metaphorical,
but ordinary, in their own way.

Affliction is natural to lovers in this world,
as steam to hot coals dropped in water.

Every soul in this world is heroic
and worthy of our utmost compassion.

It's always best to forgive a man before apologizing to him.

If you must speak, become bibles;
modern testaments; new scriptures!

Men curse the clarion call, and consecrate the lullaby.

Great souls draw lines in the sand; small ones bury their heads in it.

A flatterer is a pusher of a most addictive and destructive drug;
nothing is so much to be lamented as to be content with one's estate.

However exalted, however great,
it is mediocrity to rest --
while life inflames the breast!

The Lord, in His wisdom,
has coupled loftiness with humility,
and celebrity with servitude.

Actions may serve a particular good,
and words commend a general goodness,
but silence responds to the will of God.

A man may stumble and still progress; no pilgrim ascends like a ghost, gliding over rocks and streams; but lurches, lunges, leaps, and leans upon his staff; seeming the most compromised when scaling the steepest heights.

When anger overtakes you, do not snatch at consolations, anxious for a cheaply gotten peace. First, be humbled by contrition. Confess your double-will. Lament that you hold to anger still, and cannot put it out of you, however much your higher nature tells you to, and however much you would like to want to do. It must repulse you. Only then will you relinquish it, and peace will come upon you as though unbidden.

To become aware of sin in oneself is almost to uproot it.

The soul is buried, as it were, in a tomb of clay,
and must be dug out, for the purposes of resurrection.

All the strength of my life, to be good in this moment.

We seek knowledge, we seek the concrete, not realizing that what is acquired by the mind must serve as heavy blocks, weighing us down, and preventing our ascent towards the wisdom of the Highest. How much more willingly ought we to seek -- nay, to confess -- a humble ignorance; the limitless unknowing of a child? In this ignorance is lightness, spaciousness, and openness to the leadings of Divine Suggestion. Truly, all our knowledge, or all that appears to us as knowledge, is but a reflection of a reflection of reflection of all that we do not know. The plans we fashion, and the paths we imagine for ourselves, can never begin to compare to the blueprints which God has laid out for the development of our souls. We had better forget these anxious attempts at directing our course, and place our utmost trust in the will of the Father, who alone knows what is best, and how to lead.

The prayers we offer on our own behalf are never so effective,
and never so beneficial to ourselves, as the prayers we offer for others.

The Prodigal Atheist

There is not, nor has there ever been, an authentic rejection of God. If we imagine that we, or anyone else, has denied God (or the existence of God), we deal not in realities, but in fictions. The simple fact of the matter is that God is nothing if not the deepest, most undeniable, indivisible part of ourselves. How can we deny or reject God, when the very thing within us which denies and rejects is God? All we can deny, all we can reject, is what we are not. We can push away only what is ancillary, superficial, and superfluous in ourselves. All our efforts to rid ourselves of God, or of the notions of God which we find unsatisfactory, can only draw us closer to the actual reality of God.

Cynicism is only a fortress against those easy answers and flimsy explanations which do not awaken the most authentic, emotional confirmation we seek. It is a symbol and, at the same time, a direct expression of our integrity; our diligence and honesty in seeking answers which do not glance, but strike to the true core of the matter. Bitterness, too, is only the most beautiful impatience with what does not touch upon the ultimate crux of our questioning and confusion. It is merely a confirmation that the seeking within us is genuine. The doubts, which gather like storm clouds, darkening the skies of our soul, convey that part of ourselves which yearns desperately to experience the flood of a substantial cleansing.

It is in our defiance that we approach submission. Only in the fiercest moments of rebellion can we begin to discover the essence of true obedience. Having put away all childish consolations, and cast beneath us all those half-hearted half-truths and partial experiences which do not resonate from the very marrow of our most secret hearts, we may come, by aching, tentative steps, to encounter the genuine mystery of God. We must first possess ourselves entirely, and stand upon the uppermost summit of ourselves, before we can truly sacrifice ourselves in a wholehearted leap of faith.

What we receive from another is not religion. Nobody can give us religion. We must take it. And we must lack it before we can take it. We must shed and renounce every creed which seeks a foothold in our souls, in order to plant our feet firmly in the soil of our own holy ground. This, the atheist is in a unique position to accomplish. But all those who believe in a God who has been given, and not found, claimed in the depths of the most personal and defiant search, stumble blindly in a fog of half-faith. They are furthest from the Kingdom who believe they have found it. They merely rest complacent in some byway, some wild grotto of the soul, while imagining themselves secure within the courtyards of the King. They do not so much as journey thither.

In our loneliness, we affirm the true depth of the love we seek. In isolation, we cry out for an intimacy beyond expressions. Shamefaced, we cover our iniquities, and search out a more authentic countenance. We are the lowest form of pretenders, if we claim to know the Unknowable, or to find the Source which inspires our seeking. In humility, we should seat ourselves at the foot of the atheist, to learn what God is; for it is the one who rejects Him who embraces Him most surely. The one who claims not to know Him, not to believe in Him, not to understand what is said of Him -- is truly the one who approaches. Modesty hides from him the religion which he alone possesses in earnest. But if he were to feel it in his pocket, to hold it up, and offer it to public view, how quickly it would tarnish and turn from gold into tin. It is in his assertion of godlessness that he preserves his innocence, and his God.

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The only problem with seeing too much is that it makes you insane.
~ Phaedrus

Astrology And Free Will

Astra inclinant, non necessitant.
(The stars incline, they do not compel.)

This ancient astrological dictum ought to be understood in accordance with the Hermetic tradition which gave rise to it. The stars, properly interpreted, are not "out there", but "in here". They are the constellations of our own character and temperament, to which they merely correspond. In the strictest terms, they neither incline nor compel, any more than the hands of a clock incline or compel the procession of time.

Always, in the study of astrological factors, we must bear in mind the unknown, or ungiven factor; which is the individual freedom of the person to whom they bear only partial witness. No rumination on what has gone before, however much it penetrates into the nuances of particular instances or expands to encompass the more general principles, can account for the miracle of the present moment. The merest atoms and the vastest galaxies are phantom distractions, if they do not come to a point, and discover their ultimate terminus, in you. What is matters less than what is recognized, and the will is only truly free the instant it is claimed.

The image reflected in a mirror can tell you something of the state of your health, but it can never tell you as much as you can tell yourself, with the choices you make in response to what the image reveals. The first step is to walk away from the mirror, and to claim your life as your own; not to dwell upon the image any longer than is needed to provoke an authentic, personal response.

All the fateful accidents of environment, of parentage, biology, and breeding must bow the knee to the sovereign will. The world cannot anticipate, -- it can neither explain nor can it contain, -- the mysterious capriciousness of that spirit which inflames it. All these things, no doubt, come to bear upon a man, as the karmic substance which surrounds and encumbers his free spirit. Yet, no path, however deeply cut into the wood, can hold back the sword of an individual determined to carve a new way. The instant he has recognized and reclaimed his power, he is invincible; free for any pursuit he resolutely settles upon. He is the undetermined factor. He is yourself, in this instant; in this eternal moment; this lightning flash, which no clock can track.

Have you been blinded in the darkest depths?
You will be blinded in the light, as well!
Look around you now.

Saint Quixote

Ostensibly, Don Quixote is the story of a man of the noblest aspirations and the scantest means. Despite his humble circumstances, he has cultivated, all his life, a tremendous ambition to become a certain ideal type of hero -- the knight errant, who rides a mighty steed, his armor glinting like a thousand suns in the light of the one, en route to right whatever wrongs he chances to encounter; to slay mammoth beasts, to bring crooked men to justice, to set fair maidens at liberty; in short, to do everything a heroic knight is said in legends to have done. Even after a long life of disappointing confrontations with harsh reality, he is not yet disillusioned, not yet discouraged from chasing his wild fantasy. Rather, his imagination gets the better of reality and, having lost his wits, but not his dream, he sets out, poor and decrepit, yet believing himself smartly armored and armed, to do battle with the forces of evil under the banner of all that is good.

Like its protagonist, the book is both tragic and comic, as the ridiculousness of Quixote's pretensions is off-set by the admiration one cannot help feeling towards his indefatigable high-mindedness. His repeated failures, while laughable, also evoke a sadness, and a strong desire to see him, just once, triumph, and be lauded as the hero he so longs to be. At last, we are brought to consider the nobility of his spirit, which is the spirit of a true hero, regardless of the fact that he is, in all other respects, ill-equipped to enact the visions of his noble fancy. Quixote may be foolish, but he is no fool. His madness is more to be envied than the pragmatism of so many sane and reasonable fools, who have nothing of the hero in them; not even the ambition for heroism, nor the admiration properly owed to it, -- both of which he has in spades.

While various readers have suggested various interpretations beyond the obvious, I cannot help but see the story of Don Quixote as a parable of the Christian life. Cervantes grew up surrounded, not merely with tales regaling the exploits of conventional heroes and men of action, but of monks, martyrs, and priests, as well. Perhaps it is only myself I read, but the book strikes me as one long critique and defense of Christendom, and of the simple people whose admiration for the saints took little notice of their own ill-fittedness for sainthood.

How often do we see people, encouraged by religious fervor, endeavoring to promote and display virtues which they have not, and which may be well beyond their mortal grasp? How common is it, to see them blind, or practically blind, to their own shortcomings, yet, nonetheless, boldly expectant of some miraculous grace which might take possession of them at any moment and, by no real power of their own, transform them utterly into the figures of dignity and compassion whom they tirelessly adore and desire to emulate?

Everywhere, we see them, loaded up with pretensions, anxious to exhibit character traits which are as far beyond them as white clouds above the muddy earth. They are ridiculous, but they are tragic, as well. If we only knew them half as well as we come to know Quixote by the end of that novel, our laughter and pity would perhaps subside into a quiet admiration, -- even envy, for the majesty of their dream. Like Cervantes' title character, they are possessed by so much more than they possess. Their madness is more sane than the complacency of so many others; no more nor less mediocre than themselves in substance, but lacking that divine spark of imagination and idealism which transfigures even the humblest soul.

In the final analysis, we may be moved to accord them that measure of grace which, by all appearances, continues to elude them. We may conclude that they are, indeed, blessed, and that, if they have nothing else to show for themselves, they have grace. Of course, not the grace which transfigures a man utterly, right down to his behavior and appearance, but, at least, the subtler grace which clothes his soul in fine imaginings, and refuses to submit to the grossest evidence of sense.

These are the dear souls who take heart at the words of Themistocles, who wrote that, "The wildest colts make the best horses, if they only get properly broken in and trained," though there are no great influences surrounding them, to break and train them. However often their passions and tempers get the better of them, their spirits perk up, when they discover this passage from Nietzsche's Zarathustra: “Of all evil I deem you capable: Therefore I want good from you. Verily, I have often laughed at the weaklings who thought themselves good because they had no claws.” And lastly, but by no means least of all, they are stopped in their tracks by the declaration of Saint Paul, that giant among saints, when he writes, "I am the least of the apostles, that am not meet to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God. But by the grace of God... I labored more abundantly than they all..."

Faith compels them. Grace will come, they cannot doubt. A thousand times they fall flat on their pious faces, but a thousand and one times they stand up tall, and reaffirm their conviction, in spite of all. Grace will come. At last, it seems to me, their grace has come, albeit in some unexpected and seldom recognized form. Grace does not yet lift them to the heavens, but it lifts them from the dirt. It does not lift them bodily, but it lifts their spirits. It is that in them which refuses to submit, not because ground has been visibly gained, but because it has not been lost. Though the saints may have never once been emulated, the flame of love for them has not gone out, but has even grown stronger, and -- who knows -- may even yet transfigure the flesh.

Centering Prayer

Some points to consider in preparation for centering prayer.

Centering prayer is itself preparation for contemplative (or deep) prayer. So, we are here concerned with the initial stages of the initial stages of deep prayer, seeing that it is essential to observe a proper order in the attainment of virtues, lest we become quickly discouraged by attempting what is beyond our strength, or beyond our skill.

The first thing to consider is sleep. A good night's sleep is the best protection against the pitfalls which attend the beginner in the practice of centering prayer. Likewise, a restorative sleep is the first hint of acquaintance we may have with respect to the experience of that deeper peace realized in true prayer.

"Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest."

Sleep is a perfect place to begin, in seeking understanding of prayer, since it is something with which we are all familiar, and since no person is without an appreciation for sleep; its pleasure, no less than its utility. Rest of the body precedes and anticipates rest of the soul.

For, though the end of prayer is a kind of heightened attention, or wakefulness, it is wakefulness of a peculiar type. It is being awake to the experience of rest. Generally, when we speak of being alert, we imply some sense of tension; a triggering of the "fight or flight" response. Alertness, as it is usually understood and experienced, contains an unmistakable element of stress. This is not the sort of attention we are seeking.

Again, many who have approached this matter have spoken a great deal about concentration. Yet, concentration also tends to be associated with an experience of tension, or stress. This is not the sort of concentration we are seeking.

True prayer is not an act of concentration, which arises in the focussing of personal will. Rather, it is a process of receptivity, arising from the universal core of being. It is simply a way of being present and receptive, at the deepest levels.

Now, receptivity does not mean that we fling the door of the mind wide, and offer an open invitation to every passing thought. On the contrary, it means an openning to what underlies and transcends the occassion of thoughts.

This underlying and transcendant "something" is, ultimately, the working Presence of God, and it is not something upon which attention may be concentrated or fixed. Rather, it is like a warm pool, or a feather bed, into which the soul is freely drawn by the will of God. In order to be drawn into the deeper experience of God's peace, it is enough not to stand on "solid ground"; not to cling with our personal will to the specific perceptions (thoughts, sensations, intentions, etc.) arising within and transiting through the open field of consciousness.

The work of God is easiest of all once we have abandoned our efforts at directing our own lives, just as sleep is easy once we have relaxed our grip on the waking world. One cannot force prayer or sleep; only let go of all else, and allow rest to take place. If you know how to sleep, you know how to pray.

But if we have not slept well, we will not be prepared for prayer.

The instant we invite the experience of receptivity, we will be inclined to drop off and, in order to uphold ourselves in the experience, we will attempt a forced application of attention. This will never do. First, the body must be adequately rested, then the soul may begin to take her rest without interference from the material part.

Likewise, we must be fed, so that the pangs of a hungry body do not disturb the more subtle pangs of a hungry soul. As Mohandas K. Gandhi declared, "There are people in the world so hungry, that God cannot appear to them except in the form of bread." This is true in the case of starving peoples, who cannot so much as listen to a spiritual discourse without first receiving some basic sustainance in the form of food. But it is also true of anyone wishing to begin the practice of centering prayer. The body provides enough occassions for distraction without hunger being added to the others.

We must not set out upon this path with any notion of deprivation. Aceticism, often misconceived as a path of lack, is in fact a way of fullness. To be an ascetic is not to deprive oneself of many things, but, rather, to be satisfied with little; to be easily filled.

Having met these first requirements, we may proceed to the utterance of the sacred word. Some may find it helpful to begin with a complete phrase, evocative of higher emotions. For instance, "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want." This is fine, as it will help us to realize how it is possible for the entirety of the Gospel to be contained or suggested in a single phrase. But we ought to allow the phrase to become ever shorter, until the Gospel is suggested by a single word, and, eventually, by silence. "The Lord is my shepherd," contains within it the proscription "I shall not want," just as "The Lord," contains an awareness of the Lord as shepherd. The more familiar or intimate one has become with the whole of the teaching, the more readily one is able to absorb the entire sense of the teaching in a single word, or in the silence which underlies and transcends all speech. An exploration of the depths always culminates in a "deeper" experience of what lies on the surface.

Choose a phrase or word which, for you, is evocative of the whole of the teaching, being a symbol of the very heart of the teaching. "Father", "Shepherd", "Jesus", "Love," and "Peace" are all possible sacred words which many have found appealing and useful for the purpose of evoking a sense of the holy; and, ultimately, a receptivity to the experience of Divine Presence.

Unlike a mantra, which must be repeated without interruption, or with regularly spaced interruptions, the utterance of the sacred word follows no program apart from that which the soul prescribes, from moment to moment. The word is not a means of concentrating the mind, or replacing one type of content with another, but, of returning the mind to a state of openness, or receptivity.

When we discover our attention being carried away by one perception or another, we return to the sacred word, as to a door, leading onto the spaciousness of receptive awareness. We do not continue knocking at the door, opening and closing it, or dwelling upon its face. We simply pass through it, and when we find ourselves in another thicket of distractions, we conjure up the door and pass through it again into spaciousness.

Once we have entered that open field of silence, we do not need to recall the word. We merely allow our souls to rest, and be drawn into the Presence. Gradually, the experience of spaciousness, and of being drawn, will lengthen and deepen, and it will become less and less necessary to return to the word; which is only a door, or a way, leading into the reality of the divine encounter.

When you have come this far, you will require no further instruction, for the Lord Himself will have become your instructor and guide in the ways of the Holy Spirit.



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Vision without action is a dream.
Action without vision is a nightmare.
~ Japanese Proverb

Reality Regained

Fantasy is the better part of reality. ~ Valus


I have entered the sanctum unworldly,
I have fed from the garden most holy,
Dipped my cup in the fountain of visions,
And walked side-by-side with the godly;

In spirit, was friended by Sweetness,
Fair daughter of Truth and of Goodness,
Who never approached in the harshlight,
But waited in realms of pure noblesse.

And, lo, when I woke, all was not lost;
Some threshold had truly been crossed, -
New wonders infused all my senses;
Soft flames radiated from hoarfrost!

Now I speak for what some have forgotten,
Seeing many have mocked and forbidden,
In rough haste to subtract from the clock
Moonlit hours wherein dreams are hidden.

No fair, faithful account can be made, -
No honest admission asked for and payed,
Which refuses to number the daemon
And all but the drudge has betrayed.