Archive for October, 2011

For such a long time now
I could not reconcile
How it is so
That when we are alone
There is much admiration
Yet in the midst of company and work
Resentment could creep in.

And I cannot deny
There had been moments of unconsciousness
Where there is blame and irritation
Either kept in or blurted out
Making you wrong, dumb
And at times unreasonable
To support the sense of righteousness
Drawing me further away from you
Albeit secretly still in awe with you.

Yet deep down I knew
The button is here and not there
I just could not see it
It was just too deep seated
Hovered by too many storylines
Of the past, the present and the future
Of what has been, what is, and what will be.

Today, I realised
Indeed a revelation
How I kept failing you thus myself
Lifetime after lifetime
Though walking in reverence
Yet burying deep resentment
Holding on yet keeping it silent
Each time burning me momentarily
When you did not live up to what I believed you to be.

Yet you stood still as my silent teacher
Either through extending a loving voice
Or backing off with your illness
Bringing either smiles and warmness to my heart
Or arrows to my defiled heart
Allowing me to taste my own greatness
Yet at the same time
Not fully able to appreciate you.

Oh Teacher,
Having meet you again
Though not recognising you at first
Not wanting to recognise you after
Forgive me, this ignorant fool
How I had been so blind
Making you an enemy
When indeed, you are truly just my friend.

As the weary heart cries out in deep sorrow and regret
While being escorted by gratitude and love
Fully acknowledging your presence now
In my journey once more.

Oh Beloved Teacher
How I am grateful you are still standing today
And breathing in life through that seemingly frail body of yours
For somehow it has given me the opportunity
To meet you once again in grace, anew
To finally come to peace with the uncalled expectations
The irreconcilable before
Now fitting into pieces
Leaving you your reinstated innocence
From the magnificent yet quiet role you play
In my voyage home to be.

And now it is my own woes I work with
In forgiving and loving
Having yet to make peace with myself
Another layer unravelling
Playing out in my field
For holding on to you for so long as my scapegoat
For the ignorance I could not see in myself then.

At least now, you are finally free.

*Dedicated to and deep gratitude to my first female teacher in the Dharma this lifetime*

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This feeling,
where does it come from?

Perception tells me
it is something else,
defining some possible grievance
not yet fully healed.

Yet if that is so,
why the smile so joyous?

And this feeling;
as if bursting with some vibration,
some trembling sensation,
ready to explode in elation!

Or perhaps,
what was before
all the while mistaken;
and now,
clear from confusion,
since there is no reason;

There is no music.
There is no movement.
There is no conversation.
There is no contact.

Yet somehow,
this feeling appears,
as if from beyond;

Warranting only –
some silly smile,
some ecstatic laughter,
some warmth in the heart,
some sort of embrace;

singing and being sung to,
dancing and being danced to;
like some lightheaded fool,
insanely in Love,
insanely in Love,
insanely in Love;
celebrating, being celebrated,
all occurring in One.

Loving, being loved;
the spread of flaps,
mindlessly oscillating,
returning to the middle;

and thereafter,
rested in sleep,
totally enthralled,
with a serene smile on the face,
not knowing where after,
not even mattering…

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performed by Alanis Morissette

Fourteen years
Thirty minutes
Fifteen seconds I’ve
Held this grudge

Eleven songs
Four full journals
Thoughts of punishment
I’ve expended

Not in contact
Not a letter
Such communication
You’ve been vilified
Used as fodder
You deserve a piece
Of every record

But who’s it hurting now?
Who’s the one that’s stuck?
Who’s it torturing now
With an antique knot in her stomach?

I want to be big and let go
Of this grudge that’s grown old
All this time I’ve not known
How to rest this bygone
I wanna be soft and resolved
Clean of slate and released
I wanna forgive for the both of us

Like an abandoned house
Dusty covered
Still intact
If I visit it now
Will I simply re-live it
Somehow gratuitous

But who’s still aching now?
Who’s tired of her own voice?
Who is it weighing down
With no gift from time of said healing

I want to be big and let go
Of this grudge that’s grown old
All this time I’ve not known
How to rest this bygone
I wanna be soft and resolved
Clean of slate and released
I wanna forgive for the both of us

Maybe as I cut the cord
Veils will lift from my eyes
Maybe as I lay this to rest
Dead weight off my shoulders will rise

Here I sit
Much determined
Ever ill-equipped
To draw this curtain
How this has entertained
And has served me well
Ever the victim

But who’s done whining now?
Who’s ready to put down
This load I’ve carried longer than I had cared to remember

I want to be big and let go
Of this grudge that’s grown old
For the life of me I’ve not known
How to rest this bygone
I wanna be soft and resolved
Clean of slate and released
I wanna forgive for the both of us.


Thank you for sharing this beautiful song, Lynn

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only one me

They tell me, “I can never find another one like you.”

I tell them, “of course, because there is only one me in the world.”


~ GG ~

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there is somewhere there
which is here
yet not of here
the world
watching the layers
of multi-folds
of conditions
of cause and effect
of intent
of thought
of believer or non believer
of action
of ignorance
of wisdom
of evolution
yet not of it
spoken before
many a times
by many
yet not of the spoken
done before
many a times
yet not of the done
above the layers of multi-folds
but free to descend
to merge or immerse
with any of it
of choices
yet that too
some decree of deceit
when unseen
of whence the source comes from
though that too is fine
for what is here
yet not of here
emotionless, wandering
moving amongst
watching yet not really watching
for lack of a better word some says
if not
how else to represent
that somewhere there
which is here
yet not of here

where is the there which is here
what or who
in questioning and not
in inquiry and not
in judging and not
in healing and not
in forgiving and not
if, there is still probing…
if, there is still doubt…

go on, go on
step back somemore
with ease
it shall soon be seen
what is there which is here but not of here
but beyond
and beyond
the beyond

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I watch you
falling into a dream
tears finding their way
the voice breaking in murmurs
in rhythmic shadow hiccups
catching the breath of life
as if capable of losing it

You turn to me
reaching out your arms
requesting to be held for a little while
and it seemed necessary at that time
not that there is a choice
I embrace you anyway

If only I could tell you
how you were fine
happy, joyful
peacefully reading your book
playing with the iPad
watching the television
before the thought arised
before the memory arised
and the comparison of what has arised in thought and memory
with what is visually seen
experienced as opposites
that has caused the conflict
hence the feeling of missing
there after another thought
of not having—here and now
that arose another feeling of sadness
thus propelling into overwhelmingness
that resulted in your crying of woes
those sacred tears
of what they call “sweet”

Somehow you close your eyes
and fall asleep
tired from all those crying
and the funniest thing is
when you awake to greet the sun
the memory of last night totally wiped out
when I teased you
“do you know who is coming back tonight?”
you guessed and you guessed
kept getting it wrong
and asked if I could give a hint
ahh… such sweet innocence
and then you remembered
yet strangely
it didn’t really matter to you.

How odd
the contrast of
an arising thought
an arising memory
falling into dream
the absence of the same thought
joyfully living

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Imagine there’s no Heaven
It’s easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today

Imagine there’s no countries
It isn’t hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace

You may say that I’m a dreamer
But I’m not the only one
I hope someday you’ll join us
And the world will be as one

Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world

You may say that I’m a dreamer
But I’m not the only one
I hope someday you’ll join us
And the world will live as one

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Sweet baby
The other day you went to school
Excited to go on your “pretend” holiday
With your little “pretend” holiday bag
Looking forward to a fun filled experience
As you walked into the school gate.

Mommi came to pick you up at 2
Suddenly noticing all your friends
Dressed up fancy and in holiday clothes
Except you, in uniform.

You ran to mommi and cried
Explaining that you were supposed to wear pretty clothes
And not your usual uniform
Mommi didn’t know, sweetheart
Mommi didn’t know.

Mommi held you in my arms
Allowing your tears to flow
As you sobbed in front of your teachers and friends
Staying present to your process.

As you sat in the backseat of the car
You sobbed even louder
As if in grief
Not able to live that experience.

Understanding your need to release
Mommi drove calmly
Occasionally turning back to touch you
Without saying a word.

When we got home
Mommi carried you into the house
And held you tenderly
Stroking your hair and cheek
Gently wiping away your tears
As you wrapped your arms around mommi
Still sore over what had happened.

Mommi asked you
If you were feeling left out
For being different
You shook your head softly
Revealing in honesty
That you felt the rest prettier than you
Because they were in pretty clothes
And you were not in pretty clothes.

I smile a little and hold you a little tighter
Reminding you
That you need not a pretty dress to make you pretty
Because you are already pretty
No matter what you wear;
Whether in uniform, in shorts
Or even in your nakedness
It is you that makes the dress pretty
And not the other way round.

I continue whispering into your ears
Sweet baby
Your beauty lies not in the dress you wear
For you are already pretty being you
So, so beautiful
And the world is a beautiful place
Because you are such a beautiful part of it.

At that moment
Your tears stopped flowing
Your eyes brightened
Your face calm
Your awakening mirroring mine
And suddenly everything was alright.

You point your finger at the tv
Drawing my attention there too
And both of us laugh together
At the cat in the hat who started reciting numbers speedily
Which were so hilarious
To both of us
Signifying the embrace of the Now moment
With joy, love and laughter
Already the past no longer matter.

We continue to lay side by side on the sofa
Giggling and laughing like little children
As we watched the sloth speak and move slowly
Shown on tv as part of the cat in the hat programme.

Holding each other so closely
Occasionally gazing and smiling into each other’s eyes
Losing sight of mommi and daughter
The world
No longer the adult or the child
Emerging simply
Of the benevolent
Lover and the Beloved.

*dedicated to the sweet T*

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It is
during times when you feel

you could no longer give
that you give some more

you could no longer love
that you love some more

in action and non action

you’d come to realise
that giving and loving is a bottomless well
reflecting only
who and what you are.

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(extracted from The Mathnawi Rumi)

The Prince of Bokhara had a Vakil who, through fear of punishment for an offence he had committed, ran away and remained concealed in Kuhistan and the desert for the space of ten years. At the end of that time, being unable to endure absence from his lord and his home any longer, he determined to return to Bokhara and throw himself at his lord’s feet, and endure whatever punishment his lord might be pleased to inflict upon him. His friends did all they could to dissuade him, assuring him that the Prince’s wrath was still hot against him, and that if he appeared at Bokhara he would be put to death, or at least imprisoned for the rest of his life. He replied, “O advisers, be silent, for the force of the love which is drawing me to Bokhara is stronger than the force of prudent counsels. When love pulls one way all the wisdom of Abu Hanifa and Ash-Shafi’i is impotent to withstand it. If it shall please my lord to slay me, I will yield up my life without reluctance, for this life of estrangement from him which I am now leading is the same as death, and release from it will be eternal happiness. I will return to Bokhara and throw myself at my lord’s feet, and say to him, ‘Deal with me as thou wilt, for I can no longer bear absence from thee, and life or death at thy hands is all the same to me!’” Accordingly, he journeyed back to Bokhara, counting the very toils and discomforts of the road sweet and delightful, because they were steps in his homeward course. When he reached Bokhara his friends and relations all warned him not to show himself, as the Price was still mindful of his offence and bent on punishing him; but he replied to them as to his other advisers, that he was utterly regardless of his life, and was resolved to commit himself to his lord’s good pleasure. He then went to the court and threw himself at his lord’s feet and swooned away. The Prince, seeing the strong affection borne to him by his repentant servant, conceived a similar affection towards him, and descended from his throne and graciously raised him from the ground, and pardoned his offence. Thus it is that eternal life is gained by utter abandonment of one’s own life. When God appears to His ardent lover the lover is absorbed in Him, and not so much as a hair of the lover remains. True lovers are as shadows, and when the sun shines in glory the shadows vanish away. He is a true lover of God to whom God says, “I am thine, and thou art mine!”

The answer of the Vakil to those who advised him
not to court death by yielding himself up to his lord

He said, “I am a drawer of water; water attracts me,
Even though I know water may be my death.
No drawer of water flees from water,
Even though it may cause him a hundred deaths.
Though it may make my hand and belly dropsical,
My love for water will never be lessened.
I should say, when they asked me about my belly,
‘Would that the ocean might flow into it!’
Though the bottle of my belly were burst with water,
And though I should die, my death would be acceptable.
Wheresoever I see one seeking water, I envy him,
And cry, ‘Would I were in his place!’
My hand is a tabor and my belly a drum,
Like the rose I beat the drum of love of water.
Like the earth or like a foetus I devour blood,
Since I became a lover this is my occupation.
If that ‘Faithful Spirit’ should shed my blood,
I would drink it up drop by drop like the earth.
At night I boil on the fire like a cooking-pot,
From morn till eve I drink blood like the sand.
It repents me that I planned a stratagem,
And that I fled from before his wrath.
Tell him to sate his wrath on my poor life,
He is the ‘Feast of Sacrifice,’ and I his loving cow.
The cow, whether it eats or sleeps,
Thinking of naught but sacrificing itself.
Know me to be that cow of Moses which gave its life,
Each part of me gives life to the righteous.
The cow of Moses was made a sacrifice,
And its least part became a source of life.
That murdered man leapt up from his deadness
At the words, ‘Strike the corpse with part of her.’
O pious ones, slay the cow (of lust),
If ye desire true life of soul and spirit!
I died as inanimate matter and arose a plant,
I died as a plant and rose again an animal.
I died as an animal and arose a man.
Why then should I fear to become less by dying?
I shall die once again as a man
To rise an angel perfect from head to foot!
Again when I suffer dissolution as an angel,
I shall become what passes the conception of man!
Let me then become non-existent, for non-existence
Sings to me in organ tones, ‘To him shall we return.’
Know death to be the gathering together of the people,
The water of life is hidden in the land of darkness.
Like a water-lily seek life there!
Yea, like that drawer of water, at the risk of life,
Water will be his death, yet he still seeks water,
And still drinks on, – and God knows what is right.
O lover, cold hearted and void of loyalty,
Who from fear for your life shun the beloved!
O base one, behold a hundred thousand souls
Dancing towards the deadly sword of his love:
Behold water in a pitcher; pour it out;
Will that water run away from the stream?
When that water joins the water of the stream
It is lost therein, and becomes itself the stream.
Its individuality is lost, but its essence remains,
And hereby it becomes not less nor inferior.
I will hand myself upon my lord’s palm-tree
In excuse for having fled away from him!”
Even as a ball rolling along on head and face,
He fell at the feet of the Prince with streaming eyes.
The people were all on the alert, expecting
That the Prince would burn him or hang him,
Saying, “Moth-like he has seen the blaze of the light,
And fool-like has plunged therein and lost his life.”
But the touch of love is not like that torch,
‘Tis light, light in the midst of light,
‘Tis the reverse of torches of fire,
It appears to be fire, but is all sweetness.

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