Songs of the heart & mystical poetry
The new flashing before the heart, the jealous old, the father, the castle made of the mother, the cries of the newborn, the blinding light of the new world, the absolutely indeterminate nature of the Self, the disappearance of Christ, submerging of the old and the emerging of the new. Addiction to faces, to looks, … More Where Nothing Stands
The now is a whirling Dervish; it whirls and it worlds. The Dervish sees; the Dervish sees, A seeing that hides; a seeing that shows, A seeing that holds; a seeing that lets go, One veils; one unveils, One is the farthest; one is the nearest, One is the eye; one is the I. But, alas, … More The Ecstasy of the Self, and World as Hearsay
The lovers, caressed by the scent of the beloved, burn their books and maps! A longing heart is their guide. The blind mind missteps; the heart sees, then smiles and leaps. The pebbles sink to the bottom and watch the river dance forward, as the mind is baffled by the dance of the heart of the lover. … More The Journey of the Ink
Life moves the way vines do, quietly, patiently, winding where it can. Even when buried under concrete, it finds a crack. It doesn’t argue with obstacles; it learns their shape. Wise paths aren’t straight because beauty isn’t efficient. Much of what shapes us happens unbeknownst to us until one day we notice what has already grown around our bones. To live well is not to force the way, but to savor the tension and let what is alive find its own ascent. … More The Winding Vines
You were given a vast mansion and yet lived in the attic. You decorated the temporary and forgot the window opening to the Real. This life is a visit, not a settlement: fall in love. Beauty alone restores what was lost, and every encounter is a remembering of what you already are. … More All Is On: A Tale of Falling in Gratitude
Some encounters do not happen in time or circumstance, but in meaning. Two lives cross, and suddenly the past rearranges itself, as if it had been waiting all along for this meeting to occur. What once seemed accidental reveals its pattern, and life awakens from a long, quiet sleep into coherence. … More Rendezvous in the Space of the Heart
I have lost my tongue between the two worlds, I have felt two depths, and I haven’t found my own I stepped back out of fright, little did I know that it was the rope of the heart pulling me back, and I receded to the soft edge of the world where all dreams begin. … More The Passage of Simurgh
Fall is inevitable, for it provides the ground for the rise of the new types. But one can choose to fall a graceful fall where one gives and elevates others instead of a fall of which no one has ever heard. … More If You Have to Fall, at least Fall with Grace
What is man as a phenomenon? Is he a being that’s hasting toward non-being, a ghostly figure that has projected all the being he has and he can’t tolerate into and beyond a non-being horizon? Nay. Man is nothing in haste. Man is the very hasting of Being; he is hasting itself and not a being in haste. That’s why he’s always torn, torn in between here and there, for he can’t get that there out of his stupid head. He is as horizontally stretched between the opposite poles of embodiment and self-abandonment as he is vertically stretched between heaven and hell. He is everywhere and everywhen but here and now. He is a lunatic chasing shadows of himself. … More La Fretta dell’Essere: L’uomo e il miraggio del “Là”
We must forget and unsee all that we know and all that we think. We must surrender who we think we are in order to see who we truly are. We must surrender what we think reality is in order to see it for what it truly is. And repetition itself can help us: to repeatedly put the headsets aside, to return again and again to the plain, unadorned real, even when it feels empty or dull. That emptiness and dullness and boredom is the withdrawal symptom of a lifelong addiction to conceptualization and repetitive thinking. Stay with that emptiness long enough and one day vision clears. But for that, all borrowed images must die. All the stories of philosophers, theologians, and scientists must vanish for the true sun to rise before our eyes. All our ideas of truth and reality must die for the One to appear. … More The Letter That Kills, the Song That Heals: When Reality Is Buried Alive in Much Intellectual Chatter
NOEMAYA 