Uradiance

  Flesh a vehicle, breath a vehicle, mind a vehicle. Who is the traveler? Where is she going? Departure and arrival are rehearsals for some sweet stillness beyond space. Where you want to be, my love, you are. How could you conceive it unless you're already there? The traveler is the destination. Discard these wheels, these wings, this motion called wanting.  Now, with nowhere to go, Whirl your body on one toe. Dancing wherever you are is the goal of this journey.

Intergalactic pancakes swirling in the syrup of dark energy. Cappuccino Milky Way frothed on black coffee. This bistro is empty on Sunday morning, my favorite spot in the cosmos. No one here on Sunday morning but you and I. Space swept clear, yet dappled with atoms of sunbeam. I gave up concentration to attain one-pointedness. I become the dark and give birth to original light. Silence filled with infinite points of view, all valid, none needing to be spoken. When I gaze at you over the rim of my white cup, 100,000 light years dissolve like grains of sugar in perfect joy.

  Americans need to space out more often. Being spacey is usually considered a flaw. But people who have no space between their thoughts, no spaciousness in their heart beat, no delicious hollow to dive into at the core of their brain, that vast ballroom where the chandelier of the pituitary hangs with its ten billion candles, then what are they? Dense bundles of stress, tied up in knots of useless thinking, which is often called "politics." I space out beyond the rim of the universe for 20 minutes every morning and evening. Then I come back inside my warm fur. I learned this foolish art from My Guru, and from my dogs, Willy and Bowie, who are angels now. Please, America, for God's, get spaced out!

Whatever I can name I can let go of. When I let go of every name, even the name of God, who remains? The deepest meditation is not repetition of the divine name. Nor is it concentration on the mantra, nor contemplation of any form that could be named. In deep meditation, mantra dissolves, name and form evaporate, and with the dissolution of nama-rupa, mind also vanishes. When I surrender all that can be named, there is unfathomable silence, resonant with a thunderous Word of creation. And when my own name is thoroughly lost, I Am. "Layam vraja," said Rishi Ashtavakra. "Dissolve now!" What remains is self-luminous awareness, without form, boundary, or content. Meditation practice begins on the level of nama-rupa, name and form. A breath, a mantra, or one's Ishta-devata (chosen form of God) gently floats on waves of awareness. But because meditation does not cling or grasp, the object vanishes into the subject. Then the radiance of pure subjecti...

      A page from the new book, 'Hollowed by Grief, Hallowed by Grace,' from Rashani Réa

If I could tell you how this wild golden poppy contains the entire sun, How an eternity of stars may be a raveled petal in the burning fragrance of your heartbeat, where the bee-work goes on night and day, despite the drownings and honey dangers of love - if I could tell you how to see yourself through the eye of your sweetheart, an oblong emerald in the moon's egg, your jagged perfections shattering the window of twoness, tearing the veil between this world and the realm of dark motherhood, I would, I would. But all I can say is be true to this breath, and this breath will lead you where light begins.

How lovely earth must have been before the appearance of the human being. Maybe God should have quit while She was ahead, skipping that final piece of work. But then, who would be aware of how lovely it all is? Who would offer it all back to the Creator in a breath of gratitude? So after creating all the other species that do just about everything better than we do, God created one whose work was simply gratitude: to offer each scent of mint, sigh of evening pine, flash of eagles at sunrise, dew on violet petal, gaze of a friend, back to the Creator in an empty grail of pure Awareness. Earth's healing does not begin with political protest, redistribution of wealth, green technology, or even a march for peace. These are effects, not causes. Earth's healing begins deep inside the heart, silently, gently, as a return to Wonder.

What does Israel mean? Isra-El. In Hebrew, "He has struggled with God." If you struggle with God, you become the garden of Gethsemane. Mount Zion is the pillow under your sacrum. If you wrestle the Creator and get wounded, you are the promised land. Weary pilgrims rest in your shadow, eating manna from your branches. The homeless Spirit pitches her tent beneath your wailing wall. Her children drink from your cisterns and hollow places, the darkness in your bones. You are the Vine. Israel is not a place but a presence. T'shuv. Return. Selah. Be a gentle outpouring of honey and wine, the honey of attention, the wine of mindfulness. Restoration of the kingdom is never in the world to come. The Sabbath is now. a vast impermanence swallows your heart, the heart whose Hebrew name, “levav, levav,” pulses with the gift of uncertainty, davening like a wanderer. The thir...

    Words by AKL, collage art by Rashani Réa

Love dissolves particles into waves. Lovers let go of any distinction between doing and not doing. When a mother nurses her child she suckles the galaxy. Who among us is the doer? God is milk pressed out by thirsty mouths. In the blackness at the center of swirling all is still for trillions of years. Yet here it rains, then the lilacs like unfolding skies burst from their tombs of light. Do what you will, friend, the world remains as it is. Even the sun is encircled by darkness. Without love, all is dust. Try to be more and more  like that infant, churning this ocean of cream with tiny lips and a yearning heart. Painting: Picasso, 'Maternity,' 1905

PRESS RELEASE:   Saint Julian Press is proud to announce that a new book of German-English bilingual poetry, Die Taverne des Erwachens, The Tavern of Awakening by author Alfred K. LaMotte, selected and translated by Otto Raich ( https://raich-trauner.com/ ), will be released on June 28, 2024.   The Tavern of Awakening is a book for meditation; its poems invoke images and inspiration from across humanity's contemplative traditions. The translator is one of the foremost mindfulness-meditation teachers in Europe, who uses these poems with students as tools of spiritual practice. 'Poetry is the closest written expression to the Unutterable.   Translating a poem requires settling down in the silence of the heart and letting oneself be taken in by the subtle music of the poem. Otto's talent and profound sensitivity enable him to retain the soul of the poem while allowing it to be recreated in a new language.'   —Nathalie D...

I . Three Jewels There are three precious jewels that you received in your mother's womb, talismans for your journey. You already know what they are. I only wish to remind you of their value, for you have let them get tarnished. When you understand the value of what you already have, you can enjoy the deepest meditation and the highest form of prayer, just by breathing. Before you set out on this life's pilgrimage, the Inward Teacher gave you these three talismans: Breath, Heart, Silence. Is not your human body itself the great sacrament? Fully embodied, no further sacrament is needed. If you attended to this body with as much devotion as you attend to ashrams and churches, you would dwell in the temple of God this very moment. As the center of the temple is the Holy of Holies, so the center of the body is the Heart. The Heart is not merely a physical organ, but the matrix of awakened consciousness. The Heart is like a radio: constructed out of physical matter but in...