The mystery of the night

The mystery of the night can only be entered with a soul drunken with the ecstasy of the day. When the light no longer casts a shadow on weary limbs and cynical hearts, will darkness reveal its most secret blossoms. This is the time for mysticism. The ever-lonely march of separate bodies is but a coded transcription of the sound of the All making love to the All. The last cigarette falls to the ground unsmoked. Passion stirs but not in the flesh. The flesh is wiped clean of foot-prints and becomes transparent in darkness, in the crashing waves of the ocean. There's only a whisper left on the lips. There's moon-light, turning silver the golden streaks of hair. And two arms- stretched out, joining in the dance with the great beyond..

My non-vows of spiritual living

Life is my Guru.
I surrender to it with love and with trust and follow it with joyful participation wherever it might lead me. Through fire and storms, in sickness and in health. In darkness and in light.
Death too won't part us.
Life gently nudges the small me thus, to see who I am, to see that it is the real me in fact who is the guru for life.

Pain and Awareness are my secondary teachers.
I surrender to pain too whenever it finds a blindness in me ready to be pointed out. Diving into it I will obediently look where I'm told to look, straight in the face of every fear and every blockage. Suffering never tries to lead me on, compliment me or keep me at a stand-still, relentlessly and loyally it pushes up blind-spots and illusions to the blistering day-light, transforming all with the help of understanding. Awareness itself seems not enough with deeper scars and mutilations of the mind. Pain is the added energy to cut through the blocks that have grown there for years.

Love is my Reason.
Life IS love. There isn't an ounce of energy in action not propelled by love. Why do the birds sing, why does the Universe multiply and (and we here too ;)), why do we keep at it though no reason is apparent and through all the suffering if not for love of ourselves, love of existence, love of our inner essence. Yes, life is love and we are but dancers to its sweet tune.

And at the end of the day, when the songs have been sung, and the daily lessons taken, I go home to Silence.
The chords are varied and innumerable yet their return is always inevitable. The knowledge of the sweet bosom of the Void is glimpsed at every pause and actualized at every homecoming. In moments of solitude, of silent being, of total rest, I am complete.

I know that there is fear and desire and feel those at times, for we are human beings and gravity does have its rules.  I will play because there is all the time in the world, so enough to play too, to risk it, to feel blood and excitement and adrenalin coursing through the body. There is nothing wrong with playing, it is the natural state. The trick is to always remain in the present moment so that you do not desire your games nor fear their ending.  I will not be shackled by fear unless it is pointing to a lesson that I have already learned. For in reality- what is there to be afraid of?

And saying even this little, I know that too much has been said. Too many concepts still.
No need for concepts, opinions, religions, vows. Truth is silent. No peace is greater than the peace of "I don't know".

All the paths are the right paths.

Blessings to all!

The sweet torture of joy

From India

Sometimes the joy of life in my breast is such that I fear an explosion is imminent.
How am I not exploding?
How can such a rushing all-inclusive torrent remain within the framework of this small body?
(Does it remain there?)
I can dance and jump up and scream out and jump higher and shout and reach out my arms to embrace and hug tight the whole of existence, grabbing at air, which makes me burst out laughing... all the while keeping on dancing, with nobody and with Life itself, yet still feel like there is no outlet possible when this joy threatens to obliterate me.
It's almost a torture, to feel this way.
To swallow the whole Universe with every in-breath
and transform it into joy (is this alchemy?)
To love that much.
To smile that wide.
But most of all- to feel such great gratitude in my soul that I don't know whether to laugh or cry, whether there is anything at all that I can do to repay for this joy other than these periodic implosions where I disappear, when I feel Life IS ME and perhaps... perhaps for one moment is aware of itself.

It seems that even one brief moment of this sweet torture makes our lives, however long and however arduous, worthwhile. No amount of suffering on one side of the scale can ever out-weigh the pure joy of being alive on the other. This is the end of scales and of keeping score. We are unburdened from expecting anything further from life, for nothing extra is necessary, no career, no success in personal relationships, no achievements will ever come close to this Union with our inner spark of existence. Thus at last we are free to enjoy what matters, and most of all- to share it with anybody and everybody around us for this joy belongs to the whole of existence. Most of the times there is nobody around to share it with for the door is often in quiet solitude. Other times we are among people who do not understand, who have blocked themselves off from feeling. No matter! Share it with them anyway. Share it after with the people who do understand. This joy cannot be compressed. 

I guess we can repay by feeling this joy and gratitude every day, even if Life shows its seemingly harsher side, even if the skies are cloudy and perhaps our veins are flushed with pain, we remember to appreciate. We remember to smile at strangers, we remember to love. Our every action should be coming from a deep place of- thank you, thank you! I am alive!


And of course we can dance! :)
(This song is utterly unrelated to this theme when it comes to lyrics but the totally addictive rhythm of it is definitely what I am talking about... Yeah! :) )

The true harvest

"If the day and the night are such that you greet them with joy, and life emits a fragrance like flowers and sweet-scented herbs, is more elastic, more starry, more immortal - that is your success. All nature is your congratulation, and you have cause momentarily to bless yourself. The greatest gains and values are farthest of being appreciated. We easily come to doubt if they exist. We soon forget them. They are the highest reality... The true harvest of my daily life is somewhat as intangible and indestructible as the tints of morning and evening. It is a little star-dust caught, a segment of the rainbow which I have clutched."

~ Henry David Thoreau

Difficulties as blessings in disguise

Sometimes it is a time of hunger. Sacrifice. Trying to fulfil ones dreams can come at a high cost yet as I sit here by the river, in a town called Siem Reap in Cambodia, stomach growling and cramping up like a second heart, gasping for nutriments, I let the river and its wisdom fulfil my emptiness.

It is me who decided a little while ago to continue my life as a rambling wanderer in S-E Asia, as a freebird looking for her own song, while having no resources to really provide for that life. It is I who put the fate of these months in the hand of Life, who surrendered to its will. Is my faith now crumbling because of the needs of my stomach? I suspect an uglier reason yet.

I have known hunger before, there have been times in my life when I've survived on a few pieces of bread a day, when I have walked huge distances in a strange city, an illegal immigrant no less, begging for a job, exhausted, famished, and with blistered feet. Once I started to do well I lost something valuable I had gained during that difficult period- humility. The reason I suffer now is pride and being used to a life of luxury, this is the truth of the Now. I have never held back any expenses while I travel, I have taken the most out of every adventure. No more. It is the crumbling of my hedonistic soul I hear now much more than that of my stomach.

The river continues to speak.

I've always nodded sympathetically when the Cambodian people have told me of the reasons they would love to leave their homeland, how hard life can be here, how they barely survive. I've always told them that I understand. How easy it is to say that yet how many of the tourists who can afford the greatest luxury of all- travel, really do understand? I am lucky enough to begin to understand now.

The river briefly spurts as it runs over a rock at the same time that my stomach throws another tantrum. Doesn't the river always continue to flow regardless of any obstacles on its path? If a river had the ability to think would it consider any of the changes in its path an obstacle at all? Perhaps it would cherish all that comes its way as companions on its lonely path? Don't we humans also prefer a curving scenic route, amid mountains or valleys, to a long straight path with no variety?

I am stranded on a rocky surface perhaps for the moment yet I must remember that I am not treading on my dreams as Yeats once feared. Quite the opposite, these "sufferings" are the creation of my dreams, they flow out of the same pen which writes its ecstasies. It is me, yes me, who chose the life of following dreams above life-lessness.

I say goodbye to the river now, bow down to it with a grateful whisper, and find my usual street-side stall to eat my meal of the day. The dish of fried rice with vegetables is before me now and I notice a slight tremor in my hand as I lift the chopsticks. The gratitude! My stomach is filled after a few mouthfuls but I keep on eating till the plate is sparkling clean, despite the nausea that comes with the effort.

I am grateful for the new appreciation for my temporary home-land, for all that it suffers and for all the measly bits it produces with the sweat and toil of its inhabitants. Even more than that I have a renewed appreciation for another home that I inhabit temporarily- my body. And last but not least I am grateful for a rebirth of my faith in Life and Dreams. We may not understand the blessings of the more hard stretches of time, but everything is always for our own growth and thus happiness.

Death to nostalgia

Nostalgia...

Spinning our hearts backwards towards a memory of some long-lost lover, what is it that we long and look for? A revelation? Resurrection? Resolve? Remedy for a present emptiness?

And then why stop at one, lets unwind that whole damned yarn... So many lovers. An army of "the lost ones". Let them all march down to the sound of trumpets blasting songs of love and death.

I sometimes wonder how one measly life-time is able to hold hundreds of lives of love... It is born!! It dies. It is born!!! It dies. Something remains from each and something dissolves into all.

The beautifully decorated invite that says "We are pleased to invite you to a ghostly meandering through dream-scapes and nightmare-scapes"... This way and other... Reading imaginary books in a burnt-down library... Trying to suck out the juice from a years old crumpled carton... Ah the luscious lingering scent of the lost ones! (A sweet-tooth like myself relishing bitterness thus?)

The useless rambling on deaf ears... (For I am ALIVE!!)

So all of you lost ones-

Leave.

And if you can't or won't- it's all right..

For I am gone.

"Don't Think Twice, It's All Right"

It ain’t no use to sit and wonder why, babe
If you don't know by now
An’ it ain’t no use to sit and wonder why, babe
It will never do somehow
When your rooster crows at the break of dawn
Look out your window and I’ll be gone
You’re the reason I’m trav’lin’ on
Don’t think twice, it’s all right

It ain’t no use in turnin’ on your light, babe
That light I never knowed
An’ it ain’t no use in turnin’ on your light, babe
I’m on the dark side of the road
Still I wish there was somethin’ you would do or say
To try and make me change my mind and stay
We never did too much talkin’ anyway
So don’t think twice, it’s all right

It ain’t no use in callin’ out my name, gal
Like you never done before
It ain’t no use in callin’ out my name, gal
I can’t hear you anymore
I’m a-thinkin’ and a-wond’rin’ all the way down the road
I once loved a woman, a child I’m told
I give her my heart but she wanted my soul
But don’t think twice, it’s all right

So long honey bee
Where I’m bound, I can’t tell
But goodbye’s too good a word, gal
So I’ll just say fare thee well
I ain’t sayin’ you treated me unkind
You could have done better but I don’t mind
You just kinda wasted my precious time
But don’t think twice, it’s all right

"And all you have to do to transform your hell into a paradise is to turn your fall into a voluntary act." Joseph Campbell

And then will come the morning. It always does. Not a pretend morning, those come plenty as well. Those mere wanna-be's, shameless con-artists half-filling your consciousness with fake light, those heart-of-darkness-mornings when you wake with eyes full of tears, when you wake to a wish to just sleep, sleep and keep on sleeping. No. A real morning. How shocking is a real morning after a real bout of the real night.

It was a long night. Yet not nearly as drawn-out as it might have been. I know that the reason for that is the pact I made with the night-time and with suffering long ago. When the nights do come, as they do, as they will, I offer them no war, I greet them with an understanding of non-resistance. And they in turn burn in me and as me with a fast powerful transforming flame. Everything in life has its place and reason. When it's time to grieve then who are you to argue. Resistance is not only futile, it is ignorant. So when the demons come, why not face them head on with no fear. No. I'll go further than that- why not dance with them! Their bared-up teeth to you can either be a terrifying growl or a grin.

A well-groomed girl wearing a red silk dress trying out all the porches in the slums for size and deciding to take a nap on the rat-filled street in the end. Sad? No- she enjoyed the experience. Her suitor for the night, finally frustrated by her friendly, sardonic, easy-going, happy, sad, approachable, unapproachable, funny, obstinate behavior, tearing up the roses that he bought her and sprinkling the torn-up petals and thorns on her smiling tear-filled face on the pavement. Ridiculously beautiful- at least thats how she saw it.

The truth is never ugly. Feeling buried under the earth of sadness will unavoidably lead one back up to the stars and the sun and the beauty and the joy. And from my experience- it is perfectly alright when offered no resistance. There is the right time and a reason for everything. For grieving, for coming out of grievance, for the night and for the morning.

Sunlight creeping in through the dusty old granny-curtains of my rented room in down-town Phnom Penh, with roses and the words "Love forever" printed on them. I stretch my whole body like a cat, and for a moment have the strange feeling that I actually am a cat, purring to the pleasure of the wonderful warm rays of sun on my naked body and to the thought of a whole new exciting day in front of me with nothing to do but run around looking for adventure. Lying there under the sun and feeling it shaking up my heart slowly, surely, savoring each waking shiver of a newly strung chord. It is the stretch of a good rest. No- it wasn't a bad dream. It was merely the night.

The good-bye

The slum-like streets of downtown Phnom Penh. Smoking a cigarette at a streetside cafe and watching life unfold and miraculously keep on moving while my own heart has stopped dead on the tracks. How many people do I myself pass on the street every day without knowing that their hearts are weeping black holes longing to be blasted into oblivion?? YOU. Eyes that don't see, ears that only hear the genuine madness, beauty, truth and love of life turned into conventional greetings and arbitrary words. YOUR EYES. YOUR PLAYFUL FLIRTY EYES, TENDER LOVING EYES, RED-RIMMED EYES READY TO BURST INTO TEARS, COLD AVOIDING EYES. And yet why is it that when there is suffering in my own small existence then I feel so strongly the connection to all those strange and apparently distant faces and voices. I know that they suffer too. DID YOU SUFFER? A plump local hooker crossing the street, dressed up to the nines in the afternoon, throwing one shimmering high heel in front of the other in a cocky careless desperate way. We are all on the same boat. Am I not blocking the sound of an argument between a couple in the next table at the moment because I want to be alone with the struggle of words and emotions in my own head. So we all must find our own salvation and pretend to be alone and separate. Life never ceases to pierce and amuse me with its unrelenting contradictions and hilarious wicked irony. The Garden of Eden is once again filled with only dead roses. My instinct is to harrow my friends for sympathy but when it comes down to it then I know that the only sympathy that I need is the one for myself. For we are our own wrathful Gods of Vengeance, judging, always judging our actions and their concequences as mistakes, instead of forgiving and recognizing the true gift of any painful situation- that of a possibility for personal growth. YOU. ALWAYS YOU. IN EVERY SIMILAR SHAPE OF A BODY, FAMILIAR MOVEMENT, SLANT OF THE EYES, CURVING OF MOUTH. I hear a ringing in my ears, a tolling for mercy and for death. I put out my cigarette in an old beer-can torn in half, dispensed to me by the ever-smiling waitress and cool my alcohol-filled stomach with a tasty coconut shake. Yes- it is tasty, there is still an ounce of flavour left in the world and this simple joy amazes me for a while. But this passes quickly and once again I am THERE. THERE IN THE LONG HALL-WAY. YOU FAR AWAY IN THE OTHER END WATCHING ME WITH MY PACKED UP SUIT-CASES, BOTH OF OUR FEET AS IF GLUED TO THE FLOOR. STARING IN AN ETERNAL MOMENT AT EACH OTHER AND THE UNCROSSABLE DISTANCE BETWEEN US. WAS IT NOT ONLY A FEW DAYS AGO WHEN I RAN INTO YOUR ARMS AND COVERED YOU WITH KISSES? I AM LONGING, LONGING TO BE RELEASED FROM THE CHAIN THAT HOLDS ME ON THIS SPOT. I FEEL YOUR CALL WITH EVERY FIBRE OF MY BEING, THOUGH I KNOW THAT YOUR FACE SHOWS NO EMOTION AT ALL RIGHT NOW, YOUR FACE, THERE IN THE DISTANCE, THERE RIGHT INSIDE MY SWIRLING CAROUSEL OF CONSCIOUSNESS. YOU TURN. AND I WATCH YOU LEAVE. SO YOU WERE THE FIRST TO BREAK FREE. AS FOR ME... Yes- love is pain. And pain is also love though we may not see it at the time. Now that another obsession with immortality and illusion of permanence has run its normal course into being torn apart, I am once again in the peace and wholeness that is the Void. And even though I am there most of the times with your ghost following me everywhere, I let it be. I let you be there and the pain, and the pain- I let that be there too. It will pass, as everything else does. Suddenly I feel nothing but gratitude for all the love and pain that I have been blessed with in my life and I smile. Somewhere a bird is singing.

Hille and Lii's Travel Page

http://lilleke80.blogspot.com/

My travel blog from S-E Asia

Over-coming fear

You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You must do the thing which you think you cannot do. ~ Eleanor Roosevelt