BEING AND BECOMING

Once a traveller is asked by winds It seems, you are wandering,  desiring a destination. Where that place exists? That traveler replied back, I am moving on like you do. That place is nowhere, except hidden in the silence of the lovers' heart; Sprouting in the silent rhythm of music; Vibrating in the heart of every dancer. I am wandering searching my shadows, so that I can marry with my self. I am longing for my utopias and ucronias; Lost for holding barely the mask of self. I am in search of Socratic fire, Which can untie;  the shared chain of my identity. Where exactly that fire is? Winds replied; Can you untie which is already free? Liberation is to be liberated from itself. Your bondage is an image, Taking care of itself. Just watch intuitively! Images are reflected in each-other. Who is holding whom? Is there any empty mirror? Traveler entered into a prayer of silence; Watching his mind asking; Who can think;  wha...

The day you’re awake, You’re searching since then, The beginning and the end of essence, Running after every method, Inventing sciences and arts, Enmeshed in rituals and prayers, For the union of you with Yourself; Your light and shadow, Your pleasure and sorrow, Your being and nothingness. Your search is always for the One, Who is nowhere therefore everywhere. The One who was with you, Nurturing in the purest Love.  The One who alchemises a little piece of clay into miracle; Who can feel and imagine, The profoundest layers of existence. Who can sing and dance, Without any cause. The music does not have a destination, Therefore, it heals the hopeless malaise of self. Dance does not have to reach anywhere, Therefore, it is already there. The only One who can; love without possessing;  care without any expectation of return; And let the loved one be unafraid and free forever. If that Gardener is here, Indwelling the infinite space, And inhabiting the silences of time, Why are th...

Eyes are the ocean of light. They share the fate of stars. Eternity enlivens inside their horizons. Ephemerality dances on their surface. Their sparks are the souls Awake the matter from  their wandering slumber Eyes witness even in the dreamless sleep Their depths are unfathomable This is the only language untwisted beyond conventions. Hear not the cacophonous circularity of being and nothingness. Be patient. Just listen the melodies of eyes.  They transcend the beginning and end; hope and despair.  Eyes knows nothing yet they are the streams encompassing time and timelessness. Trust its inner vision. Only that manifests as light and darkness.

Let it burn the ashes of what we may know, the whispers of what we may hope, and what we can do. Our habit of doing meddles with the blossoming of presence. Presence fills my heart with incredible silence, the substratum of our being is the silent bliss. Let's witness its poesis; Its dynamic non-becoming. Our thinking is the veil, covering the oceanic flow of grace. Be kind to the fleeting cows, they will settle down to their own place. Be gentle to the terrifying storms, it will return to its kind composure. In absence of trust, mind and heart are separated. One is covered with the mysteries of questions; the clouds of ignorance. Other one remains a witness to ordeals and lies; their impossible possibilities. In the presence of grace, duality of me and other evaporates, like water droplet into the clouds. Be kind to your mind, it longs for the union with the faith. Faith inheres in the cosmic soul of presence. Witness! O Witness Consciou...

You and Me is in search of essence have travelled every path of familiarities. But the essence of essence escapes  the imagined cage of perception and conception. Our quest is to fulfill the ego already filled in, like sands in a bowl of memory. We climb the ladder of name to mirror the familiar with its superficial familiarity; Like a family of Narcissus projecting its shadow to fill in the hollowness of its vanity. Behold your hollowness of familiarity and witness the estrangement of the ego.  It melts down in contact of love. Its empty space is that silent dwelling place of communion of self and the Truth. The circular dynamics of self is like a cycle of time. It moves but go nowhere.   The hope of dawns is buried in the despair of nights.  The path of clarity converges into the veil of obscurity. Only unqualified love saves the damnation of essence; rescues it from the scholasticism and profundity. How simple it is to accept what is! Yet, how difficult it is...