Friday, August 12, 2016

perfect poem

I've searched the world
For the perfect poem
And all I've found
Is silence

I would hand you the gift
Of my heart
But this is the gift
You gave me -

What words
Can rise
From this
Transparency? -

No lips
Are needed
For love
To kiss

Love Songs of the Undivided
Photo:  Peter Bowers

Wednesday, August 10, 2016

the sky

I like it with nothing. Is it
what I was? What I will be?
I look out there by the hour,
so clear, so sure. I could
smile, or frown—still nothing.

Be my father, be my mother,
great sleep of blue; reach
far within me; open doors,
find whatever is hiding; invite it
for many clear days in the sun.

When I turn away I know
you are there. We won’t forget
each other: every look is a promise.
Others can’t tell what you say
when it’s the blue voice, when
you come to the window and look for me.

Your word arches over
the roof all day. I know it
within my bowed head where
the other sky listens.
You will bring me
everything when the time comes.

William Stafford
Photo:  Peter Bowers

Sunday, August 7, 2016

I hacked my way through six forests

I hacked my way through six forests
until the moon woke up inside me.
The sky's breath sang through me,
dried up my body's substance.
I roasted my heart in passion's fire
and found Shankara!

English version by Ranjit Hoskote
Photo:  Peter Bowers

Thursday, August 4, 2016

Intense cold makes water ice

Intense cold makes water ice.
Then the hard ice turns to slush
and back to water, so there are three
forms of consciousness: the individual,
the world, and God, which in the sun
of True Awareness melt to one flowing:

Lalla is that.

In meditation, I entered the love furnace,
burned impurities away, and as the sun
of a new knowing rose, I realized
that the words "Lalla" and "God"
point to this peacefulness.

English version:   Coleman Barks
Photos:  Peter Bowers

Monday, July 18, 2016


Love says "I am everything". 
Wisdom says "I am nothing". 
Between the two,  my life flows.

Nisargadatta Maharaj

Monday, June 27, 2016


What is the deep listening?  Sama is
a greeting from the secret ones inside

the heart, a letter.  The branches of 
your intelligence grow new leaves in

the wind of this listening.  The body
reaches a peace.  Rooster sound comes,

reminding you of your love for dawn.
The reed flute and singer's lips:  

the knack of how spirit breathes into
us becomes as simple and ordinary as 

eating and drinking.  The dead rise with
the pleasure of listening.  If someone 

can't hear a trumpet melody, sprinkle
dirt on his head and declare him dead.  

Listen and feel the beauty of your
separation, the unsayable absence.  

There's a moon inside every human being.
Learn to be companions with it.  Give

more of your life to this listening.  As 
brightness is to time, so you are to

the one who talks to the deep ear in 
your chest.  I should sell my tongue

and buy a thousand ears when that
one steps near and begins to speak.

Translated by Coleman Barks
Photo:  Peter Bowers

Sunday, June 26, 2016

Expressing the Inexpressible

We struggle, through Love,
To express in words, concepts, and metaphor,
That which cannot be expressed.

For this Grace can only be communicated
Through wordless Benediction,
Heart to Heart,

If you can fall, for just one moment,
From head to Heart,
From concept to Experience…

And allow yourself to be “Meditated”.

Photo:  Peter Bowers

Friday, May 27, 2016


We cannot precisely say what this listening is, because it is not a function. It is without intention. Being free from intention also means being free from concentration.  In both we are looking for a target, looking for a result, but in listening we are simply open, directionless.

In listening there is no grasping, no taking.  All that is listened to comes to us.  The relaxed brain is in a state of natural non-function, simply attentive without any specific direction.  We can never objectify listening, because that would mean to put it in the frame of space and time.  It is listening to oneself.

In listening to oneself there is no outside and no inside.  It is silence, presence.  In this silence-presence there is total absence of oneself as being somebody.

In listening we are not isolated.  We are only isolated when we live in objects, but free from objects we live our essence where there is no separation.  In listening there is not a you and not another.  Call it love.

Jean Klein
The Book of Listening
Photo:  Peter Bowers

Thursday, May 26, 2016

wind in the pine trees

No writing on the solitary, meditative dimensions of life can say anything
that has not already been said better by the wind in the pine trees. 
These pages seek nothing more than to echo the silence and peace 
that is “heard” when the rain wanders freely among the hills and forests.

But what can the wind say when there is no hearer?

 There is then a deeper silence:
 the silence in which the Hearer is No-Hearer. 
That deeper silence must be heard before one can speak truly of solitude.

Thomas Merton 

Monday, May 9, 2016


A dragon was pulling a bear into its terrible mouth.
A courageous man went and rescued the bear.
There are such helpers in the world, who rush to save
anyone who cries out. Like Mercy itself,
they run toward the screaming.

And they can't be bought off.
If you were to ask one of those, "Why did you come
so quickly?" he or she would say, "Because I heard
your helplessness."

Where lowland is,
that's where water goes. All medicine wants
is pain to cure.

And don't just ask for one mercy.
Let them flood in. Let the sky open under your feet.
Take the cotton out of your ears, the cotton
of consolations, so you can hear the sphere-music.

Push the hair out of your eyes.
Blow the phlegm from your nose,
and from your brain.

Let the wind breeze through.
Leave no residue in yourself from that bilious fever.
Take the cure for impotence,
that your manhood may shoot forth,
and a hundred new beings come of your coming.

Tear the binding from around the foot
of your soul, and let it race around the track
in front of the crowd. Loosen the knot of greed
so tight on your neck. Accept your new good luck.

Give your weakness
to one who helps.

Crying out loud and weeping are great resources.
A nursing mother, all she does
is wait to hear her child.

Just a little beginning-whimper,
and she's there.

God created the child, that is your wanting,
so that it might cry out, so that milk might come.

Cry out! Don't be stolid and silent
with your pain. Lament! And let the milk
of loving flow into you.

The hard rain and wind
are ways the cloud has
to take care of us.

Be patient.
Respond to every call
that excites your spirit.

Ignore those that make you fearful
and sad, that degrade you
back toward disease and death.

Photo:  Peter Bowers

Sunday, May 8, 2016

Lord Krishna to Arjuna

Creatures rise and creatures vanish;
I alone am real, Arjuna,
looking out, amused, from deep
Within the eyes of every creature.

I am the object of all knowledge,
Father of the world, its mother,
Source of all things, of impure and
Pure, of holiness and horror.

I am the goal, the root, the witness,
Home and refuge, dearest friend,
Creation and annihilation,
Everlasting seed and treasure.

I am the radiance of the sun, I
Open or withhold the rainclouds,
I am Immortality and
Death, am being and non-being.

I am the Self, Arjuna, seated
in the heart of every creature.
I am the origin, the middle,
And the end that all must come to.

The Bhagavad Gita
Stephen Mitchell translation
Photo:  Peter Bowers

Wednesday, April 13, 2016


Intricate and untraceable
weaving and interweaving,
dark strand with light:

designed, beyond
all spiderly contrivance,
to link, not to entrap:

elation, grief, joy, contrition, entwined;

shaking, changing,




all praise,

all praise to the

great web.

Denise Levertov
Photo:  Peter Bowers