thus spake the heart-whisperer

Dear One –

– you will never be more at home

than in the ceaseless energy

of your body’s wild word

– you will never know purer peace

than in your blessed breathtide

– you will never find more happiness

than in this miracle-moment

– you will never find truer love

than in your own forgiving embrace

– you will never be more creative

than when you disappear

– you will never know life’s purpose

outside of simply living it

– you will never be more free

than before you contemplated freedom

– you will never be more awake

than within the quiet murmur

of your soft, animal, secret senses

– you will never find your self

apart from your changeless

inescapable

light of being

miriam louisa

with thanks: this unlit light

blessed are those who know nothing for certain

blessed are those who know nothing for certain,

whose curiosity keeps them beyond the claws of conclusion,

who seek as an impulse of wonderment rather than for gain,

who question everything the pundits proclaim as truth;

whose questions deliver them, willingly or not,

to the fiery face of the Unnameable, and

who find the courage to keep a “yes” alive in spite of terror;

who come back speechless and trembling with gratitude

blessed are those for whom the encounter enlivens a capacity

and a willingness to hold both hands out to the world

(one to hold grief, the other, gratefulness)

for their heart knows the two as one;

who, without choice, stand naked in knowingness;

whose fulfilment is refreshed with every breath;

who are quietly content (which is not to say inert or passive)

in spite of all that life appears to heave at them

blessed are those who know these contented ones,

who count them among their friends and neighbours,

who seek them out for their simple wisdom, knowing

they have nothing to spin or sell – nothing to bestow

other than their crazy head-shaking heart-healing joy:

innocent – ingenious – immanent

miriam louisa

with thanks:  Echoes From Emptiness

This Shines On

This shines on

whether I'm in bitch mode or radiating benevolence

whether I'm depressed or enjoying equanimity

whether I'm achingly weary or frolicking tirelessly.

This shines on

whether my bookshelves are stacked with scriptures, chick-lit, crime or porn

whether my shoes are microfiber or leather, my coat cotton or mink 

whether my fridge is piously vegan or robustly carnivore.

This shines on

whether my philosophical tendencies veer towards the scientific and secular

or the mystical and metaphysical

whether I'm a closet optimist disguised as a cynic

or a knee-jerk nay-sayer, jus sayin 

Don't be fooled.  This shines on

- pristine, incorruptible - 

regardless. 

This shines on

whether you agree with me as you scan these words

or jump to defend your own view

whether you accept me as a flicker of the vast Light we are

or turn your back on our inextricable intimacy.  

This shines on

and in, and from, and through, every perception,

every experience and every face and fact of World

known by human and non-human Knowingness

(and I exclude nothing, no thing in creation

from that capacity for Knowingness.)

This shines on

The sages call it Reality, but beware:  it's not a thing, an object

or even a state.  To name it is to turn from it, but it could care less.

It shines on regardless.

Miriam Louisa

Photo:  Peter Bowers

how could you not love something like that?

how could you not love something that

never leaves you

regardless of how often you ignore it?

that's always self-shining -

never needing flint or switch or fuel?

that never changes

regardless of the vicissitudes of your daily experience?

that never takes sides

whatever person, team or nation you're supporting,

whatever idea or opinion you hold?

that never breaks apart 

even though your life appears to?

that never minds

n-e-v-e-r  m-i-n-d-s

that you spend your life running around looking for it

while it's in your face the whole time?

how could you not love something like that?

something you can never escape,

and that's so immanent

you are forced to accept it

as your own true identity?

how could you not then love 

Y O U R S E L F ?

and everything arising

- thoughts, perceptions, memories, feelings - 

within that inconceivable Self?

how could you not love that immensity which precedes

and includes all existence?

how could you not kneel at your own feet 

in awe?

how could you pretend that your enlightened

heart-driven passion

was not the Great Passion of That

which holds the planets in their orbit?

how could you ignore the urge to pour

your energy and attention

into whatever opens your heart?

how?

miram louisa

this unlit light

Photo:  Peter Bowers