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The Point

There is no arriving at your
destination

The point changes based on where you look
And what you ask of it
It has no preference for it is
Always before you
But should you look to the side
                                                   It will be there

It is almost nothing
And it is everything
Or of it everything might be born

It is you and more than you
You of course are more than you
You are one with all points of the universe

Your point of view is not the point of view
But informs it

The point informs you too

It is ever changing yet still

There are no seven steps to the point
But back and forth and up and down and round
And round and round will do

You might start or end there
Or anywhere to arrive at the beginning again

If it were otherwise the point would have
Already arrived at its destination
And the game would be over

No more dice to toss onto the plane
No longer any to cherish
For what they might foretell

No more jokers or Queens
No more point to pull another card and see
The brush of wind
Or breath of sea
It would always be the card you wanted
Before you dreamed the one you never knew.

by a me

Non Believer’s Miracle

You say you never step foot in a temple or church

Yet isn’t that a shell you are holding listening for the sea?

Isn’t it a temple you place hand to ear to heart?

And is the smile of recognition of the

Hollow sound of coral shell shining white

Not a miracle?

And when you watch the waves turn and pound back in

Noticing your heart swelling and breath deepening

This which has resonance within you

What do you call it?

ame

So Sweet

o sweet the mother's breath 
on the newborn baby 
held close to her breast

So wondrous the dream of life 
unfolding from this moment 
in myriad mysterious ways

So complete the life revealed 
in this moment of such
sweet connection with eternity

So perfect the divine being
locking eyes with sweet
unconditional love flowing

So humbly honor the feminine 
birthing nurturing power 
universally breathing on us all


Peter Stickney

Poetry: So Much Happiness

The Six Golden Keys

Practice, practice, practice.

There is a Chi Field

the Inner Smile

Trust

Service

Diligent Practice

Haola, haola, haola.

Following mind's intention to achieve heart's desire,

the Essence comes 

with practice, 

practice, 

practice.

All is well.

So be it.

So it is.

Haola,

Denise M

Hun Yuan Ling Tong, Becoming the Bell

Hun Yuan Ling Tong, becoming the bell

We can hear it
peeling forth its clear song
lifting up out of the crystalline mist
Hun ... Yuan ... Ling ... Tong

A bell, reflecting 
the brilliance of the light of its song, 
its substance, its source.
Clear, strong vibrations
penetrating all frequencies.
calling forth integration
formless, flowing, form,
each surrendering into sweet sounds.

Hun, everything and nothing
the spacious potential
in which the bell hangs.

Yuan, the loop at the top of the bell
enabling truth 
to sing 
freely 
the love song 
between the formless and the form

Ling, the movement of the clapper
swinging in response to the loveliness of life
in the pure creation, 
energy expressing

Tong, the vibrations of tone,
the reunion of clapper and bell
opening of sound 
bringing forth potential 
into notes of truth.

Hun Yuan Ling Tong
Calling forth the infinite potential as the song of our being


June 3, 2011

GUMA, (my grandmother name)Judy Tretheway
Haola (all is well, so be it!) Haola

Poetry Allow

ALLOW

There is no controlling life.

Try corralling a lightning bolt,

containing a tornado. 

Dam a stream, and it will create a new channel. 

Resist and the tide will sweep you off your feet.

Allow, and grace will carry you to higher ground.

The only safety lies in letting it all in –

the wild with the weak: fear, fantasies, failures and success.

When loss rips off the doors of the heart, or sadness veils your

vision with despair, practice

becomes simply bearing the truth.

In the choice to let go of your known way of being, the whole

world is revealed to your new eyes.

            --Danna Faulds

                              submitted by Gina Thompson

Poetry: So Much Happiness

~ So Much Happiness ~

It is difficult to know what to do with so much happiness. 
With sadness there is something to rub against, 
a wound to tend with lotion and cloth. 
When the world falls in around you, you have pieces to pick up, 
something to hold in your hands, like ticket stubs or change. 

But happiness floats. 
It doesn't need you to hold it down. 
It doesn't need anything. 
Happiness lands on the roof of the next house, singing, 
and disappears when it wants to. 
You are happy either way. 
Even the fact that you once lived in a peaceful tree house 
and now live over a quarry of dust and noise 
cannot make you unhappy. 
Everything has a life of its own, 
it too could wake up filled with possibilities 
of coffee cake and ripe peaches, 
and love even the floor which needs to be swept, 
the soiled linens and scratched records... 

Since there is no place large enough 
to contain so much happiness, 
you shrug, you raise your hands, and it flows out of you 
into everything you touch. You are not responsible. 
You take no credit, as the night sky takes no credit 
for the moon, but continues to hold it, and share it, 
and in that way, be known.

By Naomi Shihab Nye
It 

Submitted by Gina Thompson

George Elliot on Regeneration

“Deep, unspeakable suffering may well be called a baptism, a regeneration, an initiation through the passing over the threshold of pain and grief and anguish into a new state of being.”

I Love You Video

"Want to share this short video I recently discovered which reminds me of our retreat…."

http://www.lightworkersworld.com/2010/04/i-love-you-video-a-gift-from-sivan-garr/


Posted by Orna Meyer

Poetry: What is Love & Other Poems

What is love?

Chi is love

I am love

Love is all around each of us now

Love is feeling the presence of Chi

Love is being the messenger of Chi

Love is expressing the inner Chi self

Love is thinking Beautiful thoughts

Love is seeing Chi as everything

Love is the story I sing everyday

Love is my life, Love is our life

Hao-la

I 

think  

 therefore  

 I am what I think 

 I am what I think I feel 

 -- yesterday, today, tomorrow -- 

 I empower myself with my thoughts

 I am careful with my thoughts

 I feel my thoughts deeply

 for this I am grateful

 and so I let it be 

 Namasté 

breathing deeply, I close my eyes

easily, gently, rhythmically my awareness

finds the eternal womb of creativity within me

this place in all existence from which all life comes

this moment I am one with Goddess, Mother of all life

her nurturing essence holding all in her warm embrace

relaxing, letting go, knowing she is with me always

opening inner eyes to follow her soft illumination 

opening my ears to receive her wise counsel

opening my heart I receive her gentle love

accepting with gratitude all she gives

returning her love to all creation

breathing, I open my eyes 

the stream of life flows ever onward

are your goals ahead of you

or are they behind you

think about it for

a moment

hmmm

I see

yes

?

                                                                                                  Peter Stickney

Poetry: Wings

WINGS

Feel the catapillar's struggle.

Last leaves eaten, flesh constricting, innards liquify.

She moors herself with a gossamer hook under a sheltering leaf.

Turning, twisting, she spins her shroud.

With one last breath she tucks herself into her silken ship,

        and dissolves,  dissolves.

Eons, kalpas, Akashic time.

Then it comes,

        sensed not felt

        felt not thought

        thought not seen

A pulsation growing

        KAI HUI  

        KAI HUI

Feeding on old richness, 

Breathing new light he is impelled forward,

Shoulders heave against the stiff sheath. Now breathing

        WAN YUAN LING TONG

        WAN YUAN LING TONG

Faith alone guides him.

He only knows to keep pulsing

        TONG

Suddenly a new dream, now of flight,

Unknown dimensions of joy.

Look, high in the temple

Amid the shafts of scarlet light and the dust motes

Wings

Donna Whitmarsh

April 2011

Poetry: Questions

What was I not thinking?
That day that I set off from home?
Leaving my spiritual center to find Spirit?
In some other land, some other home?
How thought free is this wonder lust?
That leaves happiness to find suffering?
Is this world fashioned by such actions?
As we spiral through this galaxy for Love?
Does the answer to Questions bring Peace?
Will happiness return at the end of the search?
When what i was not thinking shows itself?


Peter Stickney

Poetry: Mocking Bird's Reverie

No matter where
You write your truth
I will
Read it

Whether it be on cave walls
Or in pyramid depths
Or  on earth
With stick and stone
I will
Read it

Whether it be on napkin
Crunched beneath the table
I will crawl down and
Read it


I will read it
When you desperately
Want that it
Be heard

But should you not be ready
To unveil it like art work
Awaiting completion
I will wait

Or if it is like a birthday
Wish
Blown out into the dimming light
And you know the only way
That it may come true
Is to seal your lips tight

I will respect that too.

But should it come

On a mockingbird's wing
Who awakes me
In the middle of the night

Or if you drum it
On earth with your prayers
At dawn

I will read it

If you bless the water
I will read it in the glimmering
Light of sun on water
And see what you have transcribed on the
Flow of life

I will listen because you are
And always will be my
Mother, brother sister, father, child of mine

I will never stop
Listening,
For to stop would be like
Closing my eyes
Shutting my ears
Refusing to move

For you are all a part of me
Sea
Wind
Fire of the sun
Leaf falling
Back aching
Heart breaking

Root of
My life
Tree in winter, summer, spring

And I am you
And you are me
I am listening

And now that you have
Sung to me
Drummed to me
Prayed with me

I will forever be listening
To where and when and how
You speak to me

Under the covers
I will be there
Looking at the night  sky
I will be there
Singing to the morning birds
I will be there
And running on seedlings underfoot
I will be there

For I could be no where else

And I know you have read
The waves at the shore
The tea leaves in my hand
The tarot card I drew from a deck
Of fools and knaves
For you are me

Whenever we forget this
And do not hear our unique
Contribution to the chorus of life
From stick banging on earth
To candle quiet in wish making

May we remember
Bum bum, bum bum,
Bum bum.

ame

April 4, 2011

From The Prophet, by Kahlil Gibran

And a woman spoke, saying Tell us of Pain.
And he said:
Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses
your understanding.
Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that
its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know
pain.
And could you keep your heart in wonder at
the daily miracles of your life, your pain would
not seem less wondrous than your joy;
And you would accept the seasons of your heart,
even as you have always accepted the seasons that
pass over your fields.
And you would watch with serenity through
the winters of your grief.
Much of your pain is self-chosen.
It is the bitter potion by which the physician
within you heals your sick self.
Therefore trust the physician, and drink his
remedy in silence and tranquility:
For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided
by the tender hand of the Unseen,
And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips,
has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter
has moistened with His own sacred tears.

Posted by Orna Meyer

Songs for Practice

 

Speak Memory (1966)

Vladimir Nabokov

They Might Be Giants - Cells

Poetry New Year 2011

New Year 2011

sitting

under

gray

skies

weeping

memories

fall

gracefully

from

eyes

seeing

past

goodness

melting

into

now

by Peter Stickney