Monday, May 29, 2017

To start with one's ego-identity and to try to bring that identity to terms with external reality by thinking, and then, having worked out practical principles, to act on reality from one privileged autonomous position -- in order to bring it into line with an absolute good we have arrived at by thought: this is the way we become irresponsible. If reality is something we interpret and act upon to suit our own concept of ourselves, we "respond" to nothing. We simply dictate our own terms, and "realism" consists in keeping the terms somewhat plausible. But this implies no real respect for reality, for other persons, for their needs, and in the end it implies no real respect for ourselves, since, without bothering to question the deep mystery of our own true identity, we fabricate a trifling and impertinent identity for ourselves with the bare scraps of experience we find lying within immediate reach.

To assume that my superficial ego -- this cramp of the imagination -- is my real self is to begin dishonoring myself and reality.

If we take a living and more Christian perspective we find in ourselves a simple affirmation which is not of ourselves. It simply is. In our being there is a primordial _yes_ that is not our own; it is not at our own disposal; it is not accessible to our inspection and understanding; we do not even fully experience it as real (except in rare and unique circumstances). And we have to admit that for most people this primordial "yes" is something they never advert to at all. It is in fact absolutely unconscious, totally forgotten. 

Basically, however, my being is not an affirmation of a limited self, but the "yes" of Being itself, irrespective of my own choices. Where do "I" come in? Simply in uniting the "yes" of my own freedom with the "yes" of Being that already _is_ before I have the chance to choose. This is not an "adjustment." There is nothing to adjust. There is reality, and there is free consent. There is the actuality of one "yes." In this actuality no question of "adjustment" remains and the ego vanishes.

The "adjustment" of "yes" and "no" presupposes that the primordial _yes_ of being is called into question or ignored completely. No longer do we attend to what _is._ Rather we set ourselves the task of making a selection from an indefinite number of unrealized and unrealizable possibilities. This calls for a constant adjustment of "yes" and "no" as we try to walk on a tightrope over an abyss of nothingness.

The "adjustment" is a fiction and so is the tightrope. the abyss of nothingness is, in fact, the abyss of Being.


Thomas Merton



!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Saturday, May 27, 2017

Can u truly listen
Without coming from a place of quiet?

Seek when u are enmpty of seeking

And isn't the prayer of emptiness The prayer of love Quieting the mind to a place of complete silence is the breathe of beginning which in all of us is the place of love Silence the breathe of love And in there is all the praise of prayer Isn't the prayer of, from  emptiness Selflessness‎ The prayer of love‎ Kmg2017

Friday, May 26, 2017



Memorial day- aren't they all. What are u memorializing that is touching this moment and those yet to come-

How close are those that have brought u forth and come thru u to expand spirit and love onto all centurion beings.

Love sends it's way thru the wind. Thru time and timelessness brings me by your side and love connects silence to be with my friend-
Words and wind "What reminds me Is the open space of nature...when connecting seems to spread itself out wider and words, like the wind stretch and speak less of themselves but feel through ones being --words silence to the wind -kmg2017

Friday, May 19, 2017

This poem I have sand beachside to the wind

Oh Krishna flute an internal call
Oh upward tree-



OM

By Paramahansa Yogananda
(1893 - 1952)



Whence, whence this soundless roar doth come,
When drowseth matter's dreary drum?
On shores of bliss, Om, booming, breaks!
All earth, all heaven, all body shakes!
Cords bound to flesh are broken all,
Vibrations burst, meteors fall!
The hustling heart, the boasting breath,
No more shall cause the yogi's death;
All nature lies in darkness soft,
Dimness of starlight seen aloft;
Subconscious dreams have gone to bed...
'Tis then that one doth hear Om's tread;
The bumble-bee now hums along --
Hark! Baby Om doth sing His song!
From Krishna's flute the call is sweet:
'Tis time the Watery God to meet!
Now, the God of Fire is singing!
Om! Om! Om! His harp is ringing.
God of Prana now is sounding --
Wondrous, breathing-bells resounding!
O! Upward climb the living tree;
Hark to the cosmic symphony.
From Om, the soundless roar! From Om
The call for light o'er dark to roam.
From Om the music of the spheres!
From Om the mist of nature's tears!
All things of earth and heaven declare,
Om! Om! Resounding everywhere‎

Sunday, May 14, 2017


Prayer is not a stratagem for occasional use, a refuge to resort to now and then. It is rather like an established residence for the innermost self. All things have a home: the bird has a nest, the fox has a hole, the bee has a hive. A soul without prayer is a soul without a home.


Heschel

Sunday, May 7, 2017

... I find it interesting today now I ponder my moment.... I look into the mirror as I step from the cleanzing waters and see how my time is defined by what I make of it. And I have only the control of what is infront of me... in this sense it's not defined by a man or a mission, but by the moment

Monday, May 1, 2017


I create silences
By Gabriel Rosenstock
(1949 - )

Dar Óma
I create silences
wherever I go
in silence You come to me
I close my eyes and ears
to worlds
my lips

if people ask for directions
I point to the gibbous moon
when asked how I am
I smile the cusp of an eclipse

should someone ask the time
they’ll see in my eyes
it is Dar Óma time
to pray
and to praise

all of creation
is getting in the mood
insects flit silently
movement
but no rustle from trees
I cannot hear my heartbeat

in a distant land
You move noiselessly

sunlight briefly strokes the haggard face of a mountain
a hare cocks his ears
You listen