The Water Rushes On

The water rushes on,

unable to stop;

plummets over the edge.

 

I watch its insanity.

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Fear Is A Cat

737px-cat_and_mouse

To write without self-consciousness;

to speak,

and to walk

without self-consciousness.

 

To laugh, freely,

as children do.

 

To live, freely,

as the insane do.

 

That seems to me to be

a worthy goal.

 

To not be bound by the limitations

of fear.

 

All of its trappings,

and unfortunate consequences.

 

Fear is a magnet,

sending it’s vibrations far and ride,

pulling back to us the things we want to push away.

 

Returning to us like a cat,

back in the morning from the night’s stalk;

dropping at our door

the dead mouse.

 

Fear is that cat.

And the dead mouse is the stench

of everything that smells of fear;

everything that has that sour, smelling odor;

 

everything ugly,

and everything weak,

and everything vulgar

comes from fear.

Fear & Desire- Quote From “The Untethered Soul”

“You will be surprised to find that in most situations, there’s nothing to deal with except for your own fears and desires.  Fear and desire make everything seem so complicated.  If you don’t have fear or desire about an event, there’s nothing really to deal with.  You simply allow life to unfold and interact with it in a natural and rational manner.  When the next thing happens, you’re fully present in that moment and simply enjoying the experience of life.  There are no problems.”

The Untethered Soul, p.184

by Michael Singer

unteth soul

Happiness

Happiness consists not in ordering your life

just so, and so,

but in expanding the borders

of what it means for you to be happy;

 

stretching yourself, until all things;

all possible events,

no matter how painful or unpleasant,

can be met with acceptance;

contained within your happiness.

Maintain That Openness

Maintain that openness

which never closes;

 

an openness of mind,

not forever undecided,

but decidedly open;

 

open to possibility upon possibility upon possibility;

 

forever open;

 

wanting only to move into deeper and deeper regions

of possibility;

 

like the yogi on his mat,

holding a pose,

maintaining a stretch that strengthens;

 

maintain a pose of the heart,

and of the spirit and its energies;

 

a state of active passivity,

waiting for the Divine Hand

to weave its pattern

into the fabric of our Life.

 

Not concluding,

even while observing.

 

Not separating,

even while distinguishing.

 

Cultivate, and maintain,

that openness.

 

The Man Who Broke His Legs

Two men loved to free-climb mountains.

One day, one of them fell from high up,
breaking both his legs terribly.

His friend, seeing the accident,
swore he would never climb again.

When the injured man’s legs had healed,
he resumed climbing.
– Seeing this, his friend rebuked him:
“What good are is it to risk your legs again, climbing?”

But his friend responded,
“What good are unbroken legs,
if you are too afraid to use them?”

The Man Who Broke His Legs

Rhythm

Every story has a plot
that rises and falls like a song.

Your life is a story.

Trust that what is not yet
should not be yet.

Trust that what is now
should be now.

Allow your life its rhythm.
Neither trying to slow,
nor hurry, its melody.

Neither drawing out, nor rushing
its conclusion.

Love the rising crescendos,
but also the fermatas: the silences.

Rhythm

Towards A Waterfall

I am caught in the current of a culture;
moving at its speed,
I sense no pull,
no motion.

But when I am still and silent,
in quiet morning hours,
it’s as if I see the shoreline, wizzing by,
and realize our speed.

I’m afraid that we speed headlong
towards a waterfall,

and even when I swim with all my strength,
there seems to be no escape.

waterfall

The Man Who Wanted To Build A Perfect House

There once was a man who
wanted to build the perfect house.

He took out paper,
and set down to design it.

Lines were drawn
and erased
and re-drawn
and re-erased;

weeks went by,
then months,
then years.

“Nothing less than perfect
will do” he said to himself.

The man grew old
and the edges of his plans
grew crinkled and stained.

Finally, the old man died
and when the people came to take away his possessions,
the sheets of paper were crumpled up
and thrown into the fire
without a second glance.

man who wanted to build perfect house