This blog is only about awakening, nothing more, nothing less. Anything that will contribute to the possibility of complete liberation from the dream, or from the mass hallucination of humanity, or from the mental matrix, or from the false self, or from the lie, or any other label you want to call it, is welcome here. The key words are FREEDOM and JOY. Sometimes I think this just keeps the story going and only adds to the insanity, and there's too much of that already. But something is trying to pry the lid off still, something awaits to be seen. We are all in this boat together, so here we go......have fun!

Saturday, 20 August 2011

Silence Is All I Can Say

Rumi speaks:

Listen to presences inside poems,
Let them take you where they will.

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Silence is the root of everything.
If you spiral into its void,
a hundred voices will thunder
messages you long to hear.

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Heart is the one who calls.
The sound of Heart echoes
on the mountain of body.
O the one who hangs on sound,
Be silent.
Instead, embrace the place
from whence sound comes.

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The silence that Love would tell to Love,
That would be a narration
Which would feed the Soul
And have no end.

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Be silent. That Heart speaks
without tongue or lips.

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We listen to words
so we can silently
reach into the other.

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“Keep silence,” be mute;
if you have not yet become
the tongue of God,
be an ear.

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You..You...You...& Me too...

Why is there always music in this house?
Ask the owner.

Idols inside the Kaaba?
Beloved's light in a pagan temple?

Here is a treasure this world could not contain.
The house and its landlord
are all pretext and play.

Hands off this house, this talisman.
Don't argue with the landlord;
he's drunk every night.

The dirt and garbage are musk and rose.
The roof and door are music and verse.
In short, whoever finds this house,
is ruler of the world, Solomon of his time.

Look down, Lord, from the roof;
bless us with your glance.

I swear, since seeing Your face,
the whole world is a fraud and fantasy.
The garden is bewildered as to what is leaf
or blossom. The distracted birds
can't distinguish the birdseed from the snare.

A house of love with no limits,
a presence more beautiful than venus or the moon,
a beauty whose image fills the mirror of the heart.

Zulaikha's female friends,
beside themselves in Joseph's presence, sliced their wrists.
Maybe a curl of his hair brushed their hearts.

Come in. The Beloved is here. We are all drunk.
No one notices who enters or leaves.
Don't sit outside the door in the dark, wondering.

Those drunk with Beloved,
even if they are a thousand, live as One.
But drunk with lust, even one is double.

Enter the thicket of lions unafraid of any wounds.
The shadows you fear are just a child's fantasy.

There is no wound and nothing to be wounded;
all is mercy and love.

But you build up thought
like a massive wooden door.
Set fire to the wood.

Silence the noise of the heart.
Hold your harmful tongue.

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