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By Dawn

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  By dawn, the wind had fled, leaving a ruffle of  night-weary Canada geese in the wetland. Pearls of moss on stone. Jagged bolts of dogwood etched softy in the sky. Plum buds releasing their grip on themselves. A silent white boat drifting over me. Is it the same moon that floated over grandmother’s garden before I learned to measure  months and years? Child (I say to myself) it is never the same moon. It is never the same mind. When the heart is free from thought, I hear the burst of onion-scented snow drops. Nothing urgent in the conversation of tree frogs. All they mean to say is a thousand good mornings. I sip the green tea of What Is, mindful of the ever unfolding moment whose trembling we call time. Some causeless force distills my senses into healing tears, pure love’s transparency, a love not of or for, staining the empty silk-screen of awareness with this wabi-sabi world suspended in Spring mist. ...
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The Shaking

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Again I say, this is the time of the great shaking. One of the terrible blessings of Kali Yug is that what may be shaken falls away, so that what cannot be shaken may remain. Our personality is shaken. Our emotions, minds, and bodies are shaken. Now, thrown back into what is never shaken, we drink from the unquenchable wellspring of pure consciousness. Tapping the nectar of hridayam, the silence of our heart's core, from there we sing the causeless music of the unstruck bell. This is not a time of crisis, but opportunity: an invitation to distinguish the changing from the unchanging. Our spiritual journey is not to rise, but to fall. And fall not far. Simply descend through a breath of Grace from the mind to the heart. Let the Friend guide you to the hidden treasure of your Self. We do not discover the Self in the angst of division and blame, but in the fragrance of unity. The scent of this flower is uniquely your own. Yet in your trembling core of stillness is the wedding of Shiva...
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No Timeline (Video)

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You are not in time. Time is in you. You are not a tick of the clock.  You are the Witness of past, present, and future.  
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Sabbath

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      Just for an hour on a Spring morning, give up being right. The earth won't disappear. You will. Not being of the world refreshes the meadow. Just for an hour, lie fallow. Or even for a breath allow the golden swamp cabbage, the shy forest trillium to fill your absence with joy. Be irrelevant. Let snowdrops flower without you.
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