We Live In a Magical World

We live in a magical world,
the world of beauty and enormous potential.
We live in a reality that,
though seemingly harsh and difficult,
is permeated with Divine bliss,
a bliss that patiently awaits for people
to open their hearts and minds in order to receive it.

We live in a magical world,
where every new day offers new beginning,
a day in which people can consciously decide
to take the path of knowledge,
and dash on the wings of inspiration
towards the eternity of plenitude and peace.

The everyday suffering gets swollen up
by the magic of divine promise,
that gently whispers to all those
whose eyes started waking up from a deep slumber,
the slumber caused by ignorance and darkness
of our lower nature.

The magical world that is our everyday reality,
will remain until a certain point,
and the choice of eternity of plenitude and peace,
will gaze at us for a while longer,
hoping for renewal of that which is true and which is real.

Indeed, we live in the magical world,
though seemingly insignificant in the vastness of Creation,
yet connected to the source of everyone and everything,
in which all of us, from all epochs and nations,
from all kingdoms of nature,
share in the ever rising truth of totality of our infinite beings.

HDP, April 2019

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‘The Two Trees’ poem and song

‘The Two Trees’ is a poem written by an Irish poet William Butler Yeats.  He was inspired by Celtic mythology, and has written the poem in the last part of the 19th century. I wasn’t aware of it until I heard the musical composition of the poem, made by Lorenna Mckennit, an interesting Canadian singer and composer of many songs with mystical themes.

The poem speaks about the two different trees, one which gives fruits of spiritual development, made grown by the ‘looking in ones own heart’, which ultimately gives  ‘winged sandals’ to the person, as well as ‘eyes full of tender care’. The other tree is the opposite of development, or one could say, the development downwards, ‘drinking from the bitter glass’, resulting in ‘ravens of unresting thoughts’ and ones ‘eyes growing all unkind’.  It is interesting that in both cases the eyes are mentioned as prove of how the person is doing spiritually. There is a saying that says how the eyes are the mirror of the soul, and this is very true, especially for those who can see deeper into the soul through the person’s eyes as a result of spiritual development. Continue reading

Wakefulness

Erzengel Gabriel, Reni GuidoTo be awake. What does it mean to be awake? What does it mean to be here and now, to be completely and fully awake? Not to be awake is to be asleep, or half-awake. So much time of our daily life is spent in identification with thoughts and emotions, which inevitably bring about daydreaming. Considering all that, how much time of our lives are we truly awake? There are times when we can be, for our standards, very awake. In those moments it seems that time ceases – there is nothing else but the now, and the consciousness experiencing that eternal moment of life. When a person taps into that, they experience a true joy, possibly realizing that everything they considered happiness up until that moment is of a lesser quality, or not a true happiness at all.

We may say then that at that moment the person experienced a spiritual wakefulness, the wakefulness of life, of consciousness. What they experienced is based on their capacity to experience – what may be the maximum limit for that person could be an incipient level for a fully awakened Being.

How amazingly wonderful it is to become more and more awake, to raise up from the coffin into vibrant beauty of life. To be awake is to sacrifice those aspects within that drag us to sleep, those shadowy elements of our psyche, the heavy load. The following are the words of Buddha from the sacred text od Dhammapada, on wakefulness:

Wakefulness is the way to life.
The fool sleeps as if he were already dead,
but the master is awake and he lives forever.

He watches. He is clear. How happy he is!
For he sees the wakefulness is life.
How happy he is, following the path of the awakened.

With great perseverance he meditates,
seeking freedom and happiness.

So awake, reflect, watch. Work with care and attention.
Live in the way and the light will grow in you.

By watching and working the master makes for himself
an island which the flood cannot overwhelm.

The fool is careless. But the master guards his watching.
It is his most precious treasure.

He never gives in to desire. He meditates.
And in the strength of his resolve he discovers true happiness.

He overcomes desire – and from the tower of wisdom
he looks down with dispassion upon the sorrowing crowd.
From the mountaintop he looks down on those
who live close to the ground.

Mindful among the mindless,
awake while others dream,
swift as a race horse he outstrips the field.

By watching Indra became king of the gods.
How wonderful it is to watch, how foolish to sleep.

The beggar who guards his mind
and fears the waywardness of his thoughts
burns through every bond with the fire of his vigilance.

The beggar who guards his mind and fears his own confusion
cannot fall. He has found the way to peace.

A Fly That Knows the Way Out

girl walking in front of the underground aquariumLast week I was skimming through a book on astral projection, trying to find some useful insights. At around the beginning of the book there was one interesting quote/message, which the author apparently received from his inner voice:

“A fly wonders back and forth through the air,
then lands on the windowpane.
It launces itself, flies for two feet, then lands on
the glass again.
It continues to walk around, on the glass, never
finding the exit.
It doesn’t know that there is an opening in the
window just a few feet away.
You and I can see the opening because we have
the bigger picture.
If only the fly would unlimit itself, get the bigger
picture,
and allow itself the freedom and perspective to fly
higher,
it could rise above it all and be free.
Instead, it is content to wander aimlessly.
Now I tell you: You are that fly. You know the
way out.
But you choose to ignore it.”
~ Inner Voice

The author of this probably didn’t have any deeper work in mind, but it can be applied here as well. I guess many people who do the Work on oneself could relate to that. It is easy to lessen efforts after a while, especially when we can’t see any progress happening. We then become like that fly on the windowpane who knows the exit out, yet decides to stick around. It’s easy to forget why we are doing the Work  in the first place, to forget about the goals. Movement of life can do that to us, making us identify with all the motions, all the ups and downs. The emotions of pleasure attach themselves to trivial things and keep us in the state of forgetfulness and sleep. And if they (and all the other egos) do that for long enough, the life passes by without us doing any significant progress towards the main goal – attaining freedom.

Gurdjieff On Art

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There is an interesting passage about art that I wish to share here, from the book In Search of the Miraculous. The book is written by Ouspensky but it mostly consists of transcripts from Gurdjieff talks. Gurdjieff was a mystic seeker who found esoteric teachings in the late 19th century. What follows is his take on art from psychological point of view. I do not completely agree with him on some things he say. I believe that sometimes an artist, accidentally or otherwise, can tap to a higher source which can help them create an objective piece of art, even if the artist himself is of the lower level of the being. Nevertheless, there are many interesting things in the following excerpt worth sharing, so here it goes:

“At the moment it is not clear to you that people living on the earth can belong to very different levels, although in appearance they look exactly the same. Just as there are very different levels of men, so there are different levels of art. Only you do not realize at present that the difference between these levels is far greater than you might suppose. You take different things on one level, far too near one another, and you think these different levels are accesible to you.

“I do not call art all that you call art, which is simply mechanical reproduction, imitation of nature or other people, or simply fantasy, or an attempt to be original. Real art is something quite different. Among works of art, especially works of ancient art, you meet with many things you cannot explain and which contain a certain something you do not feel in modern works of art. But as you do not realize what this difference is you very soon forget it and continue to take everything as one kind of art. And yet there is an enormous difference between your art and the art of which I speak. In your art everything is subjective – the artist’s perception of this or that sensation; the forms in which he tries to express his sensations and the perception of these forms by other people. In one and the same phenomenon one artist may feel one thing and another artist quite a different thing. One and the same sunset may evoke a feeling of joy in one artist and sadness in another. Two artists may strive to express exactly the same perceptions by entirely different methods, in different forms; or entirely different perceptions in the same form – according to how they were taught, or contrary to it. And the spectators, listeners, or readers will perceive, not what the artist wished to convey or what he felt, but what the forms in which he expresses his sensations will make them feel by association. Everything is subjective and everything is accidental, that is to say, based on accidental associations – the impression of the artist and his creation, the perceptions of the spectators, listeners, or readers.

“In real art there is nothing accidental. It is mathematics. Everything in it can be calculated, everything can be known beforehand. The artist knows and understands what he wants to convey and his work cannot produce one impression on one man and another impression on another, presuming, of course, people on one level. It will always, and with mathematical certainty, produce one and the same impression.

“At the same time the same work of art will produce different impressions on people of different levels. And people of lower levels will never receive from it what people of higher levels receive. This is real, objective art. Imagine some scientific work – a book on astronomy or chemistry. It is impossible that one person should understand it one way and another in another way. Everyone who is sufficiently prepared and who is able to read this book will understand what the author means, and precisely as the author means it. An objective work of art is just such a book, except that it affects the emotional and not only the intelectual side of man.

“Do such work of objective art exist at the present day?“ I asked.

“Of course they exist,“ answered G. “The great Sphinx in Egypt is such a work of art, as well as some historically known works of architecture, certain statues of gods, and many other things. There are figures of gods and of various mythological beings that can be read like books, only not with the mind but with the emotions, provided they are sufficiently developed. In the course of our travels in Central Asia we found, in the desert at the foot of the Hindu Kush, a strange figure which we thought at first was some ancient god or devil. At first it produced upon us simply the impression of being a curiosity. But after a while we began to feel that this figure contained many things, a big, complete, and complex system of cosmology. And slowly, step by step, we began to decipher this system. It was in the body of the figure, in its legs, in its arms, in its head, in its eyes, in its ears, everywhere. In the whole statue there was nothing accidental, nothing without meaning. And gradually we understood the aim of the people who built this statue. We began to feel their thoughts, their feelings. Some of us thought that we saw their faces, heard their voices. At all events, we grasped the meaning of what they wanted to convey to us across thousands of years, and not only the meaning, but all the feelings and the emotions connected with it as well. That indeed was art.“

Nebula, by Olga Grapsa

Right now I am standing at the edge of shore
Starring through the infinite space
While endless trials are born around me

Miracles
The sea’s breath
The moon’s pull
Creatures transforming moments into their untold purpose

But my own untold story vanishes in the horizon
Instead, the burning letters of the book of fire ride across the waves
Chanting another story

Oh Agni!

If I squint my eyes the salt-wind weakens
If I open my arms life takes me

I bring my foot onto the foam
and I’m caught on fire

And the sun and the moon encircle me
and the entire cosmos resides in me
Stars dance from my palms
and die at my knees
born anew with every tear

And I collapse into my self
To find my untold story
To read my own immortal pages
in the darkness of Time

I am a Nebula whose words are beads of light
And I shine in some infinite space
to one day be found

A House for the Naked

A House for the Naked

It’s late and it’s raining, my friends, let’s go home.

Let’s leave this ruin we’ve haunted like owls.

Even though the blind ones beckon us, let’s go home.

All the reasons offered by the sensible, dull and sorrowful

can’t darken our hearts now;

nor can all this phantom love play,

this imaginary paradise hold us back.

Some see the grain but not the harvest.

Don’t ask too many “hows” and “whys”.

Let beasts graze.

Come home to the real celebration and music.

Shams has build a house for the naked and the pure.

– Rumi

What hold us back from becoming naked and pure, and how many lifetimes are we already here in this physcial school of life, postponing the retun to where we really belong? To become pure  like “little children”, we must become naked of the layers of dirt that clothe us (of lust, pride, anger, fear etc.) – the mud that is chaining our souls.

We need to smash those chains so that we can attain Love within ourselves and discover the Truth.

When will we soar?