Advaita Notebook  

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November 2009

Safe from the Truth

When I see the vastness
All at once in
Cruel detail
It's often too much
And I need to hide from
All but the tiniest bit of it

So I become you
Safe from too much knowing
And can enjoy a few pleasures
Saving the pain for later

After a while you get suspicious
And seek that vastness
You heard of
In spite of the risks
And you push me out
Into the open once again
Exposed to the
Raw forces of my nature
Where I belong

It's then I thank you
For giving up your
Silly little life so you can
Join me out here as everything
Where you aren't
Even if temporarily

And if you try and fail
That's OK too
Don't forget the comfort
You allow me
Letting me shelter
In your little home
Safe from the truth
For a while

Struck Dumb

You can't speak
Against your fate

A missed opportunity
Or a terrible mistake
Help to keep you
On the path of
Who you are
And what you must do

When you attempt to
Save yourself
By giving a great speech
In your defence
You will be struck dumb

Nothing will come out
In favour of changing your destiny
To that of someone
You aren't

His Usual Thing

I told God to
Come out with his hands up
Into the open
Where I could see him

But there wasn't a stir
Only that silence

This is his usual thing

Then just when I turned away
He rattled some bushes
To make me jump

This is not unusual
This is the sort of thing
He does

Good Luck

If you want to find God
First you must
Lose God

So good luck
With it

Proof of Now

Let's get scientific
I am here
I am writing this
To you now
And you are
Reading this now

How can that be?
No wonder we invented

In my now
I'm now writing that
There will be a you
One day reading this

And if you in your now
Are reading this
You probably think
One day I wrote it

But I can assure you
I have the pen
Between my fingers

You think you are
The real one
In the real now
But to me
You don't exist yet

And what's more
This very idea of
You thinking you're present
Is an idea being written
In front of me now

Luckily in a poem
Things don't have to
Make sense

Maybe the world is a poem

Everything's up for Grabs

In the spiritual search
Who is the boss?
Who is God's representative?

Does he sit on a tigers skin?
Or she on a velvet cushion
With flowers?
Do all conflicting statements

Some things sound
Better than others
And meaning is often
Found in translation
But repeating it is
Not much use

You are always faced with
The same basic problem
Staring you in the face
And which great sage
Will solve that
For you?

As you get closer and closer
You begin to realise
Everything's up for grabs
And one thing
Is just as futile as another

Everything's up for grabs
So why don't you
Reach out
And grab it

You Stopped Dancing

Every raw morsel
Is God asking
For attention
Before getting mistaken
For the world you built

The call before the bird
The scent before the blossom
Blueness before blue

All those wild atoms haven't
A clue what they're doing
But you seem to know
And in this knowing
You put two and two
And stopped dancing


Forgetting the world
Is grace
Remembering to forget
Is grace
Forgetting to remember
Is grace
Forgetting to forget
Is grace

You don't have to try
Because trying
Is grace

He Himself

God himself
Knows nothing

The instant I call him
Out of nowhere
He becomes lost
Like me
A figment of his own

And we both wander round
Arm in arm
Chatting about the meaning
Of nothing

But what could be
Better than that?
I ask you

The colours going by
Are so beautiful
And the sounds
So clear

Love is all there is

A brave person will love you
For very little reason
And remind you to love
With more risk

The game you would transcend
And stay safe from
Sets you free

Why not love like this?
It fits in perfectly
With your theory of
Not knowing a thing
About anything

Love is what's left
After the demolition
Nothing but love is left
In its many forms
Even scary ones

Love shrinks from nothing
And just adores itself

It has no choice
Because love is all there is
To love

Under the Influence

It's always a person
That says things
And that person is
A puppet of the divine

You can't dismiss
A single soul
Unless that particular
String is pulled

And if you do
Poo poo a raving idiot
You can always forgive him
On the grounds of
Being under the influence
Of God

Of course
Me talking to you logically
Like  this
Means the whole poem
Is based on the idea that
You're sober enough
To be trusted
With your own life

Duck Wisdom

Hearing a duck on a pond
Things suddenly began
To make sense

In less than
Fifty quick quacks
I at last understood
What Chuang Tzu and Ramana
Had been saying
All along

She hammered away at
The one consistent truth
Without contradiction
At question time
I put up my hand

But she had already dived
And came up with
A bill full of

Just for Me

I keep looking to others
To the masters
For inspiration
And forget to
Read my own stuff

But when I do
I'm lifted
Straight into freedom

For this is perfectly written
Just for me

What you Want

You have to admit
It's ridiculous
The difference between
What you want
And what you get

Yet what you want
Is what you get
Because wanting is

All activity
Continuously collapses
Into the one perfection

These shimmering colours
These resonating sounds
These echoing thoughts

Is it too

All  plans are drawn up
All choices are made
Before you can step in
And interfere

"I am doing it"
Also arises before you can
Apply your spiritual theory
Of not being involved

The thing you will
Never get
Is always boss
And you running round
Trying to pick up
A few crumbs
Is it

A Bad Reputation

What the world thinks of you
Is totally your idea
And needs to be brought to mind
To bring you down

Even documental proof
Of your incompetence is
Filed away in cabinets
Not minds

You do all the work
In giving yourself
A bad reputation
And this would be easy to fix
If you weren't manipulated
From heaven

So what can you do
Except watch yourself

False Alarm

A small blip turned into
A loud beep-beep-beep
Coming through the speakers
But everyone kept on shopping

After a while they
Looked at each other
Was it real?
Or just testing
Everyone remained calm

Next came very annoying
Whooping siren sounds
And a voice saying

But everyone carried on
Hunting through bargains
Hoping to survive
False alarm

The Same with Poems

If you own a fruit shop
You have to display
Some bruised fruit
And some expensive fruit
That the customers "buy from"

So they buy what they're meant to
And get a good deal

It's the same with poems

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