Poems to God that is 'You'

You used to scare me with your torrid schemes.
My mind was a parcel for your unraveling.
There was a time you used to play with its shadows,
And then you said you never took sides,
In War or Love!

I believed you then!
Now I know I was wrong.
You are not to be believed, but sung!
And when my eyes are wet, drowning in this turgid Heart,
Then I know this Soul has swelled with you that day!

...

A mass is a Higgs/Boson equation,
Deifying your mysterious principle of attraction!
Keeping your stars on an ever course,
While my mind is assuaged with your Peace,
My Heart swells with your Love,
And now I have been created!

...

This day has mattered to one so swayed,
By your hammer of fate!
I hung from remorse too often for words,
Yet you beckoned with tears and laughter.
Hidden in a Heart of infinite anomalies,
And mysterious mannerisms,
Like twinkling eyes at the moment of death!

...

There is no use with Human like innuendos,
That are crimes that make up minds.
No thought is made without particles,
You have ever before destroyed,
And no tear is without your,
Infinite recycled Love affair.

My heart is an elixir of prayers,
With which I consort and hum the Soul, Oh My
OM I

...

Waiting is a Lovers kiss,
Just before the eyes close,
And Hearts merge in crescendo!

No differences in your presence,
No stubbornness that separates,
No one to understand!
Just particles that whisper You!

No me. No You! No we.
Just the waiting without time.
Like an empty boat,
Carried by your never ending sea...

This Heart forever voyages,
Longing its compass,
Always going home!
And 'You' are Home to me!

Art?

ART? What is it? Whence does it come? Why is it here? There are, it would seem, two forms of Art. Objective Art, and Subjective Art. The latter being about 99.9% of the Art we see and/or hear. Subjective Art comes in 3 flavours, generally, i.e., Intellectual, Emotional, and Physico/Instinctual.

A quick example of each would be Picasso's Instinctual works, the Expressionists emotive works, and the Intellectual forms of so called Modern Art. Of course there are various blendings of the above which speaks to each of us on the level of our personal character, hence the like/dislike quality of subjective art werks.

With Objective art, like the Gothic Cathedrals of old, the Pyramids, and music such as Beethoven's 5th Symphony or Mozarts 40th, 41st and 42nd symphonies, each and every one has a similar experience. Often getting us out of our personal time/space habit patterns; lifting us in awe to the greater nature of life. So it is that Nature reflected in Art moves us beyond our tunnel realities, whilst the subjective forms chain us to our habits of seeing and hearing, or provide us a diversion at best.

This opinion is subject to change by cosmic coincidence and other natural factors...;)

impossible things

... Curiouser and curiouser

The Queen character in "Through The Looking Glass" says that she likes to think about two or three impossible things every morning before breakfast. It helps air out her mind.

Through the Looking Glass
http://www.infomotions.com/etexts/literature/english/1800-1899/carroll-through-101.txt
by LEWIS CARROLL

Alice laughed. `There's no use trying,' she said: `one CAN'T believe impossible things.'
`I daresay you haven't had much practice,' said the Queen. `When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.

This kick starts the mind and helps create new local pathways synaptically, thus growing your mind to wonder again.

Habits create tunnel vision that takes the joy out of life and dampens Reality Selection abilities with 'rule' based expectations. You see only the Map and not the Territory.
Dance and some fun Hatha Yoga does this for the body.

Co-create with Joy. The Heart is the key to Wonderous things, Impossible things ...

Canada Day!

Canada Day: Is it Flag waving nationalism? An identity prop for the dispossessed and estranged? A psychological buttress for fragile egos! Like my car, like me! Dis my Flag, dis me and we are all in it together! It is the plaint of the powerless, the cry of lost and the hope of the disconnected!

My take on being born somewhere is that you are a fragment of Nature's urge in that landscape. That you reflect the land you were grown from.

Somewhere, an ancient voice sounded, in this land. From times when this land was peopled by the various red nations. A time when the white nations first gathered on her shores. That voice told of how it would take several generations for the land to change these new people. That the land would mould them for whatever evolutionary urges the land would require. That time is now ... these new caretakers come from all the colours of the Medicine wheel. It is you and me ...


I was musing about the 'cultural hybrids' that make up the Canadian melting pot of peoples yesterday, Canada Day. Watching all the differences with my mind, following the threads of history each 'hybrid' carries in their DNA and level of consciousness. Each a bridge, from a place, a people and a past.

Then, I watched them with my Heart, with eyes Divine. As the Heart does not 'differentiate', I was able to see how each and everyone, fulfills Natures purposes, whether or not they are aware of it.

Nature chose us, as the mediums of change, it wants to become. We are a thin organic layer upon the face of the earth. As the Earth's consciousness evolves and changes, so does our own. Unless we choose to accelerate with simple, in tune with Nature, techniques.

Each of us is a synaptic impulse transmuting cosmic energies, into the stuff the Earth can use. Each, a bridge of energy transforms, dancing in ways the Land realizes, in its march towards the goal; evolution!

As we are the Lands Agents of Change, we all have purpose and are connected to her. Even in death, we are utilized for the stuff we transmuted while living; recycled and born again. Then, as the Land Aspires to become a Star, we shall all transcend in that blissful transition ... dust to dust, each mineral born of Cosmic agencies, the furnace of Stars; from Stars we come, to Stars we shall return ... So be it!

So I mused yesterday, laying under a Spruce tree, on a Beach in West Vancouver ...

I awoke from a feverish dream

On my birthday, June 21st, Aboriginal day and the Summer Solstice, I awoke from a feverish dream; I am watching the sky, I see thousands of Eagles flying from East to West. I go into the building behind me to tell others.

A native elder, sick from long years of neglect and abuse, comes out to look. His body as old as Earth itself, his eyes as bright as the Sky. By the time we get out, the last of the Eagles has disappeared behind some high clouds. The elder looks up. He says he sees them, and would have a recording on his PC using a sky WebCam. We go into his rooms and he let's me tinker with his machines as I am trying to play back the recording. It takes some fussing about.

We are sitting across from each other. The elder tells me the stories that he is keeper of.

The elder continues...

He says that the land has become sick; like him, like me and like you. That a healing crises is imminent. The Eagles are gathering, he said.

"The Earth is running a slight fever from greenhouse gases, after enjoying relatively stable temperatures for 2,000 years. The National Academy of Sciences, after reconstructing global average surface temperatures for the past two millennia, said Thursday the data are "additional supporting evidence … that human activities are responsible for much of the recent warming."

http://abcnews.go.com/Technology/wireStory?id=2108649

http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2006/06/22/ap/tech/mainD8IDH6HO6.shtml

http://www.wired.com/wireservice/story.php?nosubnav=true§ion=Science&storyId=1539693

On Prayer and the Seven Rings of Splendor

Mystic is another way of saying being plain and simple, in tune with Nature; one who 'speaks' with the Heart.

We are all 'meaning makers' or as the Bard says, "There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so". - (Hamlet Act II, Scene II). Raja yoga, indeed!

My purpose is to speak with Heart, and write with 'courage', from the French 'le couer', with Heart. To 'see' with the eyes of the Heart, and tell that story.

"If you treat an individual as he is, he will remain as he is. But if you treat him as if he were what he ought to be and could be, he will become what he ought to be and could be." -Goethe

I do not think Goethe was compelling any singular future for those individuals he was referring to in the above quote. Rather, I believe his intention was to 'free' the person from their self imposed personality, their Samskaric shackles, their pain bodies. Neither compelled from the past, nor future beckoned! Free to become whom they ought to be; in Gods image, you see.

Each, a shard of the crystal, all shiny and clear, reflecting the light within, choosing Love over fear

Knowing is an addiction, while Loving it's balm. Our Hearts do not differentiate; all it takes to be a Brother or Sister is to have one.

Goethe was, amongst other things, an Alchemist. As such, he was aware of the principle of 'Sympathetic resonance' found in the Emerald Tablets of Hermes Trismigistus, a line of which is, 'As above, so below'. Even words are imbued with potential; acting as agents of change.

Simply put, he believed we are all Gods, but we have forgotten this over lifetimes of uncertainty and fear, the veil of ignorance; and that by the miracle of Love and faith, and our God given freedom to choose, we can become again as Gods. It is this, in which he beckons us, with the quote above.

Ghandi stated, to be the change you want the world to become. Dr. Wayne Dyer said, 'change the way you look at things, and the things you look at change'.

Quantum physics has shown that depending on the observer, light is either a particle or a wave. It is a strange power that the observer has, is it not? How we see ourselves and others would have similar consequences, n'est-ce pas? To see with the Heart, is to have eyes Divine!

A prayer, then, is Heartfelt words, igniting Grace to action.

I suppose I have the Heart of a poet which is reflected in my prose. So be it.

As for God, this is a personal matter best experienced in one's own Heart. How do you define something which has its centre everywhere and its circumference nowhere? We as humans tend to use language as the measure of all things. Is language not really a tool of difference?

For instance, I have studied some of the Ancient personality mapping techniques and am quite familiar with Astrology, Numerology and Kabala as well as Buddhist and Aboriginal Shaman mapping systems. They define their own percept’s into languages that are useful as exploration tools. Shards of light to ponder and keep.

When you see light through a prism, it refracts into the various rainbow like frequencies, which our eye can see. Some of these frequencies are only visible through machines; although some animals and bugs can see a few of these hidden spectrum's.

In cosmology, when we look at all the known frequencies, we see that what our eye can perceive is really only a small part of our overall universe of light. So to say, that the Human experience, can only physically comprehend a small subset of all the possible frequencies of all of manifestation.

This then points towards a pattern of possibilities in the basic Human interactions and personalities. We see our Brothers and Sisters all manifest in unique but similar ways. Personalities can then be mapped, as such.

That is not the point, however. What we can map with tools of old like Numerology, Astrology or Shamanic systems, or with the newer tools of Psychological types, is, as the saying goes, only the map and not the territory.

So, on the one hand we have a small sub-set of human variability that echoes and repeats in all of our human dance. On the other we see that this dance can change and evolve in much more clever ways then these maps or even our language can construe.

It is an Art, His gift, to change and evolve where our skill, experience and Karma is but the beginning, The Heart forever voyages, surpassing these circles of splendor, always going OM! By HIS Grace...

Anna and the Nature Spirits

Keegan the Fire Faun: Chapter 1

Anna was born with the Sun in the Heart of Leo the Lion; and she showed it. She could speak in English, German and Czech. She knew her way around a keyboard and mouse and any other gadget her Father brought into the house. She could dance and sing with her Mother and she could do Arts and crafts like it was in her nature. In short, she was very creative.

Anna was also very curious and she was indeed very mischievous.

Anna had a big heart, and a long memory and she was also very sensitive

One morning, Anna awoke, in her bed. A sunbeam was dancing on the wall. She watched it, with her big eyes sparkling. She put up her hand to catch it. The light from the sunbeam bent into a shape like a little man. She pulled back her hand quickly.

Then she heard a flute playing. It seemed to be coming from the sunbeam. She sat up and looked out the window to see if there was someone there. The flute playing seemed close by. It sounded like it was in the room with her.

Anna bent over her bed to look under it. She saw a sock, a plastic train and Dad's TV remote exactly where she had hid it. "No one playing a flute, there" she thought.

Then she stood on the bed to look at the sunbeam painting the wall. The flute playing made her smile. It was like playing outside, by the brook under the trees, and watching the bubbles float and burst in the water. It was a happy song.

The song drifted off. Anna waited, watching the sunbeam. Then, in a wink of an eye, someone or something, jumped out of the sunbeam onto her bed. This caused Anna to jump back, falling onto her pillows, teddy bears and stuffed Unicorn. Anna swallowed and looked up at the ...

"Faun," he said with a whimsical look. He began to laugh and dance around the bed. "Anna, I am a faun, a fire Nature child, riding a sunbeam where you caught me. I am your friend and my name is Keegan." , he said aloud while bowing low. He stood up and placed the flute to his mouth and played another happy song. He danced and looked at Anna with smiling eyes.

Anna watched for a moment, then said, "Keegan, what kind of a name is, Keegan, and what's a Faun?"

The Faun laughed and sat down at the end of Anna's bed. Keegan cocked his head to one side, as if listening to something or someone, far away. His ears were fluttering about. Anna began to giggle at this very funny looking faun.

Keegan stopped his ears from wiggling, looked at Anna and said, somewhat offended, "Well, Anna, I am your friend, and friends don't laugh at how they look, you know." He closed his eyes and turned away, a little pout on his mouth.

Anna put out her hand, touched Keegan on the arm and gently said, "Oh, I am sorry Keegan, it is just that I've never seen a faun before, and watching your ears wiggle," she paused, "Well, it is very funny." She smiled with a look of caring on her face.

"Besides, Faun, how come you are my friend, when I have never met you before today?" She said with a quizzical look on her face.

Keegan looked back at her. "Anna, only our friends can 'see' us!" He exclaimed with pride. "and only our very special friends can open a sunbeam to let us out." He pointed to the sunbeam on the wall.

Anna thought for a moment. Then replied, "That seems to make sense, but you still have not told me what a Faun is or what you are doing here, dancing and playing the flute, on my bed" Anna just wanted to know.

Keegan bowed low again. He put the flute to his mouth and played another happy song. After a moment he stopped playing, and looked at Anna. Smiling, he said, "Anna, we are the keepers of the flame of life. Creativity, energy, dancing, running, jumping and laughter are all our gifts. We are Nature's children and we share our gifts with only those children who can see us. And we only come to those children who really know Joy in their Hearts." He pointed to Anna's chest saying, "Like you, Anna!"

Anna smiled. She got out of bed and looking back at Keegan, said, "OK Keegan, then let's go outside and play by the brook where the trees are." She went to the dresser and opened the top drawer.

Keegan looked out the window, then jumped onto the sill with a single bound. "I'll meet you there, Anna. Other Nature children are wanting to meet you. They are your friends, too"

"There is the Air faerie", He continued, "She is magical, and a joyous little creature who loves to dance on the wind. Her name is Aurea. Then there is Nancy the Water Nymphet who likes to splash and swim, and Ernie the Earth Gnome. He likes to sit and always looks like he is waiting for something.", he laughed and ...

... leaped out of the window riding a sunbeam to the ground.

Anna ran to the window and looked out after Keegan. She watched him continue to dance towards the brook and heard Keegan playing a wonderful happy tune. She smiled and dressed quickly to catch up with her new friend.

It was the beginning of a magical day; Anna rushed out of her bedroom, down the hall and ran, giggling, down the stairs. She was thinking about the new friends she was going to meet today.

Anna slid on the wood floor, in her stockings, coming to a halt just as she heard her Mother call out, "Anna! Stop running down the stairs and come have your breakfast."

the old man and the young woman

Neptune and Triton; the old man and the young woman

The day was hot and sunny. It was a late summer afternoon. A breeze came up the hill from the sea below.

An old man made his way up the hill. Slowly, to the inner rhythm of his own nature. His gray blue eyes sparkled and a smile creased his face. His cloths were edge worn, yet had the look of long years of care. He loosely grasped a wooden cane with a rainbow of threads woven around the handle. His gait had purpose as he gazed softly at everything he passed.

A young man and women hurried down the hill, pushing and shoving, laughing and smoking cigarettes. They wore sunglasses and the latest in neoplastic fashion; there seemed to be corners at their shoulders. The young man took off his glasses and pushed the girl into the path of the old man. She cursed and whipped around, causing the old man to halt his progress. She laughed nervously and shot a look of derision over her sunglasses towards the young man. The young man smiled, animal like, and looking down at the old man said, "Who are you, old man?"

"Who am I?", the old man echoed back. Smiling at the young man. "I am!, and yet, a meaning maker, after all.", his eyes glistened. "I am, swimming in a sea of Love, where it is never too late!", he laughed and chortled in his white beard. A softness in his expression.

The young man made rude threatening gestures and screamed angrily, "Ah, you're just a crazy old man!" The young man grabbed the girl by the arm, pulling her to him as he strutted down the hill. She resisted slightly, staring back at the old man with a curious look.

The old man had turned, watching them hurry by, and said, "That I am, yes, that I am!" The old man continued his walk up the hill.

The old man sat down at a bus stop to rest. Looking up at the billowing clouds above. The young girl came running back, stopping before him. Her breathing loud and raspy from years of smoking. She took off her sunglasses, and asked, " Whaddya mean, a meaning maker? That's crazy talk!" She cocked her head to one side with a quizzical look.

The old man looked up at her, smiling, he said, "Oh my dear daughter, The place that I am sitting, He makes this place for me. The thoughts that I am thinking, He makes those thoughts for me. The sights and sounds that I am seeing and hearing, He makes those sights and sounds for me."

The old man paused, and watched a starling dance in the sky, catching a bug in the breeze. He looked at her and continued, "What is not His my daughter? What you see and hear, makes you feel separate and alone. Even when walking and bustling past others in the street, you feel separate and oh, so lonely." She crossed her arms on her chest defiantly. "Even this, is His gift; all is translucent atoms twirling and whirling in and out of existence; the dance of Alive, the dance of Nature, the dance of Love!"

"Let go, dearest daughter, let go of your loneliness and shame." He smiled tenderly. Her arms now hung at her sides and she looked down at the ground. "You are becoming what you ought to be! Knower and known - you are the original face, full of His grace! Let go to the beautiful Alive, dear daughter." The old man closed his eyes, as if in prayer.

She sat beside him. She felt an unusual peace. She looked up at the clouds, then said, "How do I know if what you say is true?" She queried. The old man opened up his eyes and looked at her. Then he continued, "Your mind is an instrument for your particular research while you are here. It is duality based and doubt is its main condition. It is a good tool as far as it goes, but the Heart", he grinned, eyes sparkling, "yes the Heart, that is the place where Love and Peace and Joy reside, my dear daughter. That is the place where God sits, and where the courage to be a sincere authentic person arises.", he sighed, as if swooning.

She began to feel something in her chest, a pressure building there like before a cry. But different. A feeling of sweet sorrow filled her, a longing for something arose, like a long forgotten memory. Her mind began to settle. She felt a breeze on her cheek as she watched a dragon fly whiz past, its wings glittering, rainbow like, in the sunlight.

A bus rolled into the bus stop. Air brakes hissed loudly. The back doors swung open, a man and women stepped down to the side walk. They were arguing. The girl and the old man looking on.

They watched the man and women walk down the hill, still arguing and gesturing. Then the young girl said, "Old man, your full of it!" She got up and ran down the hill.

The old man watched her disappear around a corner. He helped himself up with his cane and continued his walk. His heart aching with longing, a feeling of sweet sorrow, carrying him towards the Divine. He smiled to himself and said aloud, to no one in particular, "Yes, I am full of it!"

Memorial of Viktor Alexander Duzik

50 hearts gathered at Boal Chapel to support the Young Duzik family and to see and hear of the brief, remarkable life of Viktor.

A slide show flickered on a screen at the front of the Chapel. Pictures lovingly assembled by Jaromir, the Father. A time-line, from pregnancy, birth to the death of little Viktor. Below the screen, a table with blossoming Spring flowers and a small oval yellow cedar Urn.

Music wafted through the Chapel; a symphony that carried the Heart to the sublime. A longing of sweet sorrow, in every note.

Anna, Viktor's 3 year old Sister, began a slow rhythmical sway to the tempo of the music. Her arms elegantly held akimbo. Turning gracefully, interpreting the sounds intentionally, with a gentle pious smile on her face. An Angel dancing for her little brother, with all the Art and Soul she could gather, well beyond her years. It was a gentle prayer offered in graceful movement with a heart full of the presence of God.

Alexandra told Viktor's story. The room of people transfixed; all eyes forward and ears alert. She began with tears of grief. Then a quiet settled in the room; her face lightened, shining from some secret joyous place inside. Her heart spoke directly; sweetness in every word. We all experienced the pregnancy, birth and passing, of Viktor. It was no longer words and phrases, but a sympathetic vibration from her heart to ours; until all Hearts beat as one Heart. We became intimately connected; we knew her grief and her joy. A Mother's love embracing us all.

Outside, Thunder rolled in the dark clouds over the Mountains. A warm rain, like tears from heaven, fell gently all around. Three little girls danced and laughed gaily, in the rain. They were celebrating the joy of life; Every life.

on the Death of little Viktor

It rains today, and then the Spring Sun returns. The soil is alive; plants thrive. Yet, the death of little Viktor lingers on.

A sadness presses upon the heart, like the weight of rain laden clouds.

We are all of us, destined to die ...

It is with a heavy heart that we witness the passing of one so young. A weight made seemingly impossible to bear, with only our frail human understanding.

What can a small newborns death possibly mean in the cosmic scheme of things.

How can this be! We plead, we negotiate; denial, anger and bargaining. Depression! What's the use! Our tunnel vision of human reasoning breaks under the weight of this death.

Tears pour like the Spring rains; the Sun's light streams through a gap in the heavy clouds, whispering a rainbow, like a promise. Flowers bloom with their beauty. A mystery of Love and the promise of Love to come!

The flower, soon fades, disintegrating into the soil from whence it came. Dust to dust. A moment of Beauty, come and gone. Some blooms take years to come about, lasting mere moments before wilting into decay.

Why does the flower bloom, what is the purpose of this Beauty, if it only lasts but a moment in time. It is a mystery of Nature; it is a mystery of Love.

A Star lasts for an eon of time. Each of our little lives but an instance when compared to this cosmic scale. Perhaps, our bloom of life is Beauty to the witness of the Stars. Perhaps, we are inspiration to Stars, with the brief blossom of our lives.

I have been witness and participant in the births of my children. A wondrous mystery full of the presence of God when this new life bursts into the world; as if a warp and weft in the Tao opened and let through this new being. The feeling is bigger than me, bigger than the room, bigger than the world somehow. Perhaps as big as Love itself. This is the same feeling I had when I was witnes to Viktor's passing. It was as if the heavens had once again opened up and let me embrace that mystery; touch the divine...

With the 'eyes' of the Heart, we see Beauty, even in Death. We don't need to understand it. We don't need to know why.

In this, Viktor has been a Teacher. In this Viktor has shown us a mystery that is Love.

the Crematorium

Upon opening one of the two large wooden doors to the Crematorium, our Funeral assistant greeted us. I looked around the small comfortable room.

There on a trolley with a green linen cover was a little white casket.

The grieving Mother and Father approached the simple box. Alexandra began to weep. Her tears fell on the white linen which covered the casket, making water spots there.

Alexandra asked to see inside. We opened the casket and looked at the tiny body, wrapped in linens and sheepskin with a small Teddy Bear at his side. Viktor looked like he was asleep. Alexandra wept deeply.

We moved to the next room where the gas furnace had been made ready. The furnace man stood humbly by. Jaromir took the casket in his arms, and with a look requested me to take an end. We approached the furnace opening with the box and inserted it. Standing back, the heat already noticeable, Jaromir pressed the button. The door slowly closed. The dial for the gas set to 3. The furnace wailed.

We returned back to the waiting room. Alexandra wept for some time. Jaromir wept quietly, holding his wife closely. I meditated and thanked the little one for his teachings.

The thought came to me as I listened to the wailing machines in the next room. This little ones water was now in the air, outside. Carried by the light breezes on this Sunny day. Falling to the ground all around, becoming part of the earth again, nurturing the Spring flowers there.