(The Aphorism of the Point-of-View)

 In a recent meditation with my Guruji via Zoom I had the perception from non-dual awareness that our point-of-view is both a Power or Siddhi and a limitation or Samskara:

दृष्टिकोण सूत्र

Dṛṣṭikoṇa Sūtra

(The Aphorism of the Point-of-View)

विरोधः क्षुद्रमनसः भ्रमः; ज्ञानी द्वैतस्य नृत्यं पश्यति।

प्रत्येकं दृष्टिकोणं शक्तिः सीमा च ज्ञेयम्॥

Virodhaḥ kṣudramanasah bhramaḥ; jñānī dvaitasya nṛtyaṁ paśyati.

Pratyekaṁ dṛṣṭikoṇaṁ śaktiḥ sīmā ca jñeyam.

Contradiction is an illusion of our sense based limited mind; when one views the contradiction from non-dual awareness, one sees only the dance of duality and hence knows that every point-of-view is thus both a power and a limitation.

Every standpoint is both power (siddhi) and boundary (saṁskāra). The siddhi is precision and efficacy; the saṁskāra is tunnel vision and clinging.

As the Zen saying goes, "The finger pointing at the moon is not the moon itself." 

The dream of every planet is to become a star.

From stars we come, and to stars we shall return.  

Creation is not abstract; it is intimate. You are a fragment of Nature’s urge in the Land you were born to. You reflect the soil, the river, the sky of that place. Fractally flawed, yet perfectly whole, you are a bearer of the same impulse that sculpted mountains and lit the galaxies.  

Long ago, a voice in this land spoke: that new peoples would arrive, and it would take generations before the Land itself shaped them, molded them into caretakers. That time is now. Gathered from all colors of the Medicine Wheel, we are here as hybrid children of convergence, each carrying strands of history, each a bridge between past and future, each a seed of the Land’s dream.  

When I watch with my mind, I see difference — ancestry, story, geography. When I watch with my Heart, I see no division. I see each person fulfilling Nature’s purpose, whether or not aware of it. For Nature does not differentiate. She proliferates. She spins diversity with fierce joy, weaving worlds and forms, birthing blooms and beasts alike. Her garment is a gossamer web of interlaced lights — Love and Joy spiraling endlessly.  

Her primary urge is change. She delights in transformation, roiling with the impulse to sparkle in a new way and, for one moment, marvel at her own beauty, before moving on to make more. She births brief flowerings of beauty; she births monstrous energies to overthrow what is stagnant. She lingers in nothing. She evolves. Always, her compass points toward the star.  

Monoculture is a dead end. Homogeneity cannot endure. The pattern of life is fractal, recursive, infinitely varied. The goal of Nature is part Art, part Science, part Spirit. And we — we humans, thin organic layer on Earth’s skin — are chosen as her agents of transformation. Each of us a synaptic spark, transmuting cosmic fire into forms the Land can shape toward its dream.  

What does not dance with her pulse decays and returns to feed the newborn. But when we dance with her longing, when Heart and Mind converge in creative fire, we become her song, her ecstatic chorus of change.  

We are linked utterly to the Earth’s becoming. Even in death, our offerings are recycled into her womb. When she transcends, we transcend. When she ascends, so do we — dust reborn to light, Earth shining as Star.  

This is her dream — and it is ours. From stars we came, and to stars we shall return.  

The dream of every planet is to become a star.

 The dream of every planet
is to become a star.

From stars we come,
to stars we shall return.

You—fragment of Nature’s urge,
seeded in the Land you were born to—
you reflect that Land.
You are her flawed yet perfect vessel,
her fractal, luminous experiment.

An ancient voice whispers in this soil:
the Land will shape her peoples,
until they grow into her likeness.
The time is now.
The caretakers gather—
from every colour of the Medicine Wheel,
from every hybrid root of history.
You. And me.

Watch with the mind,
and you will see differences,
the threads of DNA,
the tangled heritages of tribe and migration.

Watch with the Heart,
and you will see no difference at all.
For Nature does not divide.
She proliferates.
She is Joy, roiling,
an organic garment of shimmering light,
a symphony of endless change.

Race, culture, nation—
these are temporary experiments.
Monoculture is a dead end.
Homogeneity is a prison.
But fractal diversity—
this is Her law.
This is how She evolves.
She sees Stars.

Sometimes She births creatures
of fleeting Beauty—
a sigh, an exhalation,
a single blossom of awe.
Sometimes She births Monsters—
to shatter complacency,
to clear the fields for new growth.

But always, She dances.
And She longs for us to dance with Her—
to vibrate in sympathetic joy
to Her organic song of longing.

We are Her agents of change,
Her thin living skin,
Her synaptic flashes,
Her dancers of transformation.
Each of us a bridge—
carrying cosmic fire
into the body of Earth.

What does not dance rots.
What does not change, withers.
But what joins the dance,
what burns with Heart and Mind in harmony,
erupts in creative fire—
Art, Love, Becoming.

Even in death,
we are not lost.
We are recycled, reborn,
our minerals and memories
recast in the next wave of form.
For as the Land aspires to Star,
we too rise in her radiance.
The Dream of Earth
is the Dream of us:
to transmute,
to blaze,
to shine.

Dust to dust,
minerals to furnace,
ashes to galaxies:

From stars we come.
To stars we shall return.

And in the light of Cosmic Time,
though both great and small are extinguished,
it matters—
oh, it matters—
that we create,
that we explore,
that we evolve
with the courage of a Loving Heart.

Descent & Radiance: the Catabasis Romance

 Suffering is not the gate barred—
it is the gate itself.
Confusion, despair—
not obstacles, but the steps of the stair.

Rāja Yoga whispers the same truth:
the stages of progress are veiled in shadow
before they flower into light.

Depression is no malady—
it is catabasis, the sacred descent.
The husk must split.
The self must fall.
Only then does the new soul rise.

The weight of the world—
that is the door.
Darkness—
that is the friend.
It calls us: Surrender.
Surrender to the great unknowing,
to the void’s wide silence,
and there—
be remade.

Yet the well is bottomless.
Some wander long in its depths.
Some tire, or falter.
In that night, a hand extended
is grace itself.
I was given such a hand.
And so, even in descent,
radiance found me.