A Poem by Rubai.
There is nobody here, not even me
Always I am in your embrace my Love,
Just keep forgetting it.
Rowing my boat back and forth in your still waters,
trying to get somewhere
Finding my self drowning in the vastness of the moment
Lost in never knowing anything, What a great relief!
Remembering again
There is nobody here, not even me
Just your embrace
And I am you my Love,
or lets just say
I am
——————-
2.4.12.
Grist.
How frail the thread that holds the one
That feels to be alive or dead,
When in split time the whole becomes
The part that seems so unwanted
By the radiance of the source
That brings contraction into play.
Tis always just the dance as this
Which brings to life the night and day.
One moment absence is the fact
A moment later all appears,
Gone the resting in repose,
Ahead the timeless plays as years.
That many are and all exist
Separate, labelled, isolate,
As me amongst the endless grist
That arises in this mill of time.
Convincingly the two appear
In what essentially can be
But the One in smile and tear.
Avasa
…………………….
2.1.2011.
The Quest.
I cannot be touched,nor tasted or smelt.
No sound is my equal,no form will be I.
Lay to rest then the seeking of objective experience
And I will be with you in the blink of an eye.
I am here, always here as the presence eternal
Forever unknown, a mystery I be
To myself, for no other exists in this presence
You , him and her are always just me.
As I seek it is I that I seek for, not knowing
That the seeking is my action manifesting as things.
Their appearance obscures what immediately remains
When searching collapses, the moment then brings
The realization that what lies behind all the movement
Is this stillness that always, already is here.
Rested unnoticed I am the bare empty canvas
On which the light-show of life does appear.
All is just this, nothing more, nothing less,
And when my attention comes finally to rest
At its source it is seen it is I that creates
All arising as my effort to fulfil my quest.
Avasa
…………………….
3.11.2011
Self Veiwed.
For a mind hell bent on finding an object
The truth of truths will not satisfy.
For this is still the seeking of something
‘Tis not yet ready for the I.
The I that is sought is the I that is seeking
Its own self as a something
‘Twill not be found as such in time
For ’tis always here as nothing.
When finally maturity has led
The wandering mind to see
That what it seeks is emptiness
Then immediately ’twill be
Still and silent rested
In its home-ground ever here
‘Twas always so but overlooked
By the play of egos fear.
The truth of self is simply not
An experience that is gained
By gathering knowledge in the mind
Which finally is arranged
So that the mind can claim it
As the result of all its work,
An objective view of self
Upon which the self itself does look.
Avasa
……………………………….
4/6/2010.
Gone.
This body is an empty cage
Its imagined occupant long gone
Collapsed one moment into dust
Which the many winds of time have blown
Away to swirl and mingle
With the whole that still exists,
Lost in all and everything,
As the appearance that still persists
To appear as though duality
Is true of what is seen,
Which mind can only understand
When the mirror of consciousness is clean.
These forms are but the hollow tubes
That Emptiness plays through
Creating in its movement the illusion
Of an apparent me and you.
Vacancy is what I am
Absence is the truth
Of the presence within which
The One manifests as both
The male and female, yin and yang
Which are polarities of the One.
And when they meet in unity
These too dissolve and then are gone.
………………………………
5.3.08.
Only This.
There is no possibility for words to convey, and yet they try,
This moment when and where no one remains but by and by
Listening can bring what lies behind the words to be tasted
And in that instant it is seen that not a single one was wasted.
It is not in the spoken words themselves that this is known
Yet by being present and attentive to them gradually it has grown
Until finally what has previously been overlooked as naught
Is seen in all its obviousness to be something never bought.
For all along it always was and is one’s right of birth,
Absent of all qualities it had not received or seen its worth
By a mind based solely on the worthiness of things
It remained unrecognised, unnoticed waiting in the wings
Until the time the star role called for its manifest appearance
And the attention, void of objects, gave finally its clearance
To this that was the watcher all along in every instance,
The void within which appears the illusion of time and distance.
Simple in itself and yet profound beyond description
This that brings out of itself the all that is creation
Knows now the deepest value is this vast empty nothingness
And so in each and every moment it is seen there is only this.
Avasa
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5.6.2010.
Wishing.
When the past is no longer held to
And the future not yet come
Though the mind be wishing silently
For a place to rest, a home.
Just know that in that moment
All that presents itself right then
Is the content of a dream you wished for
In a past of discontent.
Allow what is to be the case
Accepting what appears
As just a manifest appearance
That gives rise to joy and tears.
Life’s play is made of ups and downs
That make it all worthwhile
So welcome all and everything
And let your body smile.
Your radiance then will shine around
Transforming what appears
Into a dream of heavenliness,
The eternal linked with years.
This is the opportunity
To experience the play of Love
A one time show with no repeats,
Its value high above
Anything the mind can value
So leave the mind aside
And open into Life’s wide space
Then in this you’ll abide.
Avasa
………………………………………
5.3.08.
Only This.
There is no possibility for words to convey, and yet they try,
This moment when and where no one remains but by and by
Listening can bring what lies behind the words to be tasted
And in that instant it is seen that not a single one was wasted.
It is not in the spoken words themselves that this is known
Yet by being present and attentive to them gradually it has grown
Until finally what has previously been overlooked as naught
Is seen in all its obviousness to be something never bought.
For all along it always was and is one’s right of birth,
Absent of all qualities it had not received or seen its worth
By a mind based solely on the worthiness of things
It remained unrecognized, un-noticed waiting in the wings
Until the time the star role called for its manifest appearance
And the attention, void of objects, gave finally its clearance
To this that was the watcher all along in every instance,
The void within which appears the illusion of time and distance.
Simple in itself and yet profound beyond description
This that brings out of itself the all that is creation
Knows now the deepest value is this vast empty nothingness
And so in each and every moment it is seen there is only this.
Avasa
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