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To die
never having released
the music inside you,
is indeed a tragedy.
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What makes a house
a home
is its music.
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A concert hall
should be
as a Temple
where you Know
the Belovedness.
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Don't salute
the sun,
but every
sunlit dewdrop.
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My mother
is every goddess
that ever was,
that ever will be.
So sings the saint.
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First
to see the Love
under the vicissitudes.
And then
to see them, too,
as the Love. For Love,
True Love,
is Ever-Constant.
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The basic purpose
motivating
all spiritual endeavors
is the overcoming
of misprocessing
so as to, at last,
Know the Love.
A book should get
smaller and smaller
as it's absorbed into me.
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A color is not just the color.
It is the Spirit as that color.
Green is the Spirit as green,
blue is the Spirit as blue.
Every color an epiphany!
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A male
can never have
a uterus,
but he can become
a womb.
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A raindrop jiggling a leaf:
all of Knowledge in that—
but I'll never know it.
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I am a healer
who writes
to heal.
What is there to forgive
when her deepest Intention
is only to always love me?
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All healing comes down to
finding the sufferer's soul
and thus helping him to.
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All spiritual endeavors,
all meditation,
all healing,
is to reduce Misprocessing.
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All the problems of our lives
are merely stories
—already written.
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Anguish is a gift
which the Giver
unwraps—slowly.
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As she lay dying,
the nurse kissed my mother:
"She was a lovely lady."
Lovely, yes,
because she was loving.
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At her end,
I came to Know my mother
as she had always been.
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At seventy,
I look at my photo
sixty years ago.
"That's the boy
who's going to be
exactly me."
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Bach was created
to teach
discipline and control to Protestants—lest they be free.
Had there been no Luther,
there'd have been no Bach.
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Be altruistic
to the spirit within you:
do what you believe
will help it to evolve
through your actions.
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Beauty,
Blessedness,
Belovedness.
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Cases are treated,
sufferers are healed.
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Deep in that pond
under the ice,
barely alive
they wait.
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Every event a gift
for the spirit within
to grow.
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The ferry boat
to the land of love
runs on music.
Hear the singing over the waters.
The sound of the Infinite.
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Every one,
knowingly or not,
devotes his life to the Spirit.
With some
—not many—
it is obvious.
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He exercises:
low cholesterol,
but low aspiration.
And he meditates:
high aspiration
but high cholesterol.
Both need
both.
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Healing is kissing
the sufferer.
There is a double transformation:
each becoming
the other's mother.
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Heaven is every note
sung with love.
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I am a sacred person,
because so is my mother.
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I am All,
and All
is One.
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I hear your Music
crying for release,
and I help you
to Sing.
That's all I do,
because that's all
that's needed.
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I know
who I am.
I am
who I
should be.
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I know I'm getting better
because the trees
are alive again.
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I love
your love
for me.
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I love the singing
of my neurons, and even more
the feeling
when I'm hearing them.
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I smile
to the Great Mother
ever smiling.
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I start by Knowing
your Perfection,
and I finish
when you do.
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You treat
through the physical body,
but you heal
through the etheric.
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Your hand
as soft
as your heart.
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Your very belief
in self-power
is merely another instance
of Other-power
acting through you.
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I'm dancing
with my mother
as Love.
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I surrender my self
to the spirit within.
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Imagine
the music is coming
from your mother's soul.
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Writer's block?
Easy:
I found his Muse
so then he could too.
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With a treater, it’s what he does.
With a healer, it’s who he is.
A healer’s healing is himself.
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We all are God—
because our mothers are.
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We are doomed
to misprocess
because our mothers
do.
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We are the Womb,
we are the Mother of Love.
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When a psychiatrist,
I used to look inside
to see their psychopathology.
Now—their souls.
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Who am I?
I am the beloved of Music.
Why am I?
To give Her love to the world.
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To play on the Pulse
—don't play.
Allow yourself
to be played
by the Pulse.
It wants to play you
—just surrender.
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Walkers-by
greet Hello,
but runners
too self-absorbed.
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To dance
like the leaves
lifted by the wind
of the music.
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The Tao, the Way:
Ever As-Is.
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Sick—seek.
If sick—seek Belovedness.
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Randomness
is Determined.
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Not the mountain,
but the spirit
in the mountain:
the Spirit
as the mountain.
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My Muse
is always singing.
Usually I'm deaf,
or mishear.
But She's always singing
—Perfectly.
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Music is speech
lifted in love.
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Music is not the sound
but the spirit
dancing before me,
within me.
As is color,
and shape and form.
All is God as the spirit dancing.
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That particular raindrop
was to jiggle that leaf,
just then, just so,
as destined, Determined.
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Sing to remind yourself
of your mother’s love.
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Singing
My Heart Stood Still,
ascending a long, steep hill
—aerobically.
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The healer's role
is to be the agent for change
—or not-
as Determined.
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