he way a man speaks and how one interprets what he says can make one cringe with shyness, misunderstanding, and sometimes the same poetic license is understood between the two. Often the uttering of love out loud makes one quick to retreat--one or the other has fear and takes no risk. The painting that has been worked on so diligently is merely convoluted smears of color. Thanks to the intervention of the deities a masterpiece is later painted. We as channellers of the arts only want to please. Gods first, humans second.
As of late I have found some of us to be faint of heart and we paint that which is safe and acceptable. What I find to be true is I lose the thread to the pool of creativity. It takes me a few more canvases to clear the palette in order to get my honor for the arts back.
Interestingly enough, I find the human experience to be similar. We risk little and want for deeper and sincere love as a perfect finished image on cloth. The last time one let out all the stops and trusted the wings of Icarus, one knew the congruent behavior of the other was to be more than adequate to paint, love, and serve the other a masterpiece of elegance--love that one can count on, love made of stone, made of water.
I wager that painting and the intensity one feels when love is so encompassing is similar, and that is why one loves painting as much as one loves another.
Copyright and dedication to a special one, by Michael (Miguel) Forbus
Thank you aeons of times for this magical buffalo soooo beautiful!!!! Hugs&Kisses, Elke
Feeling the LOVE of all in ourself wishing you heaven on earth and earth in heavenly embrace,
we are the puzzle between. I am in love with both and you too. :-)))) Namaste&hugs, Elke
At 3:47pm on September 13, 2009, Clicia Pavan said…
t was that time of summer for Miguel to trek to the rainforest. He would take the skiff down the river towards the great mouth of the ocean, secure her and begin his search to fill the bags of net so that he and Rosita would have plentiful fruit to dry and drench in honey.
Miguel had a most difficult time being away from his twin, and Rosita would be misty eyed for the length of his journey as well.
She knew that he was a man of the jungle and able to ferret out the ripe fruit that they dearly loved and he would not be foolish in his harvesting and put himself in danger. No, this was not why her eyes rained as he walked to the river, laden with net and supplies she had made him, the bags for the fruit and the ever sharp machete.
It was just that her heart was so full of Miguel and his so smitten by hers that the earth seemed to be disjointed and convoluted. She could not imagine a life without Miguel, so the dew of the jungle stayed in her eyes that watched his strong back walk away from her towards the skiff.
Miguel packed the launch so neatly and feathered out to the current to carry him to the Grande Boca del Rio. He left his heart with Rosita and his every thought as well.
By nightfall he found a flat landing and hung the hammock and tethered the barca. As he gently rocked in the hammock, fatigued from the heat of the long day, he began to imagine the things about Rosita that he loved so. The first was her eyes, so deep and somewhat like the sea he loved to swim in, such clarity and the genteel nature of her looking through him always amazed him. He knew that she knew his heart.
Miguel fell into a dream as the silky hands so much like Rosita's rocked him in the hammock and blew a cool breeze on his naked body as she would have done at home. It was a dream within a dream, like a Chinese ivory ball carving. He dreamed that he flew to the casa to visit with his Queen.
As he drifted in the window, he saw Rosita in a light sleep, restless and the bed too big for one. He knew that in this dream he was invisible and could not feel with his body but only see her and imagine the nights of merging with which they had been gifted.
He looked at her lovely mangoes of breasts and wanted his mouth on them, the beautiful nipples like ripe wild berries. He saw her shapely, strong legs that had captured him so many times beneath the coverlet and imagined the silk of her rubbing his rough skin.
As his vision of her began to fade, he thought of everything that mesmerized him: Her brilliance and talent with the quill and the drawings with the charcoal sticks. She had sketched their history daily with the blackness from the fire that was a crucible for them. He thought of her cleverness and ability to do all the things that took strength and agility and then the lovely dancing they did on nights of deep love in the pitch black and silence. She was so clever and such a perfect match for him.
As he traveled through the forest back to his hammock in the dream within a dream, he became a panther and his eyes glowed emerald green.
As he left, Rosita woke with a start and began to fear for him for the first time. She could not return to sleep. She began to speak to the Great Magician and pray for his deliverance, back to her arms and to make her once again complete and unafraid.
The Magician said, and it was as if he spoke to her out loud. You must have faith in Miguel, his heart is pure and he is doing a dangerous thing to bring repast to the cupboards. It is all for you Rosita, all for you. His every movement is in gratitude for you. Rosita, he said, I visit Miguelito whenever he must travel and each time he returns to you in a spirit form as he cannot be separated from you for an instance. I know this to be true. So go to him tonight and take him in his sleep. Take him so gently that he will only know that you have come to him as the tantalizing scent of the plumeria surrounds him with its richness.
When Miguel awoke, his body was at peace and he knew where to look for the exquisite fruit that Rosita so loved. She ate mangos often and she sometimes took on their sweetness as they made love. Something within him was fuller and he felt almost spent but at the same time full of strength.
He was swift to fill the bags of net and loaded the skiff and began the arduous trip up the river. In a few days he would see his beloved.
His muscles felt strong yet relaxed, his eyes and mind clear, and now the song of the land of the Volcano, emanating from the Rainforest, guiding him back to Rosita.
On the morning of his arrival, she was oiled with coconut and her hair all shiny and curly, framing her face of angels. The plumeria nectar rose to his face and he could not help running to meet her. It was as if they were magnetized. This evening in the hammock of their love they joined together and went flying as one to the places he harvested, places she had never been and she began to understand the Divine Protection and the Great Magician.
From that moment on Rosita had no fear and Miguel, even though his body had to go and forage, he was always able to come back to her as he slept and watch over her in his dream that was within a dream.
Copyright by Michael (Miguel) Forbus
The Gathering
I
t was that time of summer for Miguel to trek to the rainforest. He would take the skiff down the river towards the great mouth of the ocean, secure her and begin his search to fill the bags of net so that he and Rosita would have plentiful fruit to dry and drench in honey.
Miguel had a most difficult time being away from his twin, and Rosita would be misty eyed for the length of his journey as well.
She knew that he was a man of the jungle and able to ferret out the ripe fruit that they dearly loved and he would not be foolish in his harvesting and put himself in danger. No, this was not why her eyes rained as he walked to the river, laden with net and supplies she had made him, the bags for the fruit and the ever sharp machete.
It was just that her heart was so full of Miguel and his so smitten by hers that the earth seemed to be disjointed and convoluted. She could not imagine a life without Miguel, so the dew of the jungle stayed in her eyes that watched his strong back walk away from her towards the skiff.
Miguel packed the launch so neatly and feathered out to the current to carry him to the Grande Boca del Rio. He left his heart with Rosita and his every thought as well.
By nightfall he found a flat landing and hung the hammock and tethered the barca. As he gently rocked in the hammock, fatigued from the heat of the long day, he began to imagine the things about Rosita that he loved so. The first was her eyes, so deep and somewhat like the sea he loved to swim in, such clarity and the genteel nature of her looking through him always amazed him. He knew that she knew his heart.
Miguel fell into a dream as the silky hands so much like Rosita's rocked him in the hammock and blew a cool breeze on his naked body as she would have done at home. It was a dream within a dream, like a Chinese ivory ball carving. He dreamed that he flew to the casa to visit with his Queen.
As he drifted in the window, he saw Rosita in a light sleep, restless and the bed too big for one. He knew that in this dream he was invisible and could not feel with his body but only see her and imagine the nights of merging with which they had been gifted.
He looked at her lovely mangoes of breasts and wanted his mouth on them, the beautiful nipples like ripe wild berries. He saw her shapely, strong legs that had captured him so many times beneath the coverlet and imagined the silk of her rubbing his rough skin.
As his vision of her began to fade, he thought of everything that mesmerized him: Her brilliance and talent with the quill and the drawings with the charcoal sticks. She had sketched their history daily with the blackness from the fire that was a crucible for them. He thought of her cleverness and ability to do all the things that took strength and agility and then the lovely dancing they did on nights of deep love in the pitch black and silence. She was so clever and such a perfect match for him.
As he traveled through the forest back to his hammock in the dream within a dream, he became a panther and his eyes glowed emerald green.
As he left, Rosita woke with a start and began to fear for him for the first time. She could not return to sleep. She began to speak to the Great Magician and pray for his deliverance, back to her arms and to make her once again complete and unafraid.
The Magician said, and it was as if he spoke to her out loud. You must have faith in Miguel, his heart is pure and he is doing a dangerous thing to bring repast to the cupboards. It is all for you Rosita, all for you. His every movement is in gratitude for you. Rosita, he said, I visit Miguelito whenever he must travel and each time he returns to you in a spirit form as he cannot be separated from you for an instance. I know this to be true. So go to him tonight and take him in his sleep. Take him so gently that he will only know that you have come to him as the tantalizing scent of the plumeria surrounds him with its richness.
When Miguel awoke, his body was at peace and he knew where to look for the exquisite fruit that Rosita so loved. She ate mangos often and she sometimes took on their sweetness as they made love. Something within him was fuller and he felt almost spent but at the same time full of strength.
He was swift to fill the bags of net and loaded the skiff and began the arduous trip up the river. In a few days he would see his beloved.
His muscles felt strong yet relaxed, his eyes and mind clear, and now the song of the land of the Volcano, emanating from the Rainforest, guiding him back to Rosita.
On the morning of his arrival, she was oiled with coconut and her hair all shiny and curly, framing her face of angels. The plumeria nectar rose to his face and he could not help running to meet her. It was as if they were magnetized. This evening in the hammock of their love they joined together and went flying as one to the places he harvested, places she had never been and she began to understand the Divine Protection and the Great Magician.
From that moment on Rosita had no fear and Miguel, even though his body had to go and forage, he was always able to come back to her as he slept and watch over her in his dream that was within a dream.
Copyright by Michael (Miguel) Forbus
The Gathering
I
t was that time of summer for Miguel to trek to the rainforest. He would take the skiff down the river towards the great mouth of the ocean, secure her and begin his search to fill the bags of net so that he and Rosita would have plentiful fruit to dry and drench in honey.
Miguel had a most difficult time being away from his twin, and Rosita would be misty eyed for the length of his journey as well.
She knew that he was a man of the jungle and able to ferret out the ripe fruit that they dearly loved and he would not be foolish in his harvesting and put himself in danger. No, this was not why her eyes rained as he walked to the river, laden with net and supplies she had made him, the bags for the fruit and the ever sharp machete.
It was just that her heart was so full of Miguel and his so smitten by hers that the earth seemed to be disjointed and convoluted. She could not imagine a life without Miguel, so the dew of the jungle stayed in her eyes that watched his strong back walk away from her towards the skiff.
Miguel packed the launch so neatly and feathered out to the current to carry him to the Grande Boca del Rio. He left his heart with Rosita and his every thought as well.
By nightfall he found a flat landing and hung the hammock and tethered the barca. As he gently rocked in the hammock, fatigued from the heat of the long day, he began to imagine the things about Rosita that he loved so. The first was her eyes, so deep and somewhat like the sea he loved to swim in, such clarity and the genteel nature of her looking through him always amazed him. He knew that she knew his heart.
Miguel fell into a dream as the silky hands so much like Rosita's rocked him in the hammock and blew a cool breeze on his naked body as she would have done at home. It was a dream within a dream, like a Chinese ivory ball carving. He dreamed that he flew to the casa to visit with his Queen.
As he drifted in the window, he saw Rosita in a light sleep, restless and the bed too big for one. He knew that in this dream he was invisible and could not feel with his body but only see her and imagine the nights of merging with which they had been gifted.
He looked at her lovely mangoes of breasts and wanted his mouth on them, the beautiful nipples like ripe wild berries. He saw her shapely, strong legs that had captured him so many times beneath the coverlet and imagined the silk of her rubbing his rough skin.
As his vision of her began to fade, he thought of everything that mesmerized him: Her brilliance and talent with the quill and the drawings with the charcoal sticks. She had sketched their history daily with the blackness from the fire that was a crucible for them. He thought of her cleverness and ability to do all the things that took strength and agility and then the lovely dancing they did on nights of deep love in the pitch black and silence. She was so clever and such a perfect match for him.
As he traveled through the forest back to his hammock in the dream within a dream, he became a panther and his eyes glowed emerald green.
As he left, Rosita woke with a start and began to fear for him for the first time. She could not return to sleep. She began to speak to the Great Magician and pray for his deliverance, back to her arms and to make her once again complete and unafraid.
The Magician said, and it was as if he spoke to her out loud. You must have faith in Miguel, his heart is pure and he is doing a dangerous thing to bring repast to the cupboards. It is all for you Rosita, all for you. His every movement is in gratitude for you. Rosita, he said, I visit Miguelito whenever he must travel and each time he returns to you in a spirit form as he cannot be separated from you for an instance. I know this to be true. So go to him tonight and take him in his sleep. Take him so gently that he will only know that you have come to him as the tantalizing scent of the plumeria surrounds him with its richness.
When Miguel awoke, his body was at peace and he knew where to look for the exquisite fruit that Rosita so loved. She ate mangos often and she sometimes took on their sweetness as they made love. Something within him was fuller and he felt almost spent but at the same time full of strength.
He was swift to fill the bags of net and loaded the skiff and began the arduous trip up the river. In a few days he would see his beloved.
His muscles felt strong yet relaxed, his eyes and mind clear, and now the song of the land of the Volcano, emanating from the Rainforest, guiding him back to Rosita.
On the morning of his arrival, she was oiled with coconut and her hair all shiny and curly, framing her face of angels. The plumeria nectar rose to his face and he could not help running to meet her. It was as if they were magnetized. This evening in the hammock of their love they joined together and went flying as one to the places he harvested, places she had never been and she began to understand the Divine Protection and the Great Magician.
From that moment on Rosita had no fear and Miguel, even though his body had to go and forage, he was always able to come back to her as he slept and watch over her in his dream that was within a dream.
What's the biggest obstacle to meditation practice?
There are always obstacles to daily practice. Some are quite obvious: traveling, staying up really late, changing your schedule a lot. For the most part, I've found the difficult obstacles to be the ones that come from within, those mental tricks we all use—you know, it's early, it's cold, I can't sit. The biggest obstacle is just the mind. You think you've got to get up right away and make some phone calls, or have breakfast, or go do this other thing. Your mind always tries to play these tricks. Things suddenly seem really urgent. For me the solution has been to create a schedule, to find myself some disciplined time, to just get up every day at seven no matter what. I've made a habit to get up, brush my teeth, sit—in that order—before I do anything else. And then, of course, after you sit you finish and you say to yourself, "What was so urgent that I felt I couldn't sit?"
–Dan Rosenberg, from "Making Time to Meditate," Tricycle, Spring 2001
-----------------------------------
"We could say that meditation doesn't have a reason or doesn't have a purpose. In this respect it's unlike almost all other things we do except perhaps making music and dancing. When we make music we don't do it in order to reach a certain point, such as the end of the composition. If that were the purpose of music then obviously the fastest players would be the best. Also, when we are dancing we are not aiming to arrive at a particular place on the floor as in a journey. When we dance, the journey itself is the point, as when we play music the playing itself is the point. And exactly the same thing is true in meditation. Meditation is the discovery that the point of life is always arrived at in the immediate moment."
~Alan Watts
-----------------------------------
"If you have no feelings about worldly things, they are all Buddhism; if you have feelings about Buddhism, it is a worldly thing."
~Zen Proverb
-----------------------------------
The present moment has always been available to spiritual seekers, but as long as you are seeking you are not available to the present moment. "Seeking" implies that you are looking to the future for some answer, or for some achievement, spiritual or otherwise. Everybody is in the seeking mode, seeking to add something to who they are, whether it be money, relationships, possessions, knowledge, status.. or spiritual attainment.
"Love is not something you think, it is a state in which you dwell"
-Unknown
--------------------------------------
“We are tied together in a single garment of destiny,
Caught in an inescapable network of mutuality”
Martin Luther King Jr
--------------------------------------
Are you really ready to let go?
Working intimately with a teacher is the same as learning to stop shielding ourselves from the completely uncertain nature of reality. All the ways that we hold back and shut down, all the ways that we cling and grasp, all our habitual ways of limiting and solidifying our world become very clear to us, and it's unnerving. At that painful point, we usually want to make the teacher wrong or make ourselves wrong or do anything that is habitual and comforting to get ground back under our feet. But when we make an unconditional commitment to hang in there, we do not run away from the pain of seeing ourselves—and this is a revolutionary thing to do and it transforms us. But how many of us are ready for this? One has to gradually develop the trust that it is ultimately liberating to let go of strongly held assumptions about reality.
–Pema Chodron, from "Unconditionally Steadfast: An Interview with Pema Chodron," Tricycle, Fall 1999
Jahsi dear friend, thank you so much for your kind and very special notes to me. I really appreciate all of them and consider you a dear friend. My gratitude and again thanks so much, Blessings and Namaste, Miguel
Hey Mike! I've stopped by to wish you a peaceful and rewarding weekend filled with much love and laughter! Please forgive my absence lately... I know you understand that I've been pretty tied up with several projects! haha! Have a lovely day, my friend! Hugs! *smile* --Christie
I ran around with Dwayne and was at your place. I recognized you as soon as I saw your picture. I might have had a beard or at least a mustache when I knew you.
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T
he way a man speaks and how one interprets what he says can make one cringe with shyness, misunderstanding, and sometimes the same poetic license is understood between the two. Often the uttering of love out loud makes one quick to retreat--one or the other has fear and takes no risk. The painting that has been worked on so diligently is merely convoluted smears of color. Thanks to the intervention of the deities a masterpiece is later painted. We as channellers of the arts only want to please. Gods first, humans second.
As of late I have found some of us to be faint of heart and we paint that which is safe and acceptable. What I find to be true is I lose the thread to the pool of creativity. It takes me a few more canvases to clear the palette in order to get my honor for the arts back.
Interestingly enough, I find the human experience to be similar. We risk little and want for deeper and sincere love as a perfect finished image on cloth. The last time one let out all the stops and trusted the wings of Icarus, one knew the congruent behavior of the other was to be more than adequate to paint, love, and serve the other a masterpiece of elegance--love that one can count on, love made of stone, made of water.
I wager that painting and the intensity one feels when love is so encompassing is similar, and that is why one loves painting as much as one loves another.
Copyright and dedication to a special one, by Michael (Miguel) Forbus
Feeling the LOVE of all in ourself wishing you heaven on earth and earth in heavenly embrace,
we are the puzzle between. I am in love with both and you too. :-)))) Namaste&hugs, Elke
PEACE ONE DAYNamaste
The GatheringI
t was that time of summer for Miguel to trek to the rainforest. He would take the skiff down the river towards the great mouth of the ocean, secure her and begin his search to fill the bags of net so that he and Rosita would have plentiful fruit to dry and drench in honey.
Miguel had a most difficult time being away from his twin, and Rosita would be misty eyed for the length of his journey as well.
She knew that he was a man of the jungle and able to ferret out the ripe fruit that they dearly loved and he would not be foolish in his harvesting and put himself in danger. No, this was not why her eyes rained as he walked to the river, laden with net and supplies she had made him, the bags for the fruit and the ever sharp machete.
It was just that her heart was so full of Miguel and his so smitten by hers that the earth seemed to be disjointed and convoluted. She could not imagine a life without Miguel, so the dew of the jungle stayed in her eyes that watched his strong back walk away from her towards the skiff.
Miguel packed the launch so neatly and feathered out to the current to carry him to the Grande Boca del Rio. He left his heart with Rosita and his every thought as well.
By nightfall he found a flat landing and hung the hammock and tethered the barca. As he gently rocked in the hammock, fatigued from the heat of the long day, he began to imagine the things about Rosita that he loved so. The first was her eyes, so deep and somewhat like the sea he loved to swim in, such clarity and the genteel nature of her looking through him always amazed him. He knew that she knew his heart.
Miguel fell into a dream as the silky hands so much like Rosita's rocked him in the hammock and blew a cool breeze on his naked body as she would have done at home. It was a dream within a dream, like a Chinese ivory ball carving. He dreamed that he flew to the casa to visit with his Queen.
As he drifted in the window, he saw Rosita in a light sleep, restless and the bed too big for one. He knew that in this dream he was invisible and could not feel with his body but only see her and imagine the nights of merging with which they had been gifted.
He looked at her lovely mangoes of breasts and wanted his mouth on them, the beautiful nipples like ripe wild berries. He saw her shapely, strong legs that had captured him so many times beneath the coverlet and imagined the silk of her rubbing his rough skin.
As his vision of her began to fade, he thought of everything that mesmerized him: Her brilliance and talent with the quill and the drawings with the charcoal sticks. She had sketched their history daily with the blackness from the fire that was a crucible for them. He thought of her cleverness and ability to do all the things that took strength and agility and then the lovely dancing they did on nights of deep love in the pitch black and silence. She was so clever and such a perfect match for him.
As he traveled through the forest back to his hammock in the dream within a dream, he became a panther and his eyes glowed emerald green.
As he left, Rosita woke with a start and began to fear for him for the first time. She could not return to sleep. She began to speak to the Great Magician and pray for his deliverance, back to her arms and to make her once again complete and unafraid.
The Magician said, and it was as if he spoke to her out loud. You must have faith in Miguel, his heart is pure and he is doing a dangerous thing to bring repast to the cupboards. It is all for you Rosita, all for you. His every movement is in gratitude for you. Rosita, he said, I visit Miguelito whenever he must travel and each time he returns to you in a spirit form as he cannot be separated from you for an instance. I know this to be true. So go to him tonight and take him in his sleep. Take him so gently that he will only know that you have come to him as the tantalizing scent of the plumeria surrounds him with its richness.
When Miguel awoke, his body was at peace and he knew where to look for the exquisite fruit that Rosita so loved. She ate mangos often and she sometimes took on their sweetness as they made love. Something within him was fuller and he felt almost spent but at the same time full of strength.
He was swift to fill the bags of net and loaded the skiff and began the arduous trip up the river. In a few days he would see his beloved.
His muscles felt strong yet relaxed, his eyes and mind clear, and now the song of the land of the Volcano, emanating from the Rainforest, guiding him back to Rosita.
On the morning of his arrival, she was oiled with coconut and her hair all shiny and curly, framing her face of angels. The plumeria nectar rose to his face and he could not help running to meet her. It was as if they were magnetized. This evening in the hammock of their love they joined together and went flying as one to the places he harvested, places she had never been and she began to understand the Divine Protection and the Great Magician.
From that moment on Rosita had no fear and Miguel, even though his body had to go and forage, he was always able to come back to her as he slept and watch over her in his dream that was within a dream.
Copyright by Michael (Miguel) Forbus
The Gathering
I
t was that time of summer for Miguel to trek to the rainforest. He would take the skiff down the river towards the great mouth of the ocean, secure her and begin his search to fill the bags of net so that he and Rosita would have plentiful fruit to dry and drench in honey.
Miguel had a most difficult time being away from his twin, and Rosita would be misty eyed for the length of his journey as well.
She knew that he was a man of the jungle and able to ferret out the ripe fruit that they dearly loved and he would not be foolish in his harvesting and put himself in danger. No, this was not why her eyes rained as he walked to the river, laden with net and supplies she had made him, the bags for the fruit and the ever sharp machete.
It was just that her heart was so full of Miguel and his so smitten by hers that the earth seemed to be disjointed and convoluted. She could not imagine a life without Miguel, so the dew of the jungle stayed in her eyes that watched his strong back walk away from her towards the skiff.
Miguel packed the launch so neatly and feathered out to the current to carry him to the Grande Boca del Rio. He left his heart with Rosita and his every thought as well.
By nightfall he found a flat landing and hung the hammock and tethered the barca. As he gently rocked in the hammock, fatigued from the heat of the long day, he began to imagine the things about Rosita that he loved so. The first was her eyes, so deep and somewhat like the sea he loved to swim in, such clarity and the genteel nature of her looking through him always amazed him. He knew that she knew his heart.
Miguel fell into a dream as the silky hands so much like Rosita's rocked him in the hammock and blew a cool breeze on his naked body as she would have done at home. It was a dream within a dream, like a Chinese ivory ball carving. He dreamed that he flew to the casa to visit with his Queen.
As he drifted in the window, he saw Rosita in a light sleep, restless and the bed too big for one. He knew that in this dream he was invisible and could not feel with his body but only see her and imagine the nights of merging with which they had been gifted.
He looked at her lovely mangoes of breasts and wanted his mouth on them, the beautiful nipples like ripe wild berries. He saw her shapely, strong legs that had captured him so many times beneath the coverlet and imagined the silk of her rubbing his rough skin.
As his vision of her began to fade, he thought of everything that mesmerized him: Her brilliance and talent with the quill and the drawings with the charcoal sticks. She had sketched their history daily with the blackness from the fire that was a crucible for them. He thought of her cleverness and ability to do all the things that took strength and agility and then the lovely dancing they did on nights of deep love in the pitch black and silence. She was so clever and such a perfect match for him.
As he traveled through the forest back to his hammock in the dream within a dream, he became a panther and his eyes glowed emerald green.
As he left, Rosita woke with a start and began to fear for him for the first time. She could not return to sleep. She began to speak to the Great Magician and pray for his deliverance, back to her arms and to make her once again complete and unafraid.
The Magician said, and it was as if he spoke to her out loud. You must have faith in Miguel, his heart is pure and he is doing a dangerous thing to bring repast to the cupboards. It is all for you Rosita, all for you. His every movement is in gratitude for you. Rosita, he said, I visit Miguelito whenever he must travel and each time he returns to you in a spirit form as he cannot be separated from you for an instance. I know this to be true. So go to him tonight and take him in his sleep. Take him so gently that he will only know that you have come to him as the tantalizing scent of the plumeria surrounds him with its richness.
When Miguel awoke, his body was at peace and he knew where to look for the exquisite fruit that Rosita so loved. She ate mangos often and she sometimes took on their sweetness as they made love. Something within him was fuller and he felt almost spent but at the same time full of strength.
He was swift to fill the bags of net and loaded the skiff and began the arduous trip up the river. In a few days he would see his beloved.
His muscles felt strong yet relaxed, his eyes and mind clear, and now the song of the land of the Volcano, emanating from the Rainforest, guiding him back to Rosita.
On the morning of his arrival, she was oiled with coconut and her hair all shiny and curly, framing her face of angels. The plumeria nectar rose to his face and he could not help running to meet her. It was as if they were magnetized. This evening in the hammock of their love they joined together and went flying as one to the places he harvested, places she had never been and she began to understand the Divine Protection and the Great Magician.
From that moment on Rosita had no fear and Miguel, even though his body had to go and forage, he was always able to come back to her as he slept and watch over her in his dream that was within a dream.
Copyright by Michael (Miguel) Forbus
The Gathering
I
t was that time of summer for Miguel to trek to the rainforest. He would take the skiff down the river towards the great mouth of the ocean, secure her and begin his search to fill the bags of net so that he and Rosita would have plentiful fruit to dry and drench in honey.
Miguel had a most difficult time being away from his twin, and Rosita would be misty eyed for the length of his journey as well.
She knew that he was a man of the jungle and able to ferret out the ripe fruit that they dearly loved and he would not be foolish in his harvesting and put himself in danger. No, this was not why her eyes rained as he walked to the river, laden with net and supplies she had made him, the bags for the fruit and the ever sharp machete.
It was just that her heart was so full of Miguel and his so smitten by hers that the earth seemed to be disjointed and convoluted. She could not imagine a life without Miguel, so the dew of the jungle stayed in her eyes that watched his strong back walk away from her towards the skiff.
Miguel packed the launch so neatly and feathered out to the current to carry him to the Grande Boca del Rio. He left his heart with Rosita and his every thought as well.
By nightfall he found a flat landing and hung the hammock and tethered the barca. As he gently rocked in the hammock, fatigued from the heat of the long day, he began to imagine the things about Rosita that he loved so. The first was her eyes, so deep and somewhat like the sea he loved to swim in, such clarity and the genteel nature of her looking through him always amazed him. He knew that she knew his heart.
Miguel fell into a dream as the silky hands so much like Rosita's rocked him in the hammock and blew a cool breeze on his naked body as she would have done at home. It was a dream within a dream, like a Chinese ivory ball carving. He dreamed that he flew to the casa to visit with his Queen.
As he drifted in the window, he saw Rosita in a light sleep, restless and the bed too big for one. He knew that in this dream he was invisible and could not feel with his body but only see her and imagine the nights of merging with which they had been gifted.
He looked at her lovely mangoes of breasts and wanted his mouth on them, the beautiful nipples like ripe wild berries. He saw her shapely, strong legs that had captured him so many times beneath the coverlet and imagined the silk of her rubbing his rough skin.
As his vision of her began to fade, he thought of everything that mesmerized him: Her brilliance and talent with the quill and the drawings with the charcoal sticks. She had sketched their history daily with the blackness from the fire that was a crucible for them. He thought of her cleverness and ability to do all the things that took strength and agility and then the lovely dancing they did on nights of deep love in the pitch black and silence. She was so clever and such a perfect match for him.
As he traveled through the forest back to his hammock in the dream within a dream, he became a panther and his eyes glowed emerald green.
As he left, Rosita woke with a start and began to fear for him for the first time. She could not return to sleep. She began to speak to the Great Magician and pray for his deliverance, back to her arms and to make her once again complete and unafraid.
The Magician said, and it was as if he spoke to her out loud. You must have faith in Miguel, his heart is pure and he is doing a dangerous thing to bring repast to the cupboards. It is all for you Rosita, all for you. His every movement is in gratitude for you. Rosita, he said, I visit Miguelito whenever he must travel and each time he returns to you in a spirit form as he cannot be separated from you for an instance. I know this to be true. So go to him tonight and take him in his sleep. Take him so gently that he will only know that you have come to him as the tantalizing scent of the plumeria surrounds him with its richness.
When Miguel awoke, his body was at peace and he knew where to look for the exquisite fruit that Rosita so loved. She ate mangos often and she sometimes took on their sweetness as they made love. Something within him was fuller and he felt almost spent but at the same time full of strength.
He was swift to fill the bags of net and loaded the skiff and began the arduous trip up the river. In a few days he would see his beloved.
His muscles felt strong yet relaxed, his eyes and mind clear, and now the song of the land of the Volcano, emanating from the Rainforest, guiding him back to Rosita.
On the morning of his arrival, she was oiled with coconut and her hair all shiny and curly, framing her face of angels. The plumeria nectar rose to his face and he could not help running to meet her. It was as if they were magnetized. This evening in the hammock of their love they joined together and went flying as one to the places he harvested, places she had never been and she began to understand the Divine Protection and the Great Magician.
From that moment on Rosita had no fear and Miguel, even though his body had to go and forage, he was always able to come back to her as he slept and watch over her in his dream that was within a dream.
Copyright by Michael (Miguel) Forbus
There are always obstacles to daily practice. Some are quite obvious: traveling, staying up really late, changing your schedule a lot. For the most part, I've found the difficult obstacles to be the ones that come from within, those mental tricks we all use—you know, it's early, it's cold, I can't sit. The biggest obstacle is just the mind. You think you've got to get up right away and make some phone calls, or have breakfast, or go do this other thing. Your mind always tries to play these tricks. Things suddenly seem really urgent. For me the solution has been to create a schedule, to find myself some disciplined time, to just get up every day at seven no matter what. I've made a habit to get up, brush my teeth, sit—in that order—before I do anything else. And then, of course, after you sit you finish and you say to yourself, "What was so urgent that I felt I couldn't sit?"
–Dan Rosenberg, from "Making Time to Meditate," Tricycle, Spring 2001
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"We could say that meditation doesn't have a reason or doesn't have a purpose. In this respect it's unlike almost all other things we do except perhaps making music and dancing. When we make music we don't do it in order to reach a certain point, such as the end of the composition. If that were the purpose of music then obviously the fastest players would be the best. Also, when we are dancing we are not aiming to arrive at a particular place on the floor as in a journey. When we dance, the journey itself is the point, as when we play music the playing itself is the point. And exactly the same thing is true in meditation. Meditation is the discovery that the point of life is always arrived at in the immediate moment."
~Alan Watts
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"If you have no feelings about worldly things, they are all Buddhism; if you have feelings about Buddhism, it is a worldly thing."
~Zen Proverb
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The present moment has always been available to spiritual seekers, but as long as you are seeking you are not available to the present moment. "Seeking" implies that you are looking to the future for some answer, or for some achievement, spiritual or otherwise. Everybody is in the seeking mode, seeking to add something to who they are, whether it be money, relationships, possessions, knowledge, status.. or spiritual attainment.
-Eckhart Tolle
With Metta
-Unknown
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“We are tied together in a single garment of destiny,
Caught in an inescapable network of mutuality”
Martin Luther King Jr
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Are you really ready to let go?
Working intimately with a teacher is the same as learning to stop shielding ourselves from the completely uncertain nature of reality. All the ways that we hold back and shut down, all the ways that we cling and grasp, all our habitual ways of limiting and solidifying our world become very clear to us, and it's unnerving. At that painful point, we usually want to make the teacher wrong or make ourselves wrong or do anything that is habitual and comforting to get ground back under our feet. But when we make an unconditional commitment to hang in there, we do not run away from the pain of seeing ourselves—and this is a revolutionary thing to do and it transforms us. But how many of us are ready for this? One has to gradually develop the trust that it is ultimately liberating to let go of strongly held assumptions about reality.
–Pema Chodron, from "Unconditionally Steadfast: An Interview with Pema Chodron," Tricycle, Fall 1999
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