honoring the power of the mundane spirit


Are you looking for me? I am in the next seat.

My shoulder is against yours.

You will not find me in stupas, not in Indian shrine

rooms, nor in synagogues, nor in cathedrals:

not in masses, nor kirtans,

not in legs winding around your own neck,

nor in eating nothing but vegetables.

When you really look for me,

you will see me instantly-

you will find me in the tiniest house of time.

Student, tell me, what is the Beloved?

It is the breath inside the breath.


this symbolic knowing of who we are as seen in deep reflection in inter-beingness…..to the wisdom of loving…..seizing that soft, deep loneliness like caged will can pry open the closed shell, the dark reign of powerlessness…..we are more courageous than we know…

The remarkable Sufi poet Rumi whispers to us, as if to Narcissus, of the presence of the Beloved ‘always there before us.’ He calls us to traverse whatever distances remain. To go through the fire of our deepest griefs and heal the wound of separation from our true nature. To explore with devotion the seemingly separate body, the often isolated mind, the spirit obscured with doubt. He implores us to enter the fires of our holding. To free ourselves for the Beloved. There is in Rumi’s tradition a saying, ‘This is not a world of my making or even of my choosing, but this is the world into which I am born to find the Beloved.’ Birth is our painful initiation into the often awkward realm of relationship and duality. Sliding sideways into whatever niche is available in the family matrix, we attempt to fit our whole ghost into an ever-shifting world of people and things, of liking and disliking, of gain and loss. Born into a realm where most have denied happiness, clinging to momentary enjoyment, we often wander haplessly between pleasure and pain, as times unable to distinguish the two. Relationship offers great enlightenment. There, in the midst of the passing show, exploring our pleasure and our pain, examining the light within the fire, we meet ourselves in a brand new way, and as we look up, there she is, the Beloved, munching on toast…….Stephen Levine

receiving light from all that is endless……

A fire on the left, a lovely stream on the right.

One group walks toward the fire, into the fire, another

toward the sunset flowing water.

No one knows which are blessed and which are not.

Whoever walks into the fire

appears suddenly in the stream.

A head goes under on the water’s surface,

that head pokes out of the fire.

Most people guard against going into the fire,

and so end up in it.

Those who love the water of pleasure

and make it their devotion

are cheated with this reversal.


6 thoughts on “honoring the power of the mundane spirit

  1. Ed Leedskalnin called her his sweet sixteen… I’ve pondered his words, along with many others, especially Rumi, and always contemplation leads me me back to to the great mystery, the higher self, the large self, known yet unknowable, a great faith, believing in love, and seeing all the signposts written in our day … Honeys bees, and blooming trees. The good earth in our hands, and lovers kisses sealing promises of forever… Unions of the soul in love builds a monument to faith, just as Ed built the Coral Castle ….

    • wonderful analogies of the mysterious….how dull it would be if we knew how he built that castle….I don’t need to understand the full moon to know its pleasures and insights…..pondering the soul’s winged shadows…..keep that magical pen flowing g.f.s….

  2. Loneliness is a scar, a scar as proof of love. We don’t get the chance to choose who will hurt us (who will love us), but we get to choose who we will likely hurt (who we love). It is our delicate mark on the world, the scar of remembrance. But to live without that, to exist without either, what a worthless selfish life that would be. I realize this likely off topic from your original thought, but it is what I felt while reading it…….and why would I deny such a thing? 🙂 ~ Love to you, Bobbie

    • no denials of the heart here…..I see fragrant moss, clear cool pools and delicate winged poetry books as your ode to loneliness…..you fly with generosity…..free and light and knowing…..sweet dreams Bobbie……

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