Alone With The Gods

Lately I’ve been listening to the Podcasts from the Ramakrishna Vedanta Society in Boston. These are recordings of public lectures and they are incredible. Many are given by Swami Tyagananda, a powerful and engaging speaker.

Find them at iTunes or via the Ramakrishna Vedanta Society site. They are worth the time for their insight in Vedic thinking, philosophy and practice as well as the range of topics covered.

For those who aren’t familiar with Vedic thinking, I’d say check these out. Then, pick up the Bhagavad Gita and the Upanishads and give them a read too. What you’ll find is a powerful meditation as narrative on the nature of the true Divine, Holy Self and our inherent inner light.

I haven’t posted for a good while. As much as I love writing, I wanted to spend some time in study, contemplation and practice. Plus, I haven’t had much new to say. With so many things bogging us down from the state of the world to the sad state of the Union to the coming elections, there has been much to think about.

The important thing for me is to continue to look within. As much as a love to read, I sometimes fear becoming an armchair mystic as the books can quickly become as much of a Trickster / Archonic force as watching TV or ____________ (insert distraction).

Or, is Spiritual reading okay? Yes, it beats the previously mentioned distraction, but it’s not work, it’s not ritual and it is surely not meditation (Is it?).

Maybe I’m being too critical? Maybe sometimes self-criticism is what is needed most?

In the mornings I walk in the woods when it’s quiet and still and the sound of birds and other creatures stirring offers a rhythm and texture to my slow, contemplative pace.

With my dog at my side, I take time to notice the leaves, the reflection of the sun as it catches remnants of spider webs draped across bushes and trees. I feel the coolness of morning and smell the freshness of the air.

Is anything more sacred than this?

This is my church. Here, I commune with Goddess and God and the spirits that live in the woods. This is sacred to me. This is where the gods live.

My strolls through the woods are quiet and phone free. There is no wi-fi and no computer. Only my thoughts and prayers and offerings.

This is were true poetry is born. This is where gnosis is born. This is my church. And when I listen, I hear. When I look, I see.

I am reminded of this from Song of Myself by Walt Whitman:

Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems,
You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions of suns left,)
You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look
through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books,
You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,
You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self.

I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the begin-
ning and the end,
But I do not talk of the beginning or the end.

There was never any more inception than there is now,
Nor any more youth or age than there is now,
And will never be any more perfection than there is now,
Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.

Urge and urge and urge,
Always the procreant urge of the world.

The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don’t go back to sleep.
You must ask for what you really want.
Don’t go back to sleep.
People are going back and forth across the doorsill
where the two worlds touch.
The door is round and open.
Don’t go back to sleep.

- Rumi