One
spark of Truth was enough
to burn down a forest of beliefs.
Now the mountains have tumbled
and the sea is on fire.
Silence is calling
so loud, so loud.
What a strange pickpocket, this one.
First he steals all my maps
then he asks me the way.
Takes away all ideas:
‘Should I leave, should I stay?’
Then, surprise, he is gone,
check my pockets and see:
this crazy old friend gave diamonds to me.
So many times It calls... .
Tears come and it is as if dams burst open
to release my own beloved Self
in all its splendor and vastness.
I used to think it’s just a crack in the wall
but it is so much more:
no wall, just space.
Space and Freedom.
It’s me, it’s all
and it’s time to claim it.
Pretending to be poor is one thing
but how long can such wealth stay hidden?!
With empty hands it feels so royal.
Ears full of silence hear the unheard.
Eyes full of light see the unseen.
Mouth full of Truth speaks the unspoken.
Wherever I turn it speaks to me in many languages
and finally it all sings: ‘Om’.
Sings: ‘Shanti, Shanti, Shanti’ and
bows down to you,
to Truth, to Source itself.
Ageless young boy, the full moon in his eyes
is roaming the streets looking wild.
Most people who meet him don’t see the disguise,
to them he’s a lunatic child.
As he stops in front of my house he shouts loud:
‘Wake up everyone. Come on out!
I’ll show you a place without walls, without crowd,
a sky without any cloud.’
Thus the boy he is calling as loud as he can,
and I run to the door just to see.
It seems hard to just leave but it’s harder to stay
since his voice calls me stronger than love.
And his eyes are like windows to an ocean of light
without limits below or above.
‘Just one step’ that he whispers,
’Just one
step and you’re free.
And leave everything else up to me.’
Then I don’t know what’s happening,
down I see myself
bow
in a moment of bliss beyond mind... .
Since that day I don’t know where I’m from, where
I go.
Without searching I just find and find.
While inside of me laughs
with a smile like the sun
the ageless young boy
that I am.
As soon as I stopped stirring
the dust called: ‘Mind’
it settled by itself.
Revealing the light
of this moment.
How mysterious,
the work of the Beloved One:
Never lets you rest –
so you can rest in yourself.
Destroys any concept and belief –
and you feel you die...
It is in this moment that you see
the forever alive
for the first time.
For too long I have been shy
and I was trying to hide.
It is impossible not to hear
when it is calling so loud:
Come, come!
This storm is blowing so strong,
no place to hide.
The floods are washing away
silly dams made of arrogance.
It is so clear –
the caller and the called are one,
my own Self.
I am the storm and the flood.
I am the richest of the rich,
and it is painful not to share
this sweet load.
Drowned in the amritam* of Your presence
I feel myself disappearing, melting.
Waiting and dry season have finished.
The monsoon of the Self
is pouring down on me forever.
Thank You, Beloved One.
*
'Nectar'
The dusty heat of mind came to its peak
when suddenly the hot wind stops.
Huge wall of silence from horizon to horizon.
Lightning of Truth resounds
in a thunderous OM
and the clouds burst open
to shower millions of tears
of joy, of ecstasy and bliss.
Oh Papaji, let me be sugar,
let me be salt,
to be not only drenched
but soaked and dissolved.
Washed away and disappear forever
in the sweet, sweet monsoon of Your Love.
Like a diamond he cuts
sharper than the sharpest sword,
reflects all the colors of existence
in immaculate beauty.
Where is the limit?
What is the difference between
this and that,
Nirvana and Samsara,
good and bad?
Aren’t they but one,
springing from the source of the source of the source?!
Like a circle without beginning or end,
like an endless tree of countless forms;
where does the branch begin
and where the trunk end?
Are not the the fragrant blossoms
just an extension of the invisible root
deep in the ground?
Name and form differ
while there is only one tree.
Like this there is nothing that is not Self.
All in all intermingled,
appearing and vanishing in this cosmic playground.
It plays with me – I’m an intrinsic part
and at the same time identical with it:
mystery of the obvious.
One calls it half moon
but after seeing the full moon in its glory
the secret is known.
Looking closely, even at no-moon
the whole can be seen.
Not even the brightest daylight
can take it away.
I know it is always there
visible, partially or totally hidden,
no difference.
It is such.
