Play turns into Practice
And from practice, valuable skill
And from valuable skill, pleasure.
Some would say the pleasure
Comes first. Who are they?
Sufi friends I’m pointing at you.
Glory be to God and to You as God. Spin, Spin…
We don’t know who is doing it all
We just see it happening, and
Wonder: “What the happening?”
Mooji says, “Who is aware of this ‘I’ that is
Watching form and phenomena?”
We drool, we scream. We draw blank stares.
We struggle with words different from our
We choke on tears, throw fits
And laugh over those same stories that
Make the tears, transformed.
Quick. How can that happen so fast?
So big to so little, so little to so big.
Nothing into something and then into
Nothing before a baby’s first swallow,
On any given day.
Who is this
One who notices the noticing?
Where is ‘time’ in sound? “Sita Ram… Sita Ram..”
There are metaphors about skies.
And blank screens. There’s some creativity
But mostly all end up singing in praise
Or waiting in line to do it, to dropping down
At the feet of God. Again and again, forever.
Pointing and shouting to Shiva. I see you! Hah-ha!
Go and hide and we’ll seek again. ::wink::
God is the name I made for me to keep me busy
Playing: Who’s next?
Note for readers: I wrote this poem following my 7-day silent retreat with Mooji
via broadcast from Monte Sahaja, Portugal