Kabir, Squash and The Truth

Today I dipped my bare naked fingers into soft, perfectly baked squash and licked it off my fingers. I didn’t realize how much I enjoyed doing so until I gave it my full attention and realized how wonderful it can be to dig into squash without a fork or spoon, like a baby who has learned no manners and is fully enjoying oneself.

I whirl-twirled down the side walk under the brilliant sun! Joyous, arms outstretched, I felt FREE!

Included in that walk-whirl, I dropped a painting off for a friend: A water dragon, painted with brush and water color pencil, in hues of aqua, blue and light green, with lots of empty space.

I thought about Kabir alot today.

“Kabir’s poetry draws on both Hinduism and Islam, though he was critical of certain aspects of both faiths. Some of his verses are included in the compilation of Sikh scriptures known as the Adi Granth. His mystical poems are grounded in the details and earthly particulars of everyday life. Poet Mary Karr, featuring one of Kabir’s poems in the “Poet’s Choice” column in the Washington Post, noted that “Kabir lists ‘birds and animals and the ant’ in a way that draws the eye from the soaring sky to the earth’s crawly, exoskeletal creatures. In doing so he connects a vague, blank heaven and the tiny, miraculous particulars.”    

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/kabir#tab-poems

We can be critical and in awe. We can deeply call out what we see as wrong in the world as an equal opportunist intent on bringing people together - and we can recognize the wonders, little and writ large, and we can sing as we do!

I saw a man who has always felt creepy to me who lives near where my friend lives - the one to whom I gave the painting. I began to sing very loudly: Om Tare Tutarre Ture Soha!

When I came home, I read of the death of Henry Kissinger. It is temping to do the “yay yay the witch is dead” dance but that which he embodied only dies when a critical mass of humanity stops giving its power away and remembers how holy, who sacred, how divine we all are. Even the ones we disagree with vehemently.

The birds are singing like it’s Sunday and they are the choir…like it’s Christmas and Easter all at once. Easter is historically when Jesus is now thought to have been born.

There’s a wonderful song my Dar Williams called The Christians and the Pagans. My husband plays it really beautifully on the guitelele - which is like the ukulele, but with six strings.

I’ve always thought the Christians and the Pagans both have some distortions in their mix. I love Christ consciousness. My prayer is:

“May I be pure love. May I be the energy of the Christ in my body, heart, mind and soul.”

I think it’s really interesting to read Masaru Emoto’s beliefs around the intentional destruction of shintoism in Japan and how it was rebuilt to the liking of those who destroyed, then rebuilt it. Originally Japan had a thriving hemp culture and the sense that everything was alive and sacred was threaded into fabric of the culture, as I understand it.

Likewise, If Yeshua walked into a church today, I imagine and feel he would love all the people, and I think, ask many pastors to step down and invite Mary Magdalene (or her equivalent,) to step up.

Once, long ago, I have a feeling that the Truth blended the best of nature based spirituality and Christ consciousness. In my heart, I sense Truth still does.

Yet why have we let the narrators and propagandists shatter the truths into a million pieces and then tell each holder of a piece, “You are right. They are wrong. They must be annihilated”?

If we whirl and we twirl and we come round right, can we find ourselves in that place of delight that does not avoid the hard questions, but joys in the Truth so much that we become a gravitational storm that sucks all the pieces of Truth back together again?