January 2018

"What If…" — Ganga White

Yoga for Health, Healing and Life

"What if our religion was each other
If our practice was our life
If prayer, our words
What if the temple was the Earth
If forests were our church
If holy water--the rivers, lakes, and ocean
What if meditation was our relationships
If the teacher was life
If wisdom was self-knowledge
If love was the center of our being."

©1998 Ganga White, Santa Barbara All Rights Reserved
- Written at the Rainforest Benefit, NYC April 1998


"Half-Enlightened Masters" (from Hua Hu Ching - Reading 80) by Brian Browne Walker

The world is full of
half-enlightened masters.
Overly clever,
too "sensitive"  to live in the real world,
they surround themselves with selfish pleasures
and bestow their grandiose teachings
upon the unwary.

publicizing themselves,
intent upon reaching some spiritual climax,
they constantly sacrifice the truth
and deviate from the Tao.

What they really offer the world
is their own confusion.

The true master
understands that enlightenment is not the end,
but the means.

that virtue is her goal,
she accepts the long and
often arduous cultivation
that is necessary to attain it.

She doesn't scheme
to become a leader,
but quietly shoulders whatever
responsibilities fall to her.

Unattached to her accomplishments,
taking credit for nothing at all,
she guides the whole world
by guiding the individuals
who come to her.

She shares her divine energy
with her students,
encouraging them,
creating trials to strengthen them,
scolding them to awaken them,
directing the streams of their
lives toward the infinite
ocean of the Tao.

If you aspire to this sort of mastery,
then root yourself in the Tao.
Relinquish your negative habits and attitudes.
Strengthen your sincerity.
Live in the real world,
and extend your virtue to it without discrimination in the
daily round.

Be the truest
father or mother,
the truest brother or sister,
the truest friend, and the truest disciple.
Humbly respect and serve your
and dedicate your entire being unwaveringly
to self-cultivation.
Then you will surely achieve
and be able to help others
in doing the same.

Hua Hu Ching, by Brian Browne Walker


"I Write Because..." by Scott McCleod

Pasted Graphic 3
--“Lady Writer” by Robin Cheers

--by T. Scott McLeod

I write because of the fragility of our existence.

I write because it's my answer to impermanence.

I write because it helps me stay connected to my heart.

I write because we’re all different, and so much the same.

I write because the world needs more tenderness.

I write because I'm tired of secrets.

I write because it’s my path to redemption.

I write because I've forsaken those that I love.

I write because I want to know myself.

I write because I want to know you.

I write because I'm drawn towards things I shouldn't do.

I write because every flower is meant to bloom.

I write because life is full of paradoxes.

I write because I’ve had to leave friends behind.

I write because it's my form of prayer.

I write because, when I write, I lose track of time.

I write because I've walked dark streets looking for love.

I write because of the way the sublime slips away from words.

I write because of the twice shy part of once burned.

I write because it helps me learn.

I write because there are plenty of people who have written, famous well-published people, literary figures, literary giants, and I didn't like what they wrote.

I write because I'm always telling myself stories anyhow.

I write because I don't know all of the reasons I write.

I write for you.

I write. I write. I write. 



"Vanity" — Unknown

Pasted Graphic 2
There was a zen monk whose vanity was his poverty and humility. He lived in a cave outside his monastery, ate only food he could glean from what others threw away, and washed his robes only by walking in the rain. Once every week he would leave his cave and enter the monastery. There he would choose a young monk to walk with him that day so that he might give the younger man the benefit of is wisdom, which he was sure was both vast and deep. He delighted in tormenting the young students, and then lecturing the abbot about the poor quality of his teachings. One day while walking, the young man which he had chosen stopped to squat down and crap. When he finished, he looked up to the old monk and said, "Sensei, may I have a leaf to wipe my ass?'

The old monk smiled mockingly. "The buddah teaches us to respect life in all of its wondrous forms. Is it respectful to the leaf to do such a thing?"

The young man thought for a moment. "Then what about a stick?" he asked. A stick has no life, and surely the Buddah would not begrudge its use."

The monk shook his head with disdain. "My son, the Buddah cherishes all life. He cherishes life that was, life that is, and life that will be. Look around you and choose again."

The young man thought for a moment, then reached out and took the monk's sleeve and wiped his ass with it. The monk was utterly stunned. He looked at the shit on his sleeve, and then looked at the young man. "Why did you do that?" he shouted. "Why did you just smear your shit on my sleeve?"

The young man stood and smiled kindly. "Sensei, I looked all around me, and the only thing I could find that the Buddah would neither respect nor cherish was you."

Source: http://hardcorezen.blogspot.com/2008/01/telling-your-fundamentalist-christian.html


"Hitcher" — Bei Kuan-tu


As I stand alone on an open highway, 
a cool breeze wisps against a single descending tear,
as an accordion exhaling its final sounds. 
Emptiness weakens and overwhelms me,
like molten lava being drawn gravitationally
to its climactic end.

Gazing out towards a spectral horizon, 
imagination extracts me of all sensibility and perspective, 
What is whispered within is the mystery of a masters brush and chisel. 
Clouds rest their weary bottoms on rocky plateaus 
appearing like chairs crafted from impenetrable stone. 
Particles swirl in multiple directions  
creating dancing dust-devils in movie-like animation. 
I'm awed by the wily wink of these wonders
For this day, mystery besets me 
and silence engulfs my tender heart.
I feel so small;  
as if a minute spec of matter 
unknowingly placed somewhere in the cosmos.
And alone... so very alone.

I am a captive to the lines of this interstate.
And strangely, I sense an illustrative and profound Presence: 
incomprehensible, unnerving and unknowable.
I’m drawn to it's shapeless shadow;
desiring to dance to it's darkened delight.
And I get so very close. 

Though maimed by years of crooked blindness
I unquestionably glimpse and sense it’s formless Presence ; 
though chilled by what feels like eons of self-doubt, 
I’m aware of its alluring eyes observing me.

One tear becomes many, 
and like the ever expanding nature of constellations in the cosmos,
they flow.
I sense my end and beginning fuzing mystically into one.
As I yield to this all-encompassing specter,
like dew vaporizing into sightless sound,
my existence reaches its final stay.
For my undoing is upon me
and "I," without thought, am no more.

What remains of me is the road itself, 
simple, solitary and paradoxical.

© 2012 Bei Kuan-tu All Rights Reserved