March 29, 2005

Sharing Your Song

Sing your song of bliss, to whomever will listen. Don't get lost in the words. You realize what's being pointed at. Take heart, it only takes a little courage. Sing of your experience. If you feel you have had an experience of transformation, of realization, share it. The more you share it the deeper it goes inside your heart. If you feel you have had even a tiny glimpse, don't be shy, sing it, dance it, paint it, sculpt it, write it, let the poetry of it flow from your fingers, capture it in photographs, but share it. Use your creativity. Make a collage or plant a garden and the flowers that come up will speak for you. The tree you plant will spread its branches in the blue sky and in this way will share the bliss of your being, and at the same time its roots will go deep in the earth, into your own heart. The more you share your experience of bliss, of light, the more you find rejoicing in your heart. And the more you let the fragrance of your love spread to others, the stronger it becomes. The more you allow your music to drift to others, the deeper the chords echo in your own being.

If you have had a tiny experience, it's enough to share that in whatever ways you can. Bring the energy of light into this world. If it uplifts the world even a tiny bit, it's worth it, it is worth sharing. Don't think you have to develop or evolve further. Share the experience you have right now. You never know, someone next to you may be dying of thirst inside and your sharing was just a tiny cup of water. But because of the depth of their thirst, that person may be encouraged immeasurably. It may be just what they needed to see that water does exist in this desert. "If there is water in this tiny cup, then somewhere there is a source, a spring. Please take my hand, show me where you got this cup of water." And you can show them what you have found. You can share your experience with them. You don't know, they may find a bubbling spring within their own heart. They may drink deeply and quench the thirst of a lifetime, of many lifetimes -- from just a tiny cup of your own water which you shared with someone nearby.

There are many ways to share your bliss, creativity and individuality. There are so many ways to share with others the beauty you feel within. Drop into your heart and have a look. Share what you find. In the sharing you may open up a passage from a deeply buried spring. This may be the only source of fresh water in a very parched land. It would be unloving to withhold it. Share it and you will see more coming to replace what you've shared. In this way you might discover a deluge showering on the earth.

Consider those who have come before you and to have shared their song of bliss. Has it not brought a cup of fresh water which quenched our thirst? Has it not brought a small sunbeam onto the dark forest floor? Has it not uplifted us our spirits? Nearly 10,000 years ago, someone gathered the courage to allow a song to emerge from their heart. Perhaps they were sitting in a forest cave and heard a bird singing. Looking into a sunlit meadow they catch a glimpse of emerald. "Where did this abundance come from? And what is this joy burning in my own heart? Maybe this ancestor dissolved into the music of the beyond, and from their own heart music emerged. We don't know if it was a man or a woman. But this individual, living in our ancestral environment, walking in the deep blue light of early dawn, heart throbbing in the early morning hours of our civilization, just began singing. The song simply erupted out of nowhere within. Out of the body of an animal they were no longer identified with came a song of luminous happiness.

It wasn't the first time this song had been sung, but it was the first time it was recorded in the hearts of others and passed along like a living flame; passed in an oral tradition where the song-candle of one ignited the candle-song of another. A secret happening transpired between our mystic ancestors; a song-breath passing from one heart to another, a light leaping from one eye to the other, illuminating that eye like a rose or an emerald bird illuminates, like distant light illuminates the blue end of night, bringing warmth to the cool darkness.

This song has no beginning and no end. It was imperfect then, as now. An imperfect symphony ringing through the ages, through all of our bodies. If you go inside you can feel all the bodies that have lit up with this music. You can feel them. In a way they were your bodies. They are your mystic kin, your blood and bone, the Vedic seers, the writers of the Psalms and Bhagavad Gita, Krishna, Lao-tzu, the Buddha,Jesus, Solomon and Abraham, Mohammed, the patriarchs of Zen, Rumi, Meister Eckhardt, Kabir, Mirabai, St. John of the Cross, Blake, Emerson, Rilke, Ramana Maharshi, Trungpa Rimpoche, Osho, Tarrant, Chodron, Thich Nhat Hanh and the thousands of awakened ones who emerged and are emerging quietly, doing their joyful work, and dissolving. Each has added their sweet vibration, their tone and verse to this symphony. And it will go on like this for eternity. And it will remain an imperfect, incomplete song. It is only alive in the singing, only brought to life with your singing. Add your part to the symphony, the rejoicing. If you do not sing your part of this primordial music, it fades into silence -- a secret ambient ecstasy. Warm and loving, it abides in this silence, this stillness. You can always find it at any moment because it is everywhere. There is no where it does not reach.

If you forget your song, here is an experiment you can use which may unconceal the sound of silence, the open secret. Find a favorite tree, or one that seems welcoming to you. You will feel it immediately, but it may be a fuzzy feeling, as if you're feeling it through thick gloves, or seeing it through thick, dark glasses, or hearing it while wearing earplugs. But it will be there, a vibration that welcomes you, or is vaguely familiar, or you feel a tiny recognition, or a bit of glee, just a tiny rejoicing in your heart when you catch a glimpse of this tree. Go up to it and just lean against it, like you're resting a moment. Open your heart as wide as you can, suspend thinking, drop your thinking mind, drop down into your heart and you will feel a silent vibration. Something will be communicating to you, an intelligence, a silent warmth and knowing. That's the still and silent vibration of the song, the primordial communion that the first song was born out of. And if you let it go deep within you, if you're willing to be a deep allowing for the tree to pour its silence in to you, if you are willing to be a deep receptivity and trust for the tree to merge with, it will share its light with you, it's song with you, it's warmth and bliss with you. Absorb it, let it in. Don't resist it. If you take this risk, this leap, you will notice a warmth within you, a little light glowing, a tiny song emerging. That's the song of consciousness, the song of bliss. Dropping down into the heart like this may seem childish, but a child is more open and receptive, much less burdened with rationality and identification than a so-called grownup. The heart of a child is closer to the source. Use your child heart to go within, and sing.

Post by Akilesh

3 comments:

Larry said...

Beautiful sermon, Friend.
We are supposed to love one another, and there's no better way. We are members one of another, and we can only be that by saying who we are.

Thanks for your post.

Rick said...

Beautiful. I love the image of a child. It reminds me of some children will dance and sing and allow their soul to shine.

Thanks for the post!

Let your soul shine,
Rick

david said...

Pick a tree . . .

When I was a child -- and maybe that I was a child not yet growed up enough to feel foolish about these things is important -- but there was this elm tree that somehow I felt connected to. It was larger than any otehr tree in the park and it stood apart form anything else - basebal diamonds, other trees. There was a connection there -- it seems lonely but strong standing there and I think I needed that then.

I haven't thought about that elm in fifteen or twenty years. Thanks.