Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Friday, September 17, 2010
Start this two-part "Tips for Meditation" with Part One...
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Tales: Meditation Tips. Or, What to Think About When You're Not Supposed To Be Thinking At All. Part 1 of 2
The book: How to Survive Life (and Death), A Guide To Happiness In This World and Beyond is now available everywhere, but ask for it it at your local bookstore!
Thursday, September 9, 2010
"Yeshua said: Blessed is the lion which becomes human when consumed by a human. Cursed is the man who is consumed by the lion, and becomes the lion."
Logion 7, The Gospel of Thomas
In the dream he had become the Koko Lion, that is to say he had emerged from his battered chrysalis - broken through the exoskeleton of damaged Ego-Self and stood now a fresh and fragile unknown, but whole man. He was in a place that time had long ago covered over for him - in the downstairs of his father's house, on the rocky hillside overlooking the canyons. Time was opened up and still. Everything was exactly as it had been in his childhood. He was there in a reality underneath and concurrent to this one.
He looked down the long hallway that led to the rooms he and his brother shared, at the farthest end of the house. Diffuse light glowed through the bathroom louvered windows at the end of the hall, inviting him to enter the past. As he walked, he noticed every little thing, just as it had always been. A linoleum square with a tiny chipped corner. The cabinet door ajar (it never would close right). On his left was the door to his brother's room. On his right, the door outside, to the patio and through the oleanders into the canyon, the rusty dirt and granite rocks covered with lichen, surrounded by foxtails and sage and scrub.
Past his brother's door was the door to his room, a little bit open. He sensed someone inside, someone he was meant to visit. He pushed the door open and looked in, and there, sitting cross-legged on the floor was a little boy, ten or eleven. He was drawing intently, but it seemed as though he were putting together a jigsaw puzzle, searching for the little piece that would fit, that would make the whole thing make sense. But it wasn't there. He was trying to draw a picture of it, of that jigsaw piece, like a little island somewhere in a turquoise sea, that he could go away to. The Island of Lost Boys.
"Hello," said Koko. The little boy looked up, with recognition and a little fear in his eyes. "May I come in?" The boy said nothing, but Koko recognized him almost immediately. Koko walked in behind him, and bent down onto one knee. The boy had stopped drawing and put his pencil down and was just sitting in his private world, it's pieces drawn on the paper before him, and all around him on the olive brown carpet. Koko put his hand on the little boy's shoulder, and turned him slightly to face him more.
"There's something I want to tell you," he said softly, comfortingly. The voice that came out of him was a surprise, a voice like a man should sound; like a father, or big brother. He looked into the boy's sad eyes. The boy looked up at him expectantly, like he wasn't going to believe any solution this strangely familiar man had to offer.
"It's not your fault," said Koko. "You were only born here. There's nothing that you've done wrong." The boy looked sad, like he was going to cry. "These people have to do the things they're doing. You're not to blame for any of it.. Know that in your heart, and persevere." Tears welled up in the little boy's eyes. Koko hugged him, and the boy pressed his face into his middle. "I know it's a tall order for a little boy, but I'm always here for you, and there are others you can ask...."
Koko knew the little boy wouldn't, would never ask for help, not until he absolutely had to. Not for many years, until his jigsaw world finally fell apart completely and he was covered over by a scar tissue chrysalis of his own, that his ancestors and Angels and Love would have to help him break through. He couldn't tell the boy the whole path he had before him, the way to manage it, to survive it. He was still so freshly emerged, that he didn't know yet himself. He could only hope that he helped.
The dream ended there, like that, though Koko wanted it to go on, so that he could protect the boy. So that he could try it again, and grow up with the little boy, and give him the hope and the sense of all things being possible that he was just beginning to learn himself. But he would, they each would, have to find the faith to make that realization on their own. To find the forgiveness that reaches right through time, that lives and brings life in every moment.
"Like the grasses showing tender faces to each other, thus should we do, for this was the wish of the Grandfathers of the World."