Crying Stones

Standard

even the stones cry out
wanting to awaken from their hardness….
needing a loving touch,
a tear to soften their being, but
who has the depository of sadness
deep enough
to remember the gentle touch of a kind heart,
and recognize the significance
of being present with suffering
the hardness of stone?

I go to the store, and wonder
should I buy this bread or that?,
Looking for a new one
that I’ve not tried before….
maybe THAT one is the answer;
pick which one I will….
they are all the same loaf.

Buyer, there is only love;
and tho the outside is ugly and hard,
the inside is soft and warm;
this is the only loaf that satisfies;
We can take it
or leave it.

My tendency,
born out of innocence,
is to run from the ugliness
that has questions but no answers…
place my love in the ideal
world of eternal bliss;
and search for the experience
or the person
or drug
or career
with whom I can escape
from the tiresome ideal
of the perfect loaf.

If I am able to sit with suffering,
any and every person or career
or drug or experience
can be a vehicle of awakening;
a path of yogic union.
If I can’t sit,
it is ALL smoke and mirrors.

If you want to make a difference,
remember
your days are numbered, and

there is too much ignorance
for anything but love.

In the end,
I do what I do.
I can learn it this lifetime
or next
(if I’m lucky),
but
the now moment is all I am given.
It happens now or never.
Looking around….
what do I see?…..
really……
can I look at that?
If I do…..
can I receive it into my heart,
and then…
just sit,
share my holy loaf,
however it may taste;
and be friends?


4 thoughts on “Crying Stones

    • thank you….like life, eh? As Nisargadatta said….”The mind creates the chasm that only the heart can cross”. As minds (lower case “m”) we are stuck in the world of paradox and duality……as hearts, we are all one and the same. I suppose if there is a method to my word/image madness, it would be to acknowledge our freedom to choose a more heartfelt perspective (or not). I appreciate your blog. Thank you.

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