Wisdom: MEDITATION or THINK-ATATION
The goal of MEDITATION is momentary liberation from thinking.
THINK-ATATION is to embrace your thinking directly after the meditation is finished.
The prepared mind is highly focused, highly creative and highly flexible.
You call this state “think-atation.”
Liam 2018
Wisdom: IMAGINE
Your circumstances are always the result of a process which started within you.
Just imagine an upgrade on all levels.
Now you know how to begin. ❤️
Liam 2018
Wisdom: IMAGINE
Your circumstances are always the result of a process which started within you.
Just imagine an upgrade on all levels.
Now you know how to begin. ❤️
Liam 2018
Wisdom: The opposite of LOVE, is not hate.
It’s disinterest and indifference.
Transform your difficult relationships with a tiny bit of interest, it might make a world of difference,
Liam 2018
Poem: The Power of Love
„I shall love thee strong“,
Words great masters spoke,
they may be wrong.
Let Mine invoke,
Chase that hasty hand of time, with ALL is smote.
Or the mountain crumbles,
Oceans heave the sandy break.
Sky thats torn asunder could not create.
Yet, still in quiet moments of reflect,
It’s you who are the apple of my eyes respect.
My life’s moments pass away,
The power of my love though here to stay.
Twixt
Eternity & Infinity
Naught but love holds time at bay.
To share with you ,
yet one more happy day.
July 2012 Eckernforde
The Mind
Live the full life of the mind .
Continuously seeking out exquisite peace.
Actually, the tranquility to perceive it.
Be exhilarated by new ideas .
Be intoxicated by the romance of the unknown.
Life, not mine alone but ours loves breathing with the seasons too.
Sparkling with the starlight.
Laughing with the children.
They are my reminders of me.
They are memories of who I used to be before.
Now
Being beautiful
Being enough
Being mindful
Being true to you
Being me to who I was born to be.
I’m not my mind
It’s, it’s fullness which fills me though.
My mind yours too or who?
Liam November 2018
Poem: About Insight
In a moment, waking not from sleep
But in thoughts caught up with yesterday’s complexity.
A breeze lifts my sight
Quietly admitting the light.
A flower unfolds
Revealing the subtle frailty.
The intimacy of understanding.
Insight into tomorrow’s story.
Insight into that
Tweaking my puzzledness
Ah Haaaa!
Did you hear, Ureaka!
Unpremeditated it worked.
Not a trumpet call
It’s the steady focus
Me pushing forward into the depths.
Snooping around in the subconscious
Collecting crumbs, fragments
minuscule titbits .
It’s in the letting go
Flowing forward into the idea
It answers
Like sweetly picking a ripe berry
Then enjoying that rush of taste
or
Insight
#Liam August 2018
Poem: About Patience
You have to do things on
your own,
the quiet undisturbed development, comes from deep inside
and push’s through this all.
Nor can it be accelerated,
everything is continuity and
then birth …
Or like the tree,
which doesn’t push its sap,
And stands confident in the storms of spring.
unafraid
that the summer might not come.
It does!
it comes only to those with patience.
that are there, like the eternity before them,
so carefree, quiet and far off.
You have to have patience
With the unsolved in your heart,
and try to love the unanswered questions yourself,
like locked rooms, or books that are written in a strange languages.
It’s about living everything.
If you live the questions, you live gradually and
without noticing it,
a new day patiently
Brings the answers.
BLOG 10: Varanasi Time & Tea
When living in India time is never of the essence, it is in itself an essence and thereby it never stands in your way as a deadline. Time joins you in the flow between waking and sleeping, You orientate by glancing up over your shoulder to estimate where you are in the day, by observing the position of the sun in the sky.
Events never start but more organically begin to happen, people animals things gather, accrue in the place assigned and as the energy gathers, the movement or action becomes more apparent till the air is buzzing with voice, music and dance.
Concerts were scheduled in places, but times were held specifically vague. Ravi Shanker would be playing the sitar in the afternoon, or the classical dancing would be taking place in the evening. This gave the artists as well as the audience great freedom to flow in as it fitted into the greatest perspective of everyone’s day. Beautiful!
Business as well, I experienced as a form of art. The first brushstroke brought everyone a steaming hot cup of tea, then politely your circumstances were shared, thus creating a background to the greater picture of your visit. Work on the central theme was necessarily a shared experience between yourself, as the customer and the merchant. What it was that you initially came for, often got completely forgotten as new products, unexpected ideas and advantages, quantities and weights, volumes and colours would blow back and forth across a seemingly bottomless pot of aromatic steaming hot tea. Time became everybody’s ally, the moment, a journey, a picture to be hung in that memorable gallery of one’s own experience. I love India and it’s people.
For anybody travelling to India, even today, the head-wag is something very particular to the continent. It is a standard non-verbal means of communication which can mean many things in different situations. The motion usually consists of a side-to-side tilting of the head in arcs along the coronal plane, also referred to as a bobble. Often when asking directions I would be answered with a beaming smile and a vigorous Coronal wag of the head.
The interpretation I discovered was simply, “ I have no idea what you talking about but it’s been a pleasure to meet you anyway.” I soon adopted this pleasant and friendly means of communication along with its greeting, “ Namaste”.
—
BLOG 9 : Varanasi 1984 Part 2.
From the ancient traditions, it was Lord Shiva who is reported to have established this remarkable City on the banks of the Ganges River. He is also credited with having developed Indian classical music and dance forms, which after over 2000 years have marked Varanasi as not only a UNESCO “city of music”, but also India’s classical cultural capital.
It was early November 1984 when my train arrived at the heart of that musical city. The Kartika Purnima, a holy festival celebrated at the full moon in November was about to begin. My accommodation was down by the Ghat enabling me to participate in the activity and rituals along the waterside, as well as quick and easily accessing the halls and centres where the music and dance were being performed.
India by the beginning of the 1980s had not as yet entered its astronomical phase of development with which we can compare it to today.
It was still old India, the roads were small and potholed, the vehicles, be they busses, taxis, bicycles or trucks all could be characterized as dilapidated. The magnificent railway system a living relic of British colonialism The town itself, unchanged since millennia invited me into it’s a maze of alleys and streets. The air carried fragrant clouds of incense, for on almost every corner, a small shrine could be found, the gods in their many manifestations richly endowed with offerings of food and flowers.
From the suburbia of Fish Hoek, Cape Town to this medieval world was similar to doing a backward somersault into another reality. The merchants had organised themselves so that in different areas of the city, the different tradesman wares and services could be discovered. Vegetables and food in one area, metalwork and metal hardware in another area and so on. Each vendor sat in the entrance or window to his shop, communicating intensively with all of the passes by, so that the spectacle was intense, tight, busy and very loud. The silk merchants with floor to ceiling rolls of brightly coloured cloth and hand stitched sarees. The herb and spice traders with their wares piled tastefully in symmetrically exact, geometrical pyramids of turmeric, cardamom, cumin and salt, not only mesmerised my sense of sight but also doped my sense of smell with its cacophony of extraordinary flavours.
The hustle and the bustle of busy street life never lost a moment of its intensity as the hot sun dipped it’s head to the golden horizon.
After 10 at night, only then did the heavy blanket of exhaustion lay upon that thrifty population and people seem to lie down wherever they happen to be to sleep. The pavements became the homes of the many, a blanket nothing finer than a dirty cotton throw, a pillow nothing more than the elbow of a folded arm. The Ghats glowed red in the flickering light of the funeral pyres, wild monkeys still swung screeching from the branches of the Banyan Tree and the Ganges River in its tremendous width of almost a kilometre gurgled and splashed peacefully on those carved granite boulders. My back still absorbing the river banks warmth, the peaceful evening floated high on the distant notes of sitar and tabla while in all its magnificence a full moon rose to dazzle those ancient structures and temples in magic light.
Liam
The Poets Blog 