Thursday, June 16, 2011

The Humble Musings Of The Manhattan Monk 6/16/11

We are swimming with all our might, gasping for air
Even when the rescue boat arrives, we still must get in and join in the row
Even when our paddle strikes the water, we must remember to pick up the anchor
Lose the dead weight
Shed the old skin

Picking up speed, naturally the sun rises on the horizon of our heart
The relief of homeward bound
Bees and scents of kadamba games and peacocks
Relief from this dream that we have held onto for too long
The weight of this body, our expectations

Perhaps we are afraid to pick up speed, to life that anchor
But we have no choice, all hope lies dormant ready to shine.

We must beg for our grace. We must ring it and squeeze it out, like sugarcane juice, from the Holy Name. Bringing our pure intention to our chanting, we make this offering to the specific grace that we need, our actual spiritual desire. Let that offering hold our attention tight to the Holy Name, let it make us cling with all of our might to the Holy Name, to Your sweet sound resounding.

Let our chanting be infused with the complete faith that it will free and purify us fully of all that we are not. Let us have no doubt about its supreme, invincible power. Let us have no doubt about its sweet touch. Let us never give up, never turn our gaze from this golden grace.

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