Perhaps They Are Right

When I chat with my “ism” friends,
Buddhism, Hinduism, this ism, that ism,
They are quick to place my experience,
In the context of their beliefs.

They explain what has happened,
What it all means, and why,
Where I am on the Path,
Where I have to go…

And what I must do to get there.

They're certain and assured in all of this,
For the “truth” has been laid out,
And in their minds, unarguably,
By the founder of their ism…

And “enlightened” who followed after.

Buddhism in all it's many forms,
The vast ocean of Hindu philosophy,
The Abrahamic, book-based isms,
And contemporary “nonduality”.

All certain and assertive,
Some speaking with the authority of “lineage”,
Ancient, held in great reverence,
And in their minds…

“Truth”, indisputable.

For Sankara said thus,
Buddha said thus,
Paul said thus,
Someone or other said thus.

And… perhaps they are right.

Seldom speaking from experience,
Most often my ism friends simply pour,
My experience into the mold,
Inherited from their ism.

Their intentions are kind,
For they find me sadly misdirected,
Bound in delusion and falsity,
In desperate need of guidance.

And… perhaps they are right.

I've no “idea” what happened that day,
When “I” and Creation Vanished,
When all duality ceased, Absolutely,
Leaving nothing whatsoever,
Of knower and known,
Experience and experiencer,
Perceiver and perceived,
Subject and object,
But only…

Unalloyed Ecstasy,
Experienced by no one,
Before space,
Before time.

And I've truly no “idea” what this Presence is,
This ever-present Sublimity that remained,
When the world and “I” reappeared,
Shining thereafter, in the Locus of The Heart…

A touch of dualities Dissolution,
A touch of the Ecstasy,
Inherent in that Dissolution,
As heat is to fire.

The world and “I” vanished,
Heaven remained,
The world and “I” reappeared,
And thereafter, a River flowed,
From Heaven into my Heart…

Into the experience of… existing.

The secular became sacred,
Samsara and Nirvana,
Heaven and Earth,
Formlessness and Form…


I've no “idea” at all “about” any of this,
No concepts, theories, or conjecture,
No assumptions made, or conclusions drawn,
Into which I can pour this Ineffable Sublimity.

And so, perhaps my ism friends are right.

For unlike me, they “know”,
And are breathless to tell me,
The what, why, and wherefore,
From the “truth” as they “know” it.

And… perhaps they are right.

They place this Dissolution of duality,
This Blissful Presence,
In a “hierarchy” of “spiritual evolution”,
From the “truth” as they “know” it.

And… perhaps they are right.

They explain, with certain authority,
How I am sadly in bondage,
Enamoured of the “Bliss body”,
Addicted to ephemeral experience.

And… perhaps they are right.

I do not know the “Self”, they declare,
For there is no Ecstasy there,
No qualities or attributes of any kind,
In the “Absolute”.

And… perhaps they are right.

They point to the use of words,
Such as “Lover” and “Beloved”,
As sophomoric emotionality,
An immature desire for love and healing.

And… perhaps they are right.

It's all just kundalini, they say,
Nothing more than energy,
So much yogic hoo-hah,
To be dismissed as “unreal”.

And… perhaps they are right.

They urge me to continue “further”,
Striving to attain the “Ultimate”,
Which they are happy to describe,
From the “truth” as they “know” it.

And… perhaps they are right.

In the words of each I find,
Varied teachings of “truth”,
Varied descriptions of “reality”,
Varied unarguable “absolutes”.

All there is, is Consciousness, one declares,
No, all there is, is Emptiness, cries another,
No, all there is, is God, say the Diests,
None of these are true, say the agnostics.

All so full of certainty,
So fierce when questioned,
So dogmatic, while claiming openness,
So righteous in seeking to help.

And… perhaps they are right.

But when Fullness, Completion, and Bliss,
Filled moment-to-moment Experience,
And the felt sense of "“self” vanished,
All movement stopped, to and from.

All seeking for “more” vanished,
All “grasping after” ceased,
And Bliss, Immovable, Impenetrable,
Filled, at last, this weary Heart.

In this Fullness, where am I to put “more”,
In Completion, what is there to be added,
Intoxicated, the Heart's Desire Fulfilled…
Why would I seek a bottle.

But still… perhaps they are right.

When grasping has ceased and the Heart Rests in Fullness, Completion, and Bliss, the contraction of “lack” felt in the deepest interiority of our Being, of “wanting more”, vanishes. Then, what does it matter what name is given to our experience, or where it might be placed in the “hierarchy” of “enlightenment” within this path or that. If one's Heart is Full, Satisfied, Radiant, the appetite even for enlightenment vanishes!

“But… how will you ever become fully Self Realized, if you have no spiritual desire?!” a friend asked, with sincere concern. “I guess… I won't.” was the only answer I could give. If that happens (whatever “it” is, for there are countless definitions), then fine. If not… fine. You'll find this unenlightened Idiot at the Tavern of the Beloved, having found the end of pilgrimage in Her Sparkling Eyes.