Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts

Saturday, June 14, 2014

Rumi-nation

I always thought you would come to me
       in the shape of a beautiful lover
I never dreamed you would steal my heart
       with no shape at all

I always pretended I needed arms to hold me
       and lips to kiss away my pain
yet I find fulfillment
      in the embrace of empty space

I always wished you would speak to me
     with words of tender sweetness
now I know you whisper silently
      of your undying love

I always knew I would find you
      although I foolishly looked with my eyes
you were here all along
      hiding just out of sight in my heart
-Rumi

Saturday, November 16, 2013

Dinner at Midnight

He asked me if I’d love before
so stirring stew beneath my nose,
I pondered wandered through
evicted rooms and ghosts of smoke.

Thinking...fanatic certainty at one time.
Perhaps several. Twice? Once?
Or maybe just infatuated
with lust, or a crush, flings and flirts
fumbling baubles, dangling buttons
kisses that lose luster
over measured stanzas they muster.

The curry brew wretched,
an odious blur to my sense
as the spoon kept turning
looking for answers at the ocean's floor.

And in the silver ashes,
a few vague candidates appear,
faded from an inferno
Who I could have, would have...
had the timing, reason and season
been in alignment with my horoscope
with my work schedule
with my location or vocation and
other...others, I looked at his inquiry.
with sad and tired eyes. 

Here we sit at this vector in time
sharing food. Laughing, smiling, entangled hands
underneath the tablecloth
along with melancholia and
history’s fumbling fingers
dancing on my knee. 

Have I ever loved really meant
do I love you now?
...
No. Not in the least. 

And you do not love me,
which is what makes dinner
so nice and frivolous,
which is what makes my stew
so cold and noxious.
which is what makes my heart
so still.
which is what makes this affair
like a bookmark: holding a place
in between the pages.

Have I ever loved meant
did I love you then?
I’d be lying if I said yes.
With sorrowful eyes I glanced
across the table and squeezed
his hand. 

Have I ever loved meant
would I love again?
I am...
turning the stew again and again.
raising up a rolling red mist
as the spoon turns again and again,
fanning the vermillion clouds
veiling my smirking lips,
turning a dark night into a scarlet noon
I nod slowly as I stare at a horizon
turning again and again, again and again,
again and again.

Thursday, August 15, 2013

Vendors of Love

I had an unusual dream and I wanted to write this down before forgetting:

Abigail, one of my friends, asked me for help in rewriting a song. We were at a resort in the cafe/store. She put a bottle of blue Mountain Dew on the counter and I read the lyrics from a yellow note pad. Something was off about the song's first line. It was too literal and stiff-sounding.

I said 'you remember the first line to TLC's "Waterfalls." A bunch of tourists chimed in 'yeah.' We started singing the song (mumbling through sections we didn't understand). Then I said 'yes, that's what it should be like.' That was gist of my advice.

I put something on the counter to purchase and they kept trying to charge me for the Mountain Dew, which I was adamant about not taking. The soda sat on the counter for over a day and they kept trying to charge it to people. No one wanted to buy it. Finally the clerk laughed and just put it back on the shelf. End of dream.

When I awoke I hadn't even heard my alarm. I missed it by over 2 hours but felt restful. I walked to the bathroom and thought about the meaning.

The dream seems fairly straight-forward. I'm aware of the ghosts of several other dreams overlapping and flowing through this 'Mountain Dew' dream but that was the strongest part that stayed with me upon waking.

Perhaps this has to do with conversation I had about 'enabling.' My friend was worried about being an enabler and I asked bluntly 'what does that word even mean for you?' In the context of the conversation, I was starting to get irritated by the awareness that 'enabling' was becoming this vague psycho-babble salve we were just throwing around.

My definition of enabling was five short words: buying something you don't want. I had an image in my head of a marketplace with all these rows of vendors. At each stall, people are yelling offers and waving around their wares. Merchants are selling with all their heart. I don't have to listen to them, much less buy what they're selling. If I do buy what they're selling and I know that I don't want the product...let's say blue-flavored Mountain Dew... then I'm buying it for another reason.

If I continue to buy what I don't want then I'm filling up my life with what I don't need and also keeping this seller in business for the wrong reason. I'm giving them false hope and convincing them to restock up Mountain Dew.

People are always trying to sell something: guilt, shame, childhood fear, delusion, hope, dreams, optimism, grandeur, small-thinking, love, groupthink, anger. Each one has its own stall in the marketplace and the vendor is shouting with a fervid gusto to consumers.  Merchants don't selling their products to ruin my life, they're not evil nor are they necessarily good. They're selling it because someone sold it to them and they believe it has value.

If all the world is a marketplace of ideas, then I have a choice over what I buy. If I stock up on shame, then that's not the vendors fault. That's enabling. And by enabling I'm making the world a worse place because I'm sending signals to the vendor to restock and bring back more shame. But if I shop at the stalls that sell love and forgiveness, then those merchants receive the message as well: bring back more.

I think so many of us are fed the rotten fruits of hatred as children. Our parents or teachers or friends fed us these disgusting meals and we didn't know any better. We ate it because we thought the entire world was the Mountain Dew stall in the town square. As an adult we get to walk the entire market.

No one serves an inedible meal and blames their mom from 20 years ago as the reason why they're continuing to buy, prepare, and consume garbage. No one buys an ill-fitting suit and blames the purchase on their teacher from 3rd grade. Yet, we do that all the time with negative emotions from the past. But we don't have to buy them. And our mothers and fathers didn't have to buy them either, but they did because the world convinced them. But we can break the cycle of bad purchases. There's no need to hate the vendor or get into an argument with them either, or convince them to sell something differently.

 We just shop elsewhere and patronize the merchants of love. The stores of hatred have only a few choices. They either 1) restock their shelves with something appealing 2) or they go out of business. There's no animosity in this end. The business world is direct and clear-eyed.

Religions get discontinued like old cell phones when they stop serving a purpose or become obsolete to the needs of the consumer. The Shakers or Mennonites served the world and then no one wanted to buy their ideas, so they went away. The stores stopped restocking their shelves and the factory stopped making the product. Eventually one day someone realizes they possess the last vestiges of a religion or idea and it becomes an antique. They either throw it away or put glass around it and sell it as an antique.

There are so many obsolete ideas in our world today that we enable. They're purchased out of familiarity or a sense of obligation to our identity or tribe. But these ideas no longer serve a purpose or the side effects have become poisonous. Once we stop purchasing these ideas, then we won't have them in our world. The businesses will have to clear their shelves when the due date expires. The vendors will go out of business. The factories and farm will cease to make that product.

This marketplace is replicated on a macro-level to every arena of life: politics, religion, art, entertainment. But the market also exists on the micro-level of our own body and mind. What I'm buying sends signals to the vendors to restock the shelves, who send orders to the factories and farms of my mind.

I have to remember to make the right purchases every day and patronize the ideas I wish to see proliferate themselves. Today I choose love.

Monday, June 10, 2013

Summer Sonnet 17: Three Words

Apollo himself could not have composed
A sweeter symphony than the sound that
Is her voice. All of Olympus marveled
When that domestic silence swelled and burst.

Like a cloying harmony. With words like
Notes that produces sentences like concerts.
Soliloquies like seamless sonnets. Spikes
And high ranges of affection than flirt.

And seduce to steal away the senses.
When her soft delicate lips first parted
There was a magnitude in that suspense
Knowing all would change once she imparted.

And what was said that night was only known
By one. To be kept secret for all time.

-By Donavue

Monday, September 10, 2012

Malcolm X and Martin Luther King



I've been doing research for a few projects and keep coming across the Malcolm X/Martin Luther King debate. Last week I was walking through Crown Heights, when I stopped in on a arts gallery with paintings about protests throughout the world. The artist, Mildred Beltre, had several packets of Martin Luther King's speeches next to Malcolm X's, as if they were engaging in a dialogue by the close proximity they shared.

I took one speech from each and read through them on the subway. Two Black men were sitting next to me talking about the evils and corruption of the unions that controlled the Coca-Cola factory. One of the men was older and looked back on his troubles, while the younger one seemed to be living through the conflict. I wanted to hand them Malcolm X's speech to the workers about unity.

The main crux of the debate between Malcolm X and Martin Luther King revolves around love. How we as a people see and express love. How is love used and given? If love is seen as a burden, a passive allowed, taken by the strong, then Malcolm X's call to arms sounds appealing. As Blacks are continually called to 'love' those who seek to kill and beat them it seems demeaning and weak from this perspective. Love is like a mother or a vessel which allows itself to be filled.

If love is seen as strength, then Martin Luther King's position is more favorable. If love is stronger than hate, wiser than ignorance, bigger than fear, then love is the way. As King said, 'love is NOT bondage.'  Love is like a father or protector who guides and gives.


Of course love is neither one of these things. Love is God. It doesn't pick sides or gender pronouns. Love is total, all there is and the greatest force. The application of love to political movements is something done by man. Once love is taken from its God-like placed and used in the world of binary concepts then it must be one thing or the other: masculine or feminine, aggressive or passive, gay or straight, Black or White.

After all these years, the beauty of MLK and Malcolm X's argument is that they are both right deceptively and both wrong ultimately. And I have a feeling they both were aware of this. In the deceptive world of social movements, love can be big or small. It can be hunger strikes and sticking flowers in rifle barrels. Love can be Gandhi, bringing an empire to its knees from the lotus posture of meditation. And when the time is right, even Gandhi himself stood up and marched. But he didn't march to the capital or march to the army bases. He went to the sea. Deceptively he was fighting for the rights of Indians to make their own products such as salt and clothes and that was the reason for the march to water. But ultimately he was reminding people of that even an empire can't stop us from going to the water. He was tapping into people's instinctive power that is as vast as an ocean. He was walking to a body of water to bathe, eat, pray, and Be.

MLK's walks through the south had a similar tone of surface goal combined with a greater theme. Marching to the schools to prove that learning trumps even the greatest intolerance. Marching over the bridge to show that there is a path to bring people together. Sitting at the lunch counter to eat. Love can become a marching force as much as a sitting posture.

The two were reflecting different aspects of the same jewel. And as their lives progressed they moved toward each other. Reluctantly, Martin Luther King stood up for peace protests against the Vietnam War. He was slammed by many Black and liberal leaders for taking a strong stance against violence abroad. Conversely, Malcolm X had his epiphany on love at Mecca. And he realized that things weren't black and white any more than having to choose between night or day.

Love transformed both great leaders because it came from someplace higher.


Monday, July 2, 2012

My Mom is HOT.

The last time I visited my family I wasn't pissed off, which is generally a good sign. I felt something in between cautious (that I wasn't pissed the fuck off) and  feeling alright; I felt like I went to do something there and it got accomplished without a hitch, without a fight. I think that meant I had a good time. Or something like that.
As my 14-year old brother rolled my suitcase from the airport's garage to the ticketing booth, I felt... neutral. My mom walked behind my brother, dressed in a tight, long, black skirt and a blouse that hugged her torso. I looked back just to make sure I wasn't walking too fast for her. Not because she's not an agile woman but because I still remember the times she slapped me across the face, as a teenager, when I lied or did something wrong. I guess I'm always watching over my shoulder when I'm around my mom. I'm always trying to make sure I'm not fucking up. That's probably not healthy and probably a sign that I still need therapy.
She had no make up on and her hair was freshly washed.
Before coming to airport I helped her color her hair. My mom has long, curly, jet black hair that is constantly threatened by grays daring to spread from the roots to the ends. But she's not letting age win: "Fuck no," or whatever her war cry against aging is. She exercises almost every day and eats healthy, so at 50-something years old, she actually weighs the same as me (120) and has less cellulite. But that's not what I saw when I looked back.
Well, first of all, when I looked back, the first take I did was to make sure she wasn't too far behing.
The second take I did was because her siren-like figure caught my eye.
In an 8-second span, I saw her marvelously (is that a word?), sinewy black hair drape over her shoulder and her hips move in perfect cadence with her torso. I checked her face out and she didn't look 50-something, she looked 40. And hot. Like really, really hot, beautiful.  God-beautiful.
I looked away because I felt shame, not because I thought my mom was marvelously beautiful but because I used to think she was ugly.
Yah, back when I was kid, someone called my mom "ugly," and I let them because I thought so, too.
My eyes watered and I had to exhale really slowly to fight those guilty tears.
I didn't have time to process right then at there because before I knew it I was standing at the American Airlines line waiting to check in my bag and she and my brother were right there.
And then I had to go through security and take off my shoes and be padded for bombs or whatever the fuck they think someone leaving Nashville, Tennessee would carry.
It wasn't until I was almost in New York when I thought again about my dumbass ideas of beauty. How, when, what gave me the right to ever think of my mom as ugly? JESUS, did I ever really look at her?
I'm a stupid person.
And this is not about some silly feelings of guilt... I mean, my mom has had a pretty challenging life. Somewhere in her early-30s she had a motorcycle accident (because she used to ride a motorcycle/A.K.A. being "fierce") and the doctor told her she'd probably never walk again. But she did, just fine. In her late 30s she moved from South America to the US, had no one here, and then got her masters in education and is a teacher here, the same profession she had in our other country.
No one can say she's not one hell of a fighter.
No one can say she's not self-made.
No one can say that she's not heart-breakingly beautiful.
God, it's taken me so long to realize that. Why does it take, some of us dumb creatures, so long to see beauty in the people who are closest to us?
We admire the beauty "out there," but what about the beautiful people who raised us?
Who slapped us in the face when we lied?
Who taught us that honesty is more important than not looking like an asshole? (I mean, if you're worried about not looking like an asshole, maybe you are behaving like one.)

Those people who teach us the most important lessons in life don't always look beautiful to us.
Is this because they make us see the truth in our actions?
Because they put a mirror to us and say "Look! Really look."

I finally looked mom, really looked.

 -Tatiana
(Guest blogging while Aurin is away at Silent Camp).





Sunday, May 6, 2012

UPcoming Teachings: The Wish to Love

WHAT: Audio messages from 3-year retreatant and Buddhist nun, Venerable Lobsang Chunzom
WHEN: June 7th
              7:30pm
WHERE: 3 Jewels

61 4th Ave # 3  New York, NY 10003



Saturday, April 21, 2012

"A Course In Miracles" and Buddhism


In Buddhism we get very technical and specific about how to move the winds and channels in the body to achieve certain results. The past year I've been reading these quantum physics books, and A Course In Miracle, as well as Gary Rennard's The Disappearance of the Universe.  In reading these texts I find that they were perfectly describing the results that Buddhism says comes at a certain state. Exactly the same reporting from masters who have 'gone to that place' of enlightenment. 

A Course in Miracles approaches it slightly differently with the words of Christ. It's all about forgiveness on a pure non dualistic level (which is very Buddhist in some ways). It is forgiving the illusion. Forgiving the difficult boss who I created and is teaching me a lesson, forgiving this trouble, and that issue. Not condescending forgiveness which is poisonous. But true forgiveness and realizing we are all brothers of Christ and children of God. What is here isn't real and therefore is just an illusion. All there is, is God. 

And this isn't a God that created the world. Course states that karma created the world and that's that. God is formless, shapeless and sounds a lot like a codeword for dharmakaya or some sort of essence. And this God/emptiness is the only constant and therefore nothing else is real, so it must be forgiven. Or as one quantum physicists would say: it's the void that's full. The universe is empty. 

Forgive the mistaken belief that I am separated from God, b/c in fact I am not and never have been. This karma and constant reincarnation is a trick of the mind (Buddhist totally believe in this). And reincarnation was in the Bible for most of its history until Catholic Church took it out hundreds of years later. And so this cyclic thing is happening b/c of my own guilt, the constant shifts in my life are little guilt trips that trigger separation and division to appear on all levels. 

I separated from God (Big Bang) and set off a chain of events that occurred and arose the universe. In separating all time and space was created at once. My mind organizes it into a linear fashion to make sense of the universe. It is my guilt of separation and fear (God's gonna get me) that keeps me cycling around. It's what runs this world of the 20,000 illusions, shifting relationships, and separation. Fear from this guilt is what creates up and down feelings, something pleasant that must always change. So the big forgiveness lesson is with myself. I am not guilty. I am innocent. When the voices comes, when the illness comes, when mishaps come that trigger that voice of doubt/guilt which is my ego, I remember that I am innocent. 

God is...

And everything else IS NOT. So I forgive that which IS NOT, b/c it's not real. 

They say my guilt plays itself out with sickness and every dilemma. Anything that troubles or disturbs my peace is coming from that guilt/fear from the initial separation. And all of eternity is waiting. Eternity is right here waiting, for me to strip away my 'illusory guilt' which causes cancers and death, and all forms of separation. This, of course, isn't happening on a conscious level. The mind is massive and sets into motion events that will happen in this life based on that guilt. And my purpose here is to forgive. Forgive and remember: I am innocent. 

I find this works REALLY well with Buddhist studies. This is a Jesus I like and completely know. Not the condemning one, but one who is saying "I am Christ. And so are you." Then what could worry me in a long-term way if I am Christ? Would Christ care about sexual orientation, what nation I come from, what I eat if I'm talking about pure non-dualistic love? All that stuff is dualistic, set to confuse and separate, intended on perpetually re-enacting the initial separation that set everything into motion. The world is filled with outrage, scandal, war, and separation. And it must be forgiven on the purest level.

Supplementary book "The Disappearance of the Universe" is very powerful and goes through Course in Miracles at a more digestible level. The Course is very thick and big and takes a year or so to work through it. I have been feeling lighter. 

When I see scandal I forgive it. Trayvon Martin and George Zimmerman: forgive it. Republicans wanting to cut taxes for rich and end programs for the poor? Forgive, forgive forgive. Truly forgive and realize that I will still vote, voice my opinion, but there isn't condemnation or rage. I am aware of the illusion and can't get enraged at it mirroring back my guilt. But when I forgive it, this illusion is released. Instead of getting sick 100 times, maybe I can get sick only 98 times and forgive it, remind myself of innocence and be released from the last 2?

At the very least, it makes reading the news and talking to people a lot easier. Anger is a call for love, so I give love. Love is a call for love so I give love. Everything negative is coming from a place of fear and guilt. So there is nothing to do but release it with forgiveness and then embrace it as Christ/Buddhamind/zero-pt field physics. God is formless, tasteless, colorless. All form comes out of duality so when I get to the level of ultimate forgiveness that is the 'disappearance of the universe' or 'clear light direct perception of emptiness' in Buddhism. The universe dissolves away b/c all duality has been released and with that there is only one thing: God. 

God is.

Friday, April 13, 2012

The Man Who Saved the World


On September 25th 1983, the world was a few second away from a nuclear holocaust. President Reagan's tough talk had convinced the "soft-brained" hardliners at the KGB that an attack was imminent. As US military began extensive war exercises, the Soviet Union went into a high alert. And then a terrible accident happened. A simple glitch in the computer, made the light bouncing off clouds over the USSR look like incoming missiles on Soviet radar. Computer error happens every once and a while but the alarm went off and sounded the call for a counterattack.

Lt. Colonel Stanislav Petrov was at the computers that night. He was the officer at the forefront of potential airplane and missile threats before they entered into Soviet airspace. Working from the Soviet radar center, Serpukhov-15, Petrov was the commanding officer in charge. When the alarm sounded it was his call.

Petrov dismissed the initial warning as too bizarre since it only showed one missile coming in. Then the warning light flashed again and again and began showing multiple incoming American ICBM missiles. The USSR computer system counterattack called for an immediate launch of ICBMs on all major US cities. The computer began gearing up for a counterstrike. This Soviet counterstrike would have launched a REAL American attack, which would have triggered a response form NATO, the Soviet bloc, Turkey, and most of the world. Within a period of a few hours the world's major cities would have been experiencing nuclear horror. The estimated death toll would be in the hundreds of millions. The additional survivors would have suffered dozens of generations of the most horrific lives on a scorched, ruined planet.

Imagine Lt. Col Petrov sitting at his desk at that time, which was around the middle of the night for most of the USSR. The alarms deafening roar and lights flashing, people running around, waiting for his orders. All those years of preparation to launch and execute orders. After forty years of talk, the Doomsday had finally arrived.

Petrov's had an impulse. He didn't believe what he saw, what his eyes and ears in the sky were reporting.  So he sat and waited. Although the USSR was atheist, I imagine he would have had some prayer running through his head at that time. It might have been a prayer to Lenin, the founders of the country, his computer or the radar system. He might have even been muttering a few words toward God. But when staring at the end of Western civilization from his desk, I imagine he would have been in dialogue with something or someone, seeking advice greater than his awareness or the computer's call for an attack.

Petrov waited a few seconds, which soon became a few minutes and then several minutes. The Soviet missile sat in their silos. There was nothing to do but wait and give up. Petrov was not going to launch the missiles. After a while, the alarms went dead and lights stopped flashing. The incoming US missiles on the radar screen merely disappeared back into blackness.

It was the biggest computer glitch in modern history. Petrov had quite literally saved the world. But he had also disobeyed orders. Being in a bureaucracy can be tough. I can picture his superiors saying something to the effect of:

Yes, you did save mankind...


 But you didn't follow the manual!

Petrov's was investigated, critiqued, and held under suspicion for being disloyal. Eventually the whole 'saving the world' thing began to weigh on the conscious of even the hardest KGB lifer. Petrov would not be punished but he wouldn't be rewarded either.

As far as bureaucracy goes, his career was finished. He had not filed out the proper paperwork for this particular incident.

Later on, when people realized the severity of what almost happened, Soviet officials downplayed the error and Petrov's contribution. It was all under control, just a tiny glitch. To this day, Soviet officials -out of embarrassment- dismiss Petrov. If they heralded him for what he did, then it would only highlight the gaping errors of a system that resulted in multiple nuclear catastrophes on land (Chernobyl) and in sea (with several nuclear submarines nearing meltdown at sea).

Petrov retired with his little pension and home. His wife passed away and he continued to live on a modest government settlement. Over 20 years later, the Association of World Citizens in San Francisco gave Petrov a little trophy and $1,000 prize for what he did on that day in 1983.
There is no statue marking his life or monument for Petrov's deed. The retired officer underplays his actions in interviews of the years. Petrov continues to claim that he was just 'doing his job.' But he wasn't. If he was just doing his job, then he would have triggered the counterstrike. If Petrov was just doing his job, the world would be a vastly different place.

To imagine that there are people like this in the world every day is astonishing. Retired generals who had an impulse of trust, nuclear plant engineers who took the extra effort one day to notice a crack or leak, or just a bus driver who had an instinctive reaction to hit the brakes when a blur passes across his view turns out to be a kid running across the street. These impulses come from something deeper than the conscious mind. They are triggered by emotions greater than seeking a promotion or getting home as early as possible. There are people out there who are saving the world every day. Petrov's case is just a reminder that I have no idea how much love and trust it takes to keep this world going.

Although not nearly as dramatic as Petrov's case, I have no idea what I am doing in my small actions that is saving the world. Most people will never get the chance to be at the forefront of nuclear war or running into burning buildings to save a trapped resident. But what about the teachers who instructed Petrov? What about his parents who instilled in him the slightest impulse of compassion and patience that would ripen decades later into a most extraordinary occurrence? Were they not saving the world as well by extending love and trust into the mind of a little boy who would refuse his duty to start a nuclear war?

The idea of saving the world sounds so big. But what if salvation was something very small, like kindness to a stranger who will go on to do something quite unexpected. Could it not be that my family and friends -without my knowledge- are saving the world through writing a poem that will inspire action or create a website that will trigger social revolutions? In my actions every day am I not making that very same choice: atonement through love or attack through fear. I have to make that choice. In my little actions I pray that I am impulsively choosing the salvation of the world. May the whispered words of Angels carefully direct my small instincts, urges, and feelings toward that one goal: saving the world.

Petrov and millions of others like him remind me what is at stake every day in what I say, think, or do. I am going to bed now to wake up early and work in the city parks in the morning. Volunteer work in helping to plant new trees and brush. They're building a new park in the East Village that will touch the lives of  thousands of residents long after I have gone. Then from that I will be at a shelter, teaching computer skills to unemployed adults. If I can keep my ultimate goal in mind, then this will be another day that where the salvation will come.


Sunday, April 1, 2012

NO PEACE, NO JUSTICE


The protest call is 'NO JUSTICE, NO PEACE' All around the world people chant this simple battle cry.

Give me justice! I demand justice! And if I do not get justice, I will not be peaceful. 

To barter justice for peace, implies that one must come before the other. That the victimized, abused and accursed will no longer be peaceful until they are given what is owed to them. The chant underlies a belief that justice is in the hands of those 'others' out there. These 'others' are more powerful and must be called to task with the threat of unrest.

Trayvon Martin is the latest in the line of tragedies in which we demand justice or there will not be peace.

Today while skimming through the headlines it suddenly struck me that it should be the other way around.

NO PEACE, NO JUSTICE

There will always be injustice as long as there's a lack of peace. But while the former calls for others to do something, the revised call demands my hand in creating peace. No justice, no peace is a battle cry shouted for cameras. No peace, no justice is a heart mantra to be repeated softly throughout a day when facing any conflict.

If I could remember that all the justice I seek comes out of peace, then it would be very hard to get angry. The goal shifts and I must find the peace. There is only one place to look for this peace.

Mahatma Gandhi and Martin Luther King were peace activists. Their marches stirred the disharmony present in the system and brought it to the surface in all its ugliness. Once in the light, the disharmony could not continue in its hidden state. It had to change because Gandhi and King were coming from a God-centered consciousness. This is a state of being that is the pure non-duality of love. It doesn't demand, differentiate, or hint. It offers love and peace that extends out to all who are willing to accept it.

The difference between peace marches and 'no justice, no peace' movements couldn't be any clearer. Peace marches employ God-centered consciousness, which removes the systematic injustice. 'No justice, no peace' marches seek to fight anger with anger.

Last year's Occupy Wall Street movement was an example of a successful group awakening that could not organically sustain itself. The marchers were mostly peaceful, they had not specific demands, and they merely wished to highlight the issues. But OWS could not succeed in the long-run. There was no God consciousness. Bereft of love, all social movements turn to hatred and accusation. There has never been an exception in human history to this rule.



In Myanmar there was an election this week for the first time in decades. Nobel Peace Laureate Aung San Suu Kyi has carried the message of peace into the heart of a brutal dictatorship. When she was urged to raise up a rebel army, she sat and prayed. When the military junta put her under house arrest, she sat and prayed. When her followers demanded that things go quicker, faster, that justice appear at their beckon call she merely shrugged her shoulders. The timing of peace wasn't up to her. Her job was to just surrender to it and allow. Allow for peace. Create the space of love. They fought her, killed thousands, censored her voice, but they could not stop this God-centered consciousness. It flowed out effortlessly and shifted the axis of global debate. This love shined a light on the injustice that was so bright that countries with no immediate interests or dealings with Myanmar began speaking up on the people's behalf.

Justice and peace go hand-in-hand. One does not precede the other. They move in-sync with each other. It is my impatience that sees the error in other's hearts before I check the one in my own.

PEACE>>>JUSTICE<<<<PEACE

American Theatre Absudia

 Despite the evidence, I'm optimistic about American theatre. I have hope because I have given up looking for clear, normal logic. I am ...