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A Prayer of Love
The Madness of Humanity
Colleen: The collective mind is tangibly afraid and also thick with corruption, so I keep attention resting as the self or else my nervous system gets hooked up in the song of suffering.
Sundari: Yes, indeed the collective mind seems to be in the grip of madness. All we can do is watch the show, knowing it is a show without allowing the mind to modify to the rajas and tamas.
Colleen: I like the description “madness in the collective.” I feel life is mad, with a solemn sadness predominating the scene. I thought to google “solemn sadness” and came up with this – by Jerome K. Jerome:
“A solemn sadness reigns. A great peace is around us. In its light our cares of the working day grow small and trivial, and bread and cheese – aye, and even kisses – do not seem the only things worth striving for. Thoughts we cannot speak but only listen to flood in upon us, and standing in the stillness under earth’s darkening dome, we feel that we are greater than our petty lives. Hung round with those dusky curtains, the world is no longer a mere dingy workshop, but a stately temple wherein man may worship, and where at times in the dimness his groping hands touch God’s.”
Sundari: Beautiful, so apt. The deepest sadness offers as its hidden gift the greatest intimacy with the self because in stripping away all distractions, only the self remains. The world recedes and the sharpest clarity takes over the mind, for a while. Would that all who come to this solemn place could experience it knowingly, as the self. When fear and the belief in loss take over, this deep connection is lost and so is all dispassion. We have to remember whenever the tragedy of life in the world offers up yet another instance of human madness and inhumanity, it is only ever the smallest minority of minds on the planet that are responsible for it, all appearances to the contrary notwithstanding. Dharma holds true for most, even though all jivas are flawed. It is true that this world is not real. But, as the jiva, the only sane way to see what is happening in the collective at the moment is through the three gunas. They have to have the possibility for all extremes of “good and evil” to act out or nothing would be possible at all, this world being the apparent duality it is. Perspective and knowledge keep us from succumbing to the allure of fear. We shine above it, watching the show.
A Prayer of Love
by Colleen Joy-Page
All that’s left is love. A love that burns away all whispering habits of “me.” This love is so immense that it hurts the frail human heart. The pain is a call to the human heart to rise, to open to meet its maker, to know this love fully.
All that’s left is love. A love that tears down the walls that mind built. Exposing and revealing. Freeing and destroying. Kali, mother and destroyer of worlds, has been let loose inside my being, and she laughs as she destroys what’s left of my personal world. She laughs because she knows she has already won. I have fallen in love and so I let her light my world with flames of truth.
All that’s left is love. I find myself as that love and also as that which longs to serve it fully. I now understand the religious ecstasy of mystics who weep for this love as they prostrate to the majesty of life. God and I are in- and out-breaths of the same love. I bow to God and the mirror of God bows to me. I can see through God’s eyes, and God sees through me. Impotent to change the shape of even one small leaf’s destiny as it grows by life’s design. Impotent but finding that all worlds turn in me. Me that is love, silent, ever-present, eternal nectar of being. Me that is no “me.” To this I vow eternal service, this soul its servant, this heart its prayer, this body its food. Take it all. Let only this love be left.