A Privilege

Poem:

To be able to sit like Buddha Is a privilege. If you do it for hours you are like a Professional. In Mysticism repetition is the King While emptiness is the Queen. The method is somewhat experimental as well as experiential. Just being Human gives you the privilege. Worldly people go to bed each night in a state of grief and remorse. A spiritual practitioner goes to bed in a state of satisfaction. So you can get satisfaction after all! It helps to feel like you merged your drop with the ocean. You can have the entire ocean of bliss inside your head. You can imitate Kirpal and sit in the morning for six hours. People have a crazy amount of free time, they spend their days figuring out how to waste it. If you have meditated a long time like three to six hours, in the afternoon and evening you can meditate more and earn free credits. If you sail towards complete annihilation you end up becoming your Guru. That would make me an Urdu Poet. Even though I do not even know Hindi. That’s why it is such a strange mystery. Though technically it is all beyond language. The sun the moon and the stars grow in stature just as they break up and you pass them. You can listen to inner music just put your right ear on the pillow and lie on your right side. A mystic actually never tries to go to sleep, it is a privilege to lie awake all night in ecstasy. Sleep is not needed and is way over rated. I am fine with four to six hours. To be totally enlightened is still not easy and is very fraught with dangers. It is best to pray in advance of any future attacks. The negative power is always planning something and it helps to be cautious. You can negotiate a million deals with him and he’ll always break them. Thus prayer is necessary preventative medicine. If you also read scripture sometimes you get the answer whether you open at random or read in order. DS Poem October 10, 2018 #kirpalsingh #darshansingh #kalnirenjen #sleep #meditation 1043 Lest this be Heaven indeed An Obstacle is given That always gauges a Degree Between Ourself and Heaven. 1046 I've dropped my Brain — My Soul is numb — The Veins that used to run Stop palsied — 'tis Paralysis Done perfecter on stone Vitality is Carved and cool. My nerve in Marble lies — A Breathing Woman Yesterday — Endowed with Paradise. Not dumb — I had a sort that moved — A Sense that smote and stirred — Instincts for Dance — a caper part — An Aptitude for Bird — Who wrought Carrara in me And chiselled all my tune Were it a Witchcraft — were it Death — I've still a chance to strain To Being, somewhere — Motion — Breath — Though Centuries beyond, And every limit a Decade — I'll shiver, satisfied. Emily Dickinson