Absolute Beauty

Poem:

Sincere and solemn meditation has to be the most Beautiful. You are now talking about the Absolute. Ibn al-Farid describes it well. It is like every beautiful girl you ever knew. It is like you choose the perfect mudra. If the position is very nurturing it makes sense to sit in it. You don’t have to think you are doing something. There is no need for further analysis. It is more like just a process of feeling union. Sometimes I wake up from what is essentially a nonsense dream and meditate instead at 3am. It is not clear why I don’t need more sleep, I recharge at a very high rate. At 4am I went back to bed and dreamed I saw a beautiful sunset with a sky lit up forming a vaulted ceiling shaped like the Pantheon in Rome. At 5pm I went back to meditation. Meditation is deceptively simple you just pay attention to the other world. What you find here is way beneath the Soul it is better suited for worms. My Beloved which is none other than Me, likes my poetry. I would steal from Farid, if it will give me an edge. It would be good if you could put a lock on your brain and remain in the deep north of Maine. But in reality you can - by sitting home alone and meditating like you had a bolt of lightening. Your concentrative power can be augmented by doing more hours. An hour is only a second in the astral world. Effort is a co-star with Grace. Your Effort is half of it. If your Guru is sleeping you can still sit and do nothing. You could be like a Buddhist and sit like you were a dead tree stump. At the very least you could be empty. But it is rare to not have a connection when you are regular. You can provoke the Saints into listening by writing poetry. But you should still remove yourself from the earth on your own. If I keep becoming more and more like Muhammed there is a risk I could be beheaded. Though somehow Farid got away with it. I currently am only writing poetry and don’t feel a need for prose, though we are currently reading Emily. To me mysticism should be romantic, like playing Beethoven or Chopin. Today my God did not show up if my God be the Sun. So after I die actual God should confiscate my other Gods. Or Why not just do it today and give me a refund? DS Poem November 5, 2018

Poem 1260 Emily Dickinson: Because that you are going And never coming back And I, however absolute, May overlook your Track— Because that Death is final, However first it be, This instant be suspended Above Mortality— Significance that each has lived The other to detect Discovery not God himself Could now annihilate Eternity, Presumption The instant I perceive That you, who were Existence Yourself forgot to live— The “Life that is” will then have been A thing I never knew— As Paradise fictitious Until the Realm of you— The “Life that is to be,” to me, A Residence too plain Unless in my Redeemer’s Face I recognize your own— Of Immortality who doubts He may exchange with me Curtailed by your obscuring Face Of everything but He— Of Heaven and Hell I also yield The Right to reprehend To whoso would commute this Face For his less priceless Friend. If “God is Love” as he admits We think that me must be Because he is a “jealous God” He tells us certainly If “All is possible with” him As he besides concedes He will refund us finally Our confiscated Gods— #meditation #absolutebeauty #farid #mudra #pantheon #beloved #deadtreestump #poetry #muhammed #emilydickinson #beethoven #chopin