Undoing the Doings

Stepping into the past and stepping into the future, whilst we ebb and flow. Into the past we go witnessing doings that which are done. Forgiving us.
We step into future with the hopes of feeling lighter, much brighter and more life in our steps.

Stepping into the Canvas while Undoing the Doings within our Canvas of life. With a stroke of pen, we are re-writing our reality. What is the next chapter? What is the next picture within the frame? Grab a pen or a brush…make it so…Ani Po

 

 

Seen or Unseen

See or unseen,

Right or wrong.

Up or down,

Left or right.

In and Out,

Dependent on how we see it.

Joy or sadness,

Anger or bliss.

Hatred or love,

Dependent on how we see it.

Those around us with varying thoughts,

Not matching our own.

Are they right or wrong?

Different or are they the same?

Nothing differing and nothing the same,

It just is.

Our perceptual understanding,

Our level of reality.

Dependent on thoughts around us.

Thoughts real or unreal,

They remain our own.

Whatever the reality,

Owning or dissolving reality.

Enjoy it or hate it,

We are left merely with a choice,

Seen or unseen it remains dependent on how we see it…Ani Po

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Patience in All Things

Patience

What for the feeling to rush?

Pushing, shoving, disrupting the flow.

Why the need to pressure where it is not needed?

Anxious, fear, often rude to press matters.

Patience

All things have timing, like an aged wine or ripened tomato.

The wind howls, echoing our thoughts.

Sit, meditate or allow the flow to be.

Thank the impatience of another, allowing the patience to grow within.

Patience in all things…Ani Po

time concept, selective focus point, special toned photo f/x

time concept, selective focus point, special toned photo f/x

 

Nearly Perfect in Every Way

seedling

I have had my share of blunders and mistakes, some minor and some not so much. I have pushed the envelope too numerous to count, often defying the reality of others. Not always correct, never really knowing what is real.

I used to think I knew everything. With divine intervention, I have come to a place of not knowing. The human mind has a very difficult time in this place of not knowing, but assuredly the heart knows truth. Often truth has no reality…it just is. Changing rapidly with the seasons of change, the heart guides us into safety. Imperfectly perfect we see, imperfectly perfect the world shall be.

Transcending the reality of mirrors, space and time…we enter a place of understanding. Understanding that nobody or no thing is perfect unless we see it as imperfectly perfect as it is to be. We are all imperfect and we are all perfect at the same time. We are a part of a greater whole…unseparated and divine as the spark beside us.

So, is it possible to be imperfect? Are we perfect in our own way? Absolutely! The only time we are not perfect is our own perception of. Even if another perceives us as flawed or having made a mistake, does not mean we are imperfect. Not at all…it merely means we made a mistake. How we handle the mistake is the defining moment of our own perfection. In correcting our mistakes or transcending the perception of a mistake, we now enter a world of perfection. The human mind needs to recognize something as perfect or imperfect as it is…never allowing something to just be as it is imperfectly perfect.

Just as we transcend the mirror of our own reality, we come to a place of transcendence for all reality. Letting go of absolutes and accepting infinite possibilities.

Just as Mary Poppins declared “nearly perfect in every way,” so too are we…we need only see the perfection all around. Expanding our vision of perfection from self to vast universal perfections.

Where is God’s Perfection?

baseball

In Brooklyn, New York, Chush is a school that caters to learning disabled children. Some children remain in Chush for their entire school career, while others can be mainstreamed into conventional schools.

At a Chush fund-raising dinner, the father of a Chush child delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended.

After extolling the school and its dedicated staff, he cried out, “Where is the perfection in my son Shaya? Everything God does is done with perfection. But my child cannot understand things as other children do. My child cannot remember facts and figures as other children do. Where is God’s perfection?”

The audience was shocked by the question, pained by the father’s anguish, stilled by the piercing query.

” I believe,” the father answered, “that when God brings a child like this into the world, the perfection that he seeks is in the way people react to this child.”

He then told the following story about his son Shaya:

One afternoon Shaya and his father walked past a park where some boys Shaya knew were playing baseball. 

Shaya asked, “Do you think they will let me play?”

Shaya’s father knew that his son was not at all athletic and that most boys would not want him on their team. But Shaya’s father understood that if his son was chosen to play it would give him a comfortable sense of belonging.
Shaya’s father approached one of the boys in the field and asked if Shaya could play. The boy looked around for guidance from his teammates. Getting none, he took matters into his own hands and said “We are losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we’ll try to put him up to bat in the ninth inning.”

Shaya’s father was ecstatic as Shaya smiled broadly. Shaya was told to put on a glove and go out to play short center field.

In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shaya’s team scored a few runs but was still behind by three. In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shaya’s team scored again and now with two outs and the bases loaded with the potential winning run on base, Shaya was scheduled to be up. Would the team actually let Shaya bat at this juncture and give away their chance to win the game? Surpassingly, Shaya was given the bat.

Everyone knew that it was all but impossible because Shaya didn’t even know how to hold the bat properly, let alone hit with it. However as Shaya stepped up to the plate, the pitcher moved a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shaya should at least be able to make contact.

The first pitch came in and Shaya swung clumsily and missed. One of Shaya’s teammates came up to Shaya and together the held the bat and faced the pitcher waiting for the next pitch. The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly toward Shaya. As the pitch came in, Shaya and his teammate swung at the bat and together they hit a slow ground ball to the pitcher.

The pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could easily have thrown the ball to the first baseman. Shaya would have been out and that would have ended the game. Instead, the pitcher took the ball and threw it on a high arc to right field, far beyond reach of the first baseman.

Everyone started yelling,”Shaya, run to first. Run to first.” Never in his life had Shaya run to first. He scampered down the baseline wide-eyed and startled. By the time he reached first base, the right fielder had the ball. He could have thrown the ball to the second baseman who would tag out Shaya, who was still running. But the right fielder understood what the pitcher’s intentions were, so he threw the ball high and far over the third baseman’s head. Everyone yelled, “Run to second, run to second.” Shaya ran towards second base as the runners ahead of him deliriously circled the bases towards home. As Shaya reached second base, the opposing short stop ran to him, turned him in the direction of third base and shouted, “Run to third.” As Shaya rounded third, the boys from both teams ran behind him screaming, “Shaya run home.”

Shaya ran home, stepped on home plate and all 18 boys lifted him on their shoulders and made him the hero, as he had just hit a “grand slam” and won the game for his team.

“That day,” said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face, “those 18 boys reached their level of God’s perfection.”

Whether in the story of Shaya or in scenario of self-worth…it is merely how we perceive our given situation. Those 18 boys hit a level of perfection that most have forgotten. Transcending the normal feelings of who is going to win and seeing an opportunity to undo what humanity has done. In our personal stories…are we seeing beyond our flaws? Accepting our mistakes as opportunities? Whatever the case, we need only see beyond the canvas of self and witness the canvas of life as it was meant to be…imperfectly perfect.

Transcending the idea of being perfect or imperfect we see it as it is…nearly perfect in every way. Like that of a child, we see with fresh new eyes. Unadulterated eyes of truth…seeing things as raw and awe-inspiring as it was meant to be. In any given situation we see an opportunity versus finite. We see vast openness versus boundaries or borders. We transcend illusion of self, seeing the truth of I Am. We are limitless and our reality is too…we are a work in progress.

Whether seeing perfection in actions or it “Just Is” guaranteed we are all perfect in our own ways. Imperfectly perfect…perfect in every way…

Arms of Our Beloved

In the arms of our beloved, we are home.~Ani Po

Where to take refuge, find comfort in our days? Where to bask in the love awaiting my soul? It is there next to the sycamore with buttonwood so inviting. It is there under the umbrella of mother whispers call my name.

Fading into the past, remaining centered on the warmth of your caress…I move forward with a glimpse of what may be. It is here my beloved…that I answer the calls. It is here my hopes are restored. Giving up daily only to start anew…my hopes are restored.

What now? Where does thou have me go? I am ready…take me to this place of infinite possibilities with room for just one more. I no longer travel alone but with those who seek to know your name. Guide me, teach me…take my hand to this secret place…so that I may take those who need.

Stepping into the Canvas in the Arms of our Beloved no longer afraid. Though death may be of tomorrow or not for a thousand years, I live for this day as it were the last of its kind. This day and this day only…I might have…vowing, promising to shed yet another tear. From bleeding heart to the arms of our beloved…I am Home…Ani Po

Arms of our beloved