The 1% Shuffle

First we wan-a then we wine-a
We dance it all day long

This is it, No it’s not, First it is, then it’s not.
It’s the 1% shuffle all day long.

Wandering in the Carnival night
With infinite sparks flying

It’s the 1% shuffle all day long

Rushing here, rushing there
Bigger Better, Never Lasting, Never Resting

It’s the 1% shuffle all day long

It’s getting late and the Carnival still glitters and shines
But our money is spent and now we cry.

It’s the 1% shuffle all day long

But our condition is true
We wake up each lifetime
And the process renews

It’s the 1% shuffle all day long

Some SEE there is more than this
A Universal Dance, ever giving breath that lasts,
Warm Glow, Consistent Light, Death is a thing of the past.

January 2007The 1% ShuffleSpirit SongConversations with the Windtop

Spirit Song

Spirit searching testing for a place of light
To cross the abyss that keeps us apart

Spirit searching testing in hopes that it might
Cross the abyss and find an open heart

Spirit searching testing, be still and wait
The heart has a guard that needs to open the gate

Spirits shining light, there is no guard
The gate is an illusion it’s the final card

Spirit shining bright entering my heart
Has crossed the abyss and filled me with light

Never will we part spirit shining bright
Has crossed the abyss and made it right

Spirit’s shining light has made me whole
The path is illuminated and so is my goal

Not always gentle but always with love
Spirit’s works of wonders in stories told of

January 2007

The 1% ShuffleSpirit SongConversations with the Windtop

Conversations with the Wind

When I was a young child, about 4 years old, I was opened consciously to the feeling of something greater than myself.

I was like a leaf on a tree, new born to the patterned randomness of the blowing wind.
As I grew older amongst the leaf society on the planet tree, I learned the language of my fellow leaves and, through observation of their actions, I learned their ways. I realized, when I was young, that there was something different in the way I saw our world, for the replies given to my questions told me that the older, supposedly more learned leaves did not know the answers either. They would always change the subject and hush me up.

I could not recognize fully what the wind was, but felt it was there. I knew inside that our planet was alive and possibly not the only one of its kind to produce life, but could not prove it to others or myself. It was just a feeling.

The rest of my fellow leaves, except for a few, told me that it was they who moved and danced by their own power, not by the the power of this invisible “wind”. “How could out planet be alive?” the would ask laughingly. “Such wild imaginations these young buds have” was the comment I heard whispered between two older leaves when they heard my ideas.

The sense of not belonging grew, but where did I belong and how would I get there? I was not unhappy but confused. The confusion, which would later in my life lead to silent alertness, now only filled me with curiosity beyond my control. I saw all around me, other leaves doing things that seemed to bring them out of the pain of confusion and seemed to hold the answer, and I tried to do the same, time after time, but found for me no answers but only a temporary distraction from the pain of not knowing.
So my search continued.

My own neighbourhood branch, which was near the inner part of the planet, was very crowded, rarely saw the light and was visited mostly by things that crawled and any news that was heard had to filter through the pores of most of the other leaves.

One day, while in quite contemplation of my questions, a creature called a butterfly, the most magnificent and gracefully beautiful ever, appeared to me in a vision. Unlike every other creature that flew or walked, being so absorbed in what they were doing to get more than an unintelligible buzz from them as they passed by, this butterfly stopped and held conversations with me. She told me of the many wonders of the world outside and laughed as I cautiously asked her of the wind and the tree and of her and from where she came.

“Of the wind”, she said calmly, as her wings moved in a hypnotic manner, “it is true that even though you cannot see it, it is there. Most of the confusion of your fellow leaves comes from not recognizing this being you call wind.”

“Being?” I asked excitedly, “You mean it’s alive too”?

“But of course”, she replied, “the wind carries the aromas of my food, tells me where it is, and even carries me there, If I am silent and listen, the wind will tell me everything that I need to know.” With that, she was off and the last words I heard her say were: “The wind is calling, I must go. Remember to be silent and listen to the wind, and one day you will fly like me.”

I had never before known such warmth, understanding light, and close connections to the answers: and when she was gone I was plunged, deeper than ever, into reflections of my loneliness and the restrictions of being a leaf.

The determination that develops out of such conditions is very unlike the determination that develops out of ambition. One is born of silence and “becomes” and the other is born out of noise and “dies”.

So it went, in my silence I saw and heard very much. I held conversation with the wind and the tree. I saw everything being moved to the order of a silent symphony, not the the chaos of individual choice. I heard many stories from the leaves at the top, being passed through the blood of this living tree. They had much wisdom to pass on for they were not shaded by others and had none to get in the way of their seeing.

During my silent times, opened to the power of the wind and tree, my fellow leaves criticized me for closing up, for not being involved in the rest of the leaf games, for being lazy and not doing anything, etc. When they gave up on trying to make me feel guilty they tried to tempt me with all the excitements of leaf things, but I held fast to my silence for I remembered how they had been only distractions before.

One day in my silent meditations, when, for that day the rest of the leaves had left me alone, not caring to waste any more of their time, I had another vision.

In this vision I saw a leaf like myself get picked from a branch by a great spinning wind and carried into the sky. As the leaf spun faster it lost its form as a leaf and out of the formless spinning colour a butterfly emerged. It was the same butterfly that had come to me in a vision when I was younger. This time she held out her hand and the wind spoke through her, saying “Come, it is time to leave the final conditionings of being a leaf. Let go and come with me.” Those words were no sooner spoken, when a sudden gust of wind picked me up and spun me around faster and faster. Because I had learned to recognize the wind for what it was I soon let go of my fear.

The wildness of chaos became ordered and the blinding brightness became colours; the colours of my own wings of perception.