Thank you. We are enjoying the series and it has become our nightly watch. Also looking at the Sister Gurtrude painting I noticed it says - or looks that way to me - Sunny Hillary. Himma himma. Heavenly sunshine.
A week ago, I had a dream. I was at a table, like meal-time at one of the Arizona Intensives. I don't remember everything, but do remember the lingering feeling of love after I awoke. In the dream, I was surprised I was there, as usual. Towards the end, I was wanting to leave. Then, Brad walked by and looked at some papers I had -- with something I wrote. They excited him, and he made copies and handed them out. Then, I woke up. But this post reminded me. The last few years, I started doing a lot of Qigong, and it's helped me a lot to go deeper into myself (and with other things). But just as much as that, and maybe even more, what's helped has been listening to Iranian dastgah music -- of Mohammad Reza Lotfi, in particular. This music is, on the one hand, very clearly defined and structured, its set repertoire passed on intact from master to disciple, and on the other hand, it's mainly improvisational -- it's essentially a system of riffing on that traditional repertoire. But the best musicians are not the ones who merely rehearse the repertoire, but the ones who internalize that repertoire and its "language," and then use it to express something new, in a heartfelt way. The music is all sorrowful, in one way or another. It's about lamenting, crying out from the heart for help... to evoke a response from the divine, and to kindle joy, to use sorrow to transcend sorrow. It's inseparable from the mystic poetic tradition of Iran, and its connections to Sufism. To me... M.R. Lotfi was the best of the best -- so deep, so simple, so complex, and so -- raw in sharing his heart. One day, I listened to him, it finally clicked, and I just cried. I've cried and cried listening to his music, over and over again. I love him as much as any other master. Here are two of my favorites performances:
Reading this essay reminds me of a time back when I was still a relatively young man; I had become enamoured of lucid dreaming (becoming conscious of the fact that I was dreaming while dreaming) and strove to develop some basic skill with it, which I did. One day though, while reading, I came across a suggestion which was new to me: instead of doing what I usually did when becoming lucid in a dream, I was instead simply to say, “I surrender to the Highest.” And so, I did.
To my surprise, the entire dream scene dissolved into an intense white light; my dream body too dissolved into the light and I had no edges left. The light, supremely intelligent, supremely loving, was everywhere; it filled every space and bathed me in love.
A few moments of this and then I awoke, in my physical body, in my physical bed, in my physical world. “Oh!”
That taste of light gave me a new compass setting, one which rendered lucid dreaming unimportant. It’s been a long and winding road since then, with its myriad ups and downs; still, that gift of light sustains me.
And now, thinking back on that experience, it amuses me to realize that at no point until reading Hillary’s essay did it occur to me to use that line--I surrender to the Highest--in my, you know, actual daily physical life. (Thirty years later I have a bright idea!) And so, that line has become my latest prayer line.
And now, it’s time for breakfast--and another step on the long and winding road.
PS: I’ve also discovered that “I surrender to the Highest” pairs very nicely with “Glory to God in the Highest”, the latter being one of my favourite lines from a Catholic childhood.
I just stumbled upon another visionary testimony about mystical water that I could have added to this month's essay on liquid light: "God came to me as a little man. He came in my room and said, 'Come and go with me.' I saw the most beautiful rooms, all in white and gold. There was a stream flowing through every room. He said, 'This is the living water that flows from on high.' He told me to taste it. It was the best-tasting water I ever drank. I never tasted anything like it. It was as clear as can be." It's another one from the wonderful book, God Struck Me Dead: Voices of Ex-Slaves, edited by Clifton Johnson.
Thank you. We are enjoying the series and it has become our nightly watch. Also looking at the Sister Gurtrude painting I noticed it says - or looks that way to me - Sunny Hillary. Himma himma. Heavenly sunshine.
It does look like it says that in the painting :)
Yes!!! 🚰 ✨ ✨ ✨ 🥛
This post was a shot of himma, thank you, and thank you for constantly pointing the way to the big room.
Thank you Josue! May this season's Guild raise increase our himma!
Yes!
A week ago, I had a dream. I was at a table, like meal-time at one of the Arizona Intensives. I don't remember everything, but do remember the lingering feeling of love after I awoke. In the dream, I was surprised I was there, as usual. Towards the end, I was wanting to leave. Then, Brad walked by and looked at some papers I had -- with something I wrote. They excited him, and he made copies and handed them out. Then, I woke up. But this post reminded me. The last few years, I started doing a lot of Qigong, and it's helped me a lot to go deeper into myself (and with other things). But just as much as that, and maybe even more, what's helped has been listening to Iranian dastgah music -- of Mohammad Reza Lotfi, in particular. This music is, on the one hand, very clearly defined and structured, its set repertoire passed on intact from master to disciple, and on the other hand, it's mainly improvisational -- it's essentially a system of riffing on that traditional repertoire. But the best musicians are not the ones who merely rehearse the repertoire, but the ones who internalize that repertoire and its "language," and then use it to express something new, in a heartfelt way. The music is all sorrowful, in one way or another. It's about lamenting, crying out from the heart for help... to evoke a response from the divine, and to kindle joy, to use sorrow to transcend sorrow. It's inseparable from the mystic poetic tradition of Iran, and its connections to Sufism. To me... M.R. Lotfi was the best of the best -- so deep, so simple, so complex, and so -- raw in sharing his heart. One day, I listened to him, it finally clicked, and I just cried. I've cried and cried listening to his music, over and over again. I love him as much as any other master. Here are two of my favorites performances:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xHErD3dNrlA
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RC6B9yO98TE
Hi y’all!
Reading this essay reminds me of a time back when I was still a relatively young man; I had become enamoured of lucid dreaming (becoming conscious of the fact that I was dreaming while dreaming) and strove to develop some basic skill with it, which I did. One day though, while reading, I came across a suggestion which was new to me: instead of doing what I usually did when becoming lucid in a dream, I was instead simply to say, “I surrender to the Highest.” And so, I did.
To my surprise, the entire dream scene dissolved into an intense white light; my dream body too dissolved into the light and I had no edges left. The light, supremely intelligent, supremely loving, was everywhere; it filled every space and bathed me in love.
A few moments of this and then I awoke, in my physical body, in my physical bed, in my physical world. “Oh!”
That taste of light gave me a new compass setting, one which rendered lucid dreaming unimportant. It’s been a long and winding road since then, with its myriad ups and downs; still, that gift of light sustains me.
And now, thinking back on that experience, it amuses me to realize that at no point until reading Hillary’s essay did it occur to me to use that line--I surrender to the Highest--in my, you know, actual daily physical life. (Thirty years later I have a bright idea!) And so, that line has become my latest prayer line.
And now, it’s time for breakfast--and another step on the long and winding road.
May your remembered prayer line be a lifeline back to that light. Inshallah!
From your typing fingers to God’s Ears!
PS: I’ve also discovered that “I surrender to the Highest” pairs very nicely with “Glory to God in the Highest”, the latter being one of my favourite lines from a Catholic childhood.
I just stumbled upon another visionary testimony about mystical water that I could have added to this month's essay on liquid light: "God came to me as a little man. He came in my room and said, 'Come and go with me.' I saw the most beautiful rooms, all in white and gold. There was a stream flowing through every room. He said, 'This is the living water that flows from on high.' He told me to taste it. It was the best-tasting water I ever drank. I never tasted anything like it. It was as clear as can be." It's another one from the wonderful book, God Struck Me Dead: Voices of Ex-Slaves, edited by Clifton Johnson.