Warning: I got a little God crazy in this blog. Bound to happen now and then having floated around in Hafiz's and Rumi's wine barrels almost every day for the last 30 years— and spending hundreds of hours alone in India, with someone who is probably the closest I will ever get to a real Zen master of great awareness, and probably someone who could out-cool, out-zen, out-know and out-not know, even the Dalai Lama and Thich Nhat Hanh, for whom I have the greatest respect, and I think were/are way, way up there on the cool totem pole. 

Okay, you have been warned, so here we go. 

The person who I most considered my living spiritual teacher, and who I have mentioned several times in different ways in my blog posts so far, once said to me, while walking in India towards the early morning sunrise:

           “The heart is an earth orbiting the Sun."

Then he expounded on that, and explained it more by saying:

“Every human heart, and the heart of all creatures 

 is like an earth orbiting the Sun, orbiting God.

And every heart will get closer and closer to the Sun

until it is consumed in it, via courage and love.” 

                                  ***

Then on another day, I thought he even expounded on that further when he said:

“Who does not orbit their highest, most cherished, most hoped for— experiences?” 

And to me, my spiritual teacher was a sun I orbited, and still do. And what great fortune I feel it is for one to do that with a genuine spiritual teacher, or with one of the great world teachers like Buddha or Jesus.

I think it could be said that a true spiritual teacher (or great world teacher) can be a divine sphere, a divine earth one can then take root in, draw light from in a way it can then be shared with others through creativity and service. And maybe the greatest service starts, and is needed with letting yourself and those close to you more and more off all the hooks, via acceptance and forgiveness. 

I likened myself the other day to a cactus that took root in a divine earth, my teacher. A cactus cause I still have thorns I have not outgrown and can poke someone. But even a cactus can bloom some beautiful flowers. And in a way, that is what all my books are: cactus blooms in the desert because of some sacred roots. 

Cactus blooms in the desert I guess are our moments of happiness and great thanks— the heights of our creativity. And the wild dancing sometimes in spirit and/or on our hoofs— our vital moments of joy. That is: without moments of happiness, dreams, and hopes, cannot our perspective become barren and parched? And our faces may look like they are, missing something. 

The world teachers, the divine earths we can plug into, or orbit like a sun, trying to come ever more near like a blessed moth needing to be consumed in the Holy Candle, in one's Beloved, or in, as Hafiz says:  

“The ground of Consciousness Nothing where the Rose does ever bloom.  

  Where God does ever bloom!” 

Now there is a big garden thought: consumed in all knowing, consumed in our ultimate Self as all things. 

My gosh: our ultimate self, as all things. And I feel tempted to say: knowing you are the doer of all things. But maybe just consider that a slip, for that is getting into such an elite classroom that few have the foundation to really support and benefit from unless they have a real teacher in their life to help integrate you into the way. The way the moon can look at all and never wince from giving you her encouraging embrace of light, her eternal wink of ... all is okay. All is really okay! 

Moreover, another slip: all is perfect. Know you are the doer of all things. 

I bet Jesus and Buddha knew that and just felt— they best keep that a secret. Knowing that... was really too much for most all the munchkins on earth to juggle into the day.

I have long been fascinated with them, these historic benevolent wonders like Zoroaster, Rama, Krishna, Buddha, Jesus, and Muhammad. And my guess is that Meher Baba will be added to that list, as he said he was the Avatar.

I think the world teachers get voted into history in a way— and get voted into being world teachers. That is, something in the hearts of millions says: They weren't joking. They were true alchemy stones (still are) that can help transform any who can really touch them, and can really kiss them, who can really put their head upon their still living bodies-spirit in prayer, homage, or gratitude in love. In love. In holding their hands in dance!

What we think of as being sainthood, is maybe one reaching a certain degree of gold, achieving a certain karat of purity or authenticity, of being a real cowgirl or real cowboy, a real man, a real woman, a true passionate and compassionate human being— of caring and wanting to help and being able to help on unique levels. 

My own teacher met Meher Baba when he was very young, and then became (probably) the one closest to Meher Baba, and for years— and who knew him best. He was the one who could most grasp and integrate the profound range and profound complexities of someone who may have truly been God on earth; God in human form, as I believe Jesus was. My teacher could truly be equated to Hanuman, who was the perfect servant and companion of the Lord.

My teacher was the one who most spoke for Meher Baba, when Baba entered silence for 44 years until his death. Baba spoke through a unique sign language and before that for years via an alphabet board that my teacher learned to read when he was very young. Even with the board upside down and Meher Baba's fingers moving at a speed that hardly anyone could decipher, and sometimes using complicated esoteric and subtle phrases, he still could understand and relay Baba’s messages. At the very least my teacher was a genius. He had a photographic memory. There were dimensions to him. To me part of his greatness was that he could appear absolutely normal, and almost always did. Though a couple of times, when I was with him alone, he lifted the veil. 

My teacher is the one who most spoke for Hafiz, (in the English language via my poems) and to me, is the reason for their great charm, influence and appeal in having reached millions in the world, and continuing to do so. I think every poem I have ever written (and that is over 10,000 now) is because of a root my teacher allowed me to draw from his earth, draw from his heart. And he was even more specific and astounding about his involvement with and sanction of my poetry work. He told me: "Your work is God's work that I will help you with. I was destined to help you, and am so glad to." 

As I said before, I feel I am just the packhorse for all my books and poems. Over a beer with Carl Jung, if he asked me why they were successful, I might say: 

"Carl, I really don't know. I feel I have had some extraordinary genuine mystical experiences connected to my poetry work and with Hafiz. But then maybe too: I was just the perfectly fucked cowboy for the job. But I am so devoted to this work. I value it far more than my own life. And I put all of my little heart into it.” 

I mentioned in my second blog post about talking about a few important dreams or visions at some point. I have enclosed a link to one that I have most expressed so far, in writing, as a customer review at Amazon for the book titled: The Path of Love, by Meher Baba.

That review has been there for a few years, and last checked it was some five down from the top. My review is titled: 'I saw who he was." And my name is there, and sometimes that review (depending on your web connections) is dated, April 12, 2010.

And here is a link to that book and where my review is for any interested. https://www.amazon.com/Path-Love-Meher-Baba/dp/1880619237/ref=mp_s_a_1_10?crid=5WNRG2AYQWSN&keywords=meher+baba+books&qid=1653275411&sprefix=meher+%2Caps%2C327&sr=8-10

I have known about Meher Baba for some fifty plus years now and visited India once and sometimes twice a year for some 20 years to hang out with those who were still living and the closest to him. I never met Meher Baba, but think one can really meet in varying degrees— some great saint or a world teacher (or even God) in a dream or vision. As I describe in that review. And that meeting can be as real and affecting, and maybe even more so ... than some who ever met them—living.

I did meet Meher Baba's sister, Mani, and spent hours around her. She was twenty-five years younger than Baba. She had a wonderful quality about her. To me, she could look at you, and you might easily feel that no one, no one! Has ever loved me like this! And never have I so clearly seen before, a sun in my soul, in someone else's eyes, adoring me— adoring me.

So I wonder what it would have been like to have looked into Meher Baba's eyes, or those of Buddha, Jesus, Rama, or Krishna. Seeing the sky, the heaven, where the heart of your heart lives in their eyes looking at you, looking at your exquisite wonder, looking at your true worth—which is really a shrine to God. 

Yes, us, and every creature and every form ... a holy shrine to God, that She built to kneel at in divine prayer and thanks to all in existence— all.

And here is a picture of Meher Baba I like. He was born February 25, 1894, and passed away January 31, 1969. (That aforementioned book link offers a very good bio of him.) 

Come swimming with me sometime in the wine barrels of Rumi and Hafiz. And try and look into the Great One's eyes; they are still there for us. And as Hafiz says: “Try and see God kneeling at your side." 

In other words: bump heads with the moon.