April 30, 2009
VIDEO: A New Dawn

Thanks to David Klamph for posting this on the Heart of Matter FB group

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 05:47 PM | Comments (2)

April 27, 2009
Pass the Bus!

A couple of days ago, driving from New York City to my home in Woodstock and stuck behind a bus, I started hearing weird metallic sounds coming from my engine.

Ouch! I was already paying thousands of dollars to my son's orthodontist and had zero interest in shelling out more for an unexpected car repair.

The more I drove, the louder the sound got.

I looked at my dashboard, expecting to see red lights, but everything seemed to be fine -- more proof, I thought, that the strange sound coming from my engine was so expensively undiagnosable there wasn't even an indicator for it on the dashboard.

The closer I got to the bus, the louder the sound grew.

Then it dawned on me.

The sound was coming from the bus, not my car. The sound wasn't mine. Somehow, I had adopted it, took it in, gave it shelter. But it wasn't mine. It didn't belong to me at all.

Doh!

That grinding sound I hear in my head? The worries about money? The distractions that steal my focus and make me think there's something wrong?

All made up. Not mine. Time to let them go! Time to pass the bus! Time to enjoy how smooth the ride home really is...

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 02:23 AM | Comments (1)

April 25, 2009
I Used to Write Love Poems

I used to write love poems, now I collect them like small shells on a beach only the locals know about.

There is nothing inside them. They are empty.

But when you put your ear to their opening and really listen, you can hear the ocean.

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 06:47 PM | Comments (0)

April 22, 2009
Blasts from the (Recent) Past

Dear Lover of Life:

There's a lot more content on this blog than you've probably seen so far (307 postings altogether).

To access what's here, just log on, scroll down, and click on the archives links in the sidebar. (You can also search content by category).

If this sounds like too much work, click on any of the links below for a sampling...

February, 2009
January, 2009
December, 2008
November, 2008

Photo

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 09:44 PM | Comments (0)

April 21, 2009
VIDEO: Every Breath

People who receive Knowledge from Prem Rawat, aka Maharaji, (and practice it) tend to become happy, grateful, and fulfilled. And those qualities do not always need to be spoken to communicate a message...

Filmed and produced by Steve Booth. Music by John Adorney. For info on Prem Rawat's message, Words of Peace.

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 01:10 PM | Comments (1)

April 20, 2009
The Book of Hearts

"Within you is the perfect book -- The Book of Hearts. It is so perfect that even the illiterate can read it. It is so well-written that even the blind can read it. The paper that it is written on never deteriorates. The ink never fades away. The Book of Hearts has never been revised and it never will be. It has been commented on, and every person who has read The Book has understood it. It is the only book that gives you answers, not questions." (Prem Rawat, aka Maharaji)

Photo

Thanks to Denise Mitchell for posting this quote here

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 05:28 PM | Comments (1)

April 19, 2009
VIDEO: One Breath at a Time

For more info
And more
More and more

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 03:44 AM | Comments (0)

April 18, 2009
The Best Archer in All of China

All of us try so hard to DO stuff, to ACCOMPLISH things, to leave our MARK. We sweat, we strain, we hustle -- all in an attempt to get a result we feel good about.

That's all well and good, of course, but sometimes, in the act of accomplishing a goal, we lose touch with who we are. We forget that we are human BEINGS not human DOINGS.

The following story, adapted from an old Zen tale, elaborates on this curious phenomenon.

Once upon a time there was a man named Wu Li, a most gifted archer. Time and again, Wu Li would enter archery tournaments and win. He won so often and so convincingly that word of his accomplishments soon spread throughout the land. By the time he was 22, Wu Li was known as the best archer in all of China.

One day, upon returning home from yet another victory, Wu Li found himself rushing through a marketplace and bumping into an old man carrying a basket of potatoes. Potatoes went flying everywhere and the old man fell to the ground with a thud.

"Old man!" shouted Wu Li, "Get out of my way! Don't you know who I am?"

The old man looked up, squinting.

"Oh yes. I know who you are," he replied. "You are Wu Li. Second best archer in all the land."

"Second best?" bellowed the gifted one. "Second? Not so! I am the best. There is no one in the world who can beat me."

The old man smiled as he stood, slowly gathering his potatoes. "Yes, you are great! But there is one even greater than you!"

"Greater than me?" replied Wu Li. "Impossible! No one has ever beaten me. No one can beat me. Who is this imposter? Where does he live?"

"Oh," the old man said slowly, as if entering a temple. "His name is Master Po. He lives many miles to the North -- high atop Mt. Heng Shan.

"Then I will challenge him!" the archer exclaimed. "And put an end to such nonsense."

Pushing his way past the old man, Wu Li stormed off.

For 60 days he travelled. Through underbrush and overgrowth. Through overbrush and undergrowth.

When he finally arrived at the foot of Mt. Fuji, the young archer could not believe his eyes. The mountain was sheer rock face, covered with ice, and pitched at a 90 degree angle straight to the top, hidden by clouds. A lesser man would have ended his journey then and there. But not Wu Li.

He climbed.

On the 8th day of his ascent, the young archer found himself at the top, seeing what appeared to be a little old man sitting on a blanket.

"Welcome wayfarer, I have been expecting you."

The young archer took a deep breath. "I... am... Wu Li... best archer in all the land and I... I challenge you!"

The old man smiled, bowed once, then looked to the sky. "Very well, as you are my guest, please go first."

Without a second's hesitation, Wu Li grabbed an arrow from his quiver, notched it on the string of his immense bow, closed an eye, tilted his head, looked up, drew the string back and with all of his might, let the arrow fly. As it neared the top of its flight, he pulled a second from the quiver and shot it high, halving the first in two and, in a rapid succession of ten, continued, each arrow splitting the one before it, arrow halves landing in a perfect circle around the seated master and making the ancient sound of "Hmm," upon entering the ground.

"Hmm," said Master Po. "Impressive. Most impressive. Now, I believe, it is my turn."

Reaching behind him (where there would have been a quiver if he had a quiver), he pulled what would have been an arrow (if he had an arrow), notched what would have been a string on what would have been a bow, closed one eye, pulled slowly back, paused for what seemed like eternity, and then -- in slow motion pantomime -- let go.

Smiling ever so slightly, he turned to the puzzled challenger.

"You, my friend," said Master Po, "have mastered the art of shooting with a bow and arrow. I, on the other hand, have mastered the art of shooting without a bow and arrow."

Excerpted from Awake at the Wheel.

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 10:27 PM | Comments (4)

"The WORLD is an ILLUSION, but you have to ACT as if it's REAL" (Krishna)

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 02:33 AM | Comments (2)

April 15, 2009
By the Time We Got to Woodstock

I speak today as a resident of Woodstock -- a town known far and wide for peace -- a place now metaphor for the highest aspirations of the human race.

What I have to say existed long before speech, long before teachers and those who thought they needed to be taught.

I speak of the time before time, before "us" and "them," before otherness, separation, and the need to make amends.

Pure presence there was back then. Isness. First light. What the wise ones among us call by many names according to their faith. But it has no name, this impulse to be, this pulsation of life -- what poets feel before they pick up their pens, why dancers -- quivering in their own skin -- look around the room for space in which to leap.

Back then, before the yes and no, the good and bad, the black and white, the East and West.... back then before our addiction to naming and knowing and the curious claim people make that God is on their side and their side only -- there was only one thing, one infinite expanse of grandeur, one breath.

The human voice was silenced with awe before it.

I speak of presence and wonder and the state of divine receptivity. I speak of being at home in ourselves and with each other -- what children feel before they sleep, alone in their bed, knowing their parents are awake in the next room. I speak of the place where no fear of death abides, and even more importantly, no fear of life.

In this beginning is life -- this fresh start that comes with every breath, the only path there is, the one we make by walking on it.

The path Buddha walked. And Jesus. The path of Krishna, Moses, Rumi, Kabir, Lao Tzu, The Ba'al Shem Tov, Hafiz, Mother Theresa, Masters known and unknown, YOU, your neighbors and your friends -- each on fire with the possibility of living life as it was meant to be, each ignited by the very same power some call God -- the God whose name lovers, no matter what their path, scream at the height of their passion.

The God of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob and Gypsy Rose Lee. The God of Wizards. The God of Fools. Why the earth turns and the Sufis and the seasons.

It is this unreasonable force, this power of love, this mirror of our selves to whom we pray even when we sleep, that joins us all together here today -- why men with beards dig deeper underground half a world a way and others penetrate the sky, each fueled by what they think is noble enough to die for.

The question, my friends, is not what to die for, but what to live for. What is your calling? Your dream? Your gift? What is your personal responsibility?

The choice, as always, is yours. The messenger abides within you... comes to your threshold... sneaks past the guards you've posted at love's door and speaks:

"The cave you seek is the cave of the heart. The air you patrol is your breath. Walk whatever path you choose, but know that each step is also an arrival. Slow down. Breathe deep. Trust. Give roses to people you barely know. Make someone tea. Embrace humanity all you want, but don't forget to embrace each other -- NOW, the only time there is.

Let your weapon of choice be cupid's bow. See God in everyone. Have fun. Be real! Let go! Live as if this was the first day of your life... or the last.

Men, be men. Women, be women. Win the war inside you -- the battle between darkness and light. Rejoice in the undeniable fact that you are alive. Find your voice. And when you do, use it wisely. Sing! Praise! Dance!

Do whatever you can, with all your might, to wake up from the dream.

Illustration

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 01:50 AM | Comments (6)

Get a Big Canvas and Paint!

Photo

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 12:02 AM | Comments (0)

April 13, 2009
Welcome to Mississauga!

Maybe you've been meditating for 30 years... maybe you've read the Bhagavad Gita... maybe you've experienced the peace that passes all understanding. But have you ever been an 88 year old mayor with a 92% approval rating, gotten hit by a truck, and starred in your own music video? Check this out. Hazel rocks!!!

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 12:40 AM | Comments (1)

April 12, 2009
Maharaji in Kathmandu

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 09:24 AM | Comments (0)

April 11, 2009
Mankind is No Island

This wonderful video was shot totally by a cell phone in New York City and Sydney, Australia. Makes you do more than stop and think. Makes you stop and FEEL.

Thanks to Aine McIteer for posting this on FB

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 02:18 PM | Comments (2)

April 10, 2009
Happy Next Breath!

From Quote of the Day

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 05:35 AM | Comments (0)

April 09, 2009
Watercolor

Today I wrote the most beautiful poem in the world,
something so pure I wouldn't mind dying --
the perfect song of praise
hewn from the dark forest of my secret heart.

Not a wasted word it was,
rhythmic, elegant, and holy,
poetry for the ages,
why sages dance,
timeless in its pauses,
with a long white beard and a thousand Santa Clauses
ringing their bells for love.

Yes, I wrote this poem today
or rather, it wrote me,
flooding through my body
onto a singular white page,
which I, amazed at having said it all
and having signed my name,
left, for a moment, on my favorite chair
beneath the willow tree,
then turned inside again and took my leave
to celebrate this unexpected visitation of my muse
by listening, with great respect,
to Mozart in the living room.

I did not hear the rain.
Not a single drop.

It was only later, after dinner, I discovered
the many ways ink drips down a white page
in a sudden, summer shower.
I could see, I think, small patches of blue,
a cloud, a flower, a silhouette,
perhaps a word or two,

my perfect poem now watercolor --
the many colors of my love for you.

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 10:32 PM | Comments (0)

April 08, 2009
Holi in Jaipur

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 08:55 PM | Comments (0)

April 07, 2009
VIDEO: Where the Story Begins

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 12:06 AM | Comments (0)

April 01, 2009
Happy April Fool's Day!

"A fool thinks himself to be wise, but a wise man knows himself to be a fool." - William Shakespeare

"For God's sake give me the young man who has brains enough to make a fool of himself!" - Robert Louis Stevenson

"We're fools whether we dance or not, so we might as well dance." - Japanese Proverb

"Life is one fool thing after another whereas love is two fool things after each other." - Oscar Wilde

"The fool who persists in his folly is not a fool." - Anonymous

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 08:54 PM | Comments (0)