I know you are busy today and may not have the time to read yet another blog posting, so I've decided to say everything I have to say in this headline: Be grateful! Breathe deeply! Let go! Live fully! Love!
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 11:31 PM | Comments (0)
October 30, 2008A Picture's Worth a Thousand Words
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 01:00 AM | Comments (0)
October 14, 2008Radiant Being of Light
Radiant being of light, vortex of love,
alchemist supreme, magnifier of prayer,
the one I dream about
and the one who wakes me from the dream,
why the dervish spins
and the earth.
Teacher, teaching, and the taught,
first breath, last breath,
what lovers look for in each other but rarely find,
center around which everything revolves,
endless night of love
and the ecstatic aching of a moon-howling heart
that does not want the morning to come.
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 06:08 PM | Comments (2)
October 01, 2008Back to the Garden
I'm sure there was a time back in the Garden of Eden before the biting of fruit, naming of lizard, and placing of fig leaf, when Adam turned to Eve or Eve turned to Adam and, in the delightful absence of language, greeting cards, or text messaging, found a simple way to communicate something real about their experience of being alive.
Ever since those halcyon days, we've been trying to do the same -- to express something basic, primal, and pure. About what moves us. And why we often linger in the gaze of another who lets us in just long enough to experience the blessing of being received, no strings attached.
It is into this space I find myself being transported upon seeing Maharaji -- a space that continues expanding the moment he leaves the stage.
He's gone and so am I -- my body now a hologram, my heart a happy camper.
Stunned in my seat, I am completely still, infused, fulfilled, free, my blood a kind of overflowing champagne fizz.
I'm sure I could move if I wanted to, but I don't want to. The desire to go anywhere has vanished. All I want to do is sit here and soak up the feeling forever. My name, my plans, the details of my life all seem like odd relics.
I am driftwood here, washed ashore, something a curious tourist might find.
I breathe. I bask in the light of an interior sun now made brighter by the one I have no words for. I breathe. I follow my breath like a happy drunk follows the dotted white line home after an endless night of celebration.
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 01:59 AM | Comments (0)
September 30, 2008Thirst Quench Thirst
Hello... You can hear nothing but the sound of my voice.
You are lovingly placing your cursor over the hotlinked phrase below, clicking once and buying at least one copy of my new book of poetry, Thirst Quench Thirst.
Do not concern yourself about whether or not you actually like poetry, read poetry, or have ever heard of me. Those concerns, while certainly understandable, are beside the point. Sometimes you just need to trust your instincts. Like now, for instance.
Some of the poems in this blog are excerpted from the book, so if you're still not sure, simply scroll around and read.
Oh, I almost forgot to mention, the book is only $15.00. At 72 pages, that's only $20.8 cents a page (1/18th the cost of a Starbuck's Frappucino). Such a deal!
Still need proof it's worth the money? Click below and check out the reviews:
Thirst, Quench Thirst evokes a memory of the deepest longings of the soul. Reading Mitch's poetry reminds me of what I already know, but often forget." -- Joan Apter
"This poetry has touched the deepest recesses of my heart." -- Dermott Philpott
"Mitch's poetry touches a universal human longing; the ache for internal connection to the divine. He speaks in a personal, simple, accessible way about things that are ancient and deep." -- Erika Andersen
"Most great love poetry baffles the mind, but delights the heart. And great love poetry cannot be written without great love. Mitch Ditkoff's poems are intoxicating." -- John Adorney
"This is the kind of nourishment that penetrates to the core of Divine Love, and if deeply imbibed, its sweet nectar can be savored for a lifetime." -- Jamie Delay
"Mitch mixed the most profound -- almost indescribable -- with the kind of simplicity that somehow manages to capture a feeling. Lovely stuff!" -- Candice Wilmore
"This book of poetry, delightful and charming, takes me right to the heart of the matter gently, often with wonderful humor! I read and re-read these poems just to take the ride." -- Kim Greene
"Not bad, but buy this book anyway so I can get a higher allowance." -- Jesse Pouget Ditkoff
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 05:23 PM | Comments (0)
September 02, 2008Where I Live
Sometimes,
in a sudden fit of curiosity,
or need to fill
an unexpected pause in conversation,
well-meaning people ask me where I live.
I used to tell them,
depending on my mood
and how much I thought
they really wanted to know,
any of the following:
Two hours north of Manhattan,
Ulster County,
or the oh so famous Woodstock, New York.
Now,
many years after meeting Maharaji,
and having relocated to my breath,
I simply say:
the State of Gratitude.
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 12:36 AM | Comments (1)
August 20, 2008Happy for No Reason
When I was 21, I came within five seconds of drowning in the ocean. As I was going down for the third time, I looked to the shore and realized that this, my last moment, was the most lucid moment of my life.
Everything else was a cartoon. Unreal. Fake. In the state I was in, only one thing was certain. I wanted to live. And in that moment, which felt like my last, something extraordinary took over -- way beyond my exhaustion -- and got me to the shore.
It swam me, until I -- completely out of breath -- could finally stand. And when I did, I fell to my knees and kissed the ground. I cried. I sang whatever children's songs I could remember. I laughed. In that moment of pure exaltation, I had no philosophy, no religion, no politics, no family, no friends, no future, no past. Only the simple joy of being alive.
When I think about my teacher, Maharaji, and the experience he has shown me, it feels much the same.
In such a simple and loving way, he has connected me not only to the will to live, but to the primal force that moves me. As my teacher, he has taught me how to be a student. And as his student, I have learned that it doesn't matter what I know, but who I am. Or more correctly, what I am.
It's what the poets pray to feel, so finally they'd have something genuine to write about. When I feel it -- and I do a lot -- I am happy for no reason at all. Happy like someone on permanent vacation. Completely alive. Content in a way that requires no action to prove itself whole.
Unconditional love it is. No strings attached. First kiss. Second chance. Unexpected snow day for a 10-year old. Home for the holidays. More fun than I've ever had and absolutely nothing is going on. Just the peace that passes all understanding -- even when my hard disk crashes.
Who is Maharaji? I cannot say. All I know is this: When I'm with him, I never want to leave. And when I do, it's like starting over once again -- whatever I once was being left behind like a second skin. I am refreshed, renewed, re-awakened once again.
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 09:28 PM | Comments (1)
August 15, 2008At the Threshold
A few years ago I found myself standing in my closet, madly searching for clean clothes in a last minute attempt to pack before yet another business trip, when I noticed my 4-year old son standing at the entrance. In one hand, he held a small blue wand, in the other -- a plastic bottle of soapy water. "Dada," he said, looking up at me, his eyes wide open, "do you have time to catch my bubbles?"
Time? It stopped. And so did I. At that moment, it suddenly made no difference whether or not I caught my plane -- I could barely catch my breath. The only thing that existed was him and that soulful look of longing in his eyes.
For the next ten minutes, all we did was play -- him blowing bubbles and laughing. Me catching and laughing, too. His need was completely satisfied. His need for connection. His need for love. His need for knowing, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that absolutely everything was perfect just the way it was.
He is 13 now. His bubbles are digital. But his need is still the same. And so is mine -- and yours, I would venture to say. Scratch the surface of our differences, remove the cultural masks, and all of us -- regardless of age, religion, politics, gender, or astrological sign -- are seeking the same thing.
And this "thing" is a feeling -- a feeling of contentment, a feeling of peace, a feeling of deep freedom, fearlessness, and joy. Spiritual practitioners have been attempting to name this feeling for centuries, but ultimately it doesn't matter what it's called.
This sweetness is the place all journeys end. My son's took him across the living room to the threshold of a closet. Yours will take you other places. But no matter where it takes you, one thing is for sure -- what's moving you has moved millions of others since the beginning of time. Yours is an ancient quest. Primal. Tidal. Pure. As basic as breath itself.
For the moment, let's call this driving force "thirst" -- the innate quest each of us has for meaning, love, and fulfillment. Why poets wait beneath a moon for words. What dancers feel before they leap. Why birds fly halfway around the world to the place where they were born.
This thirst is not the same thing as "desire." Desire is wanting what you don't have. Thirst is wanting want you do. Desire assumes the emptiness you feel can be filled by getting -- as if the world was a giant puzzle and all you needed were the pieces. Thirst assumes nothing. It's all about being -- not getting or having.
The good news? You don't have to go to the Himalayas to find what you're looking for. You can start today, wherever you are. The pilgrimage you need to take is actually quite short -- merely the distance between your head and your heart. That's the so-called path.
Your guide on this journey? Thirst. All you need to do is feel it. And if you don't, then at least want to feel it. And if you still don't, then at least want to want to feel it.
Pretty simple, huh?
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 06:56 PM | Comments (1)
August 12, 2008The Jar
A college professor stood before his philosophy class at the start of a new semester. Silently, he picked up a very large jar and filled it with golf balls. Then he asked the students if the jar was full. They agreed that it was.
The professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly, pebbles settling into the open areas between the golf balls. He then asked the students again if the jar was full. They agreed it was.
The professor next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. He asked once more if the jar was full. The students again responded with a resounding "yes."
The professor then produced two beers from under the table and poured them into the jar, filling the empty spaces between the sand. The students laughed.
"Now," said the professor. "I want you to understand that this jar represents your life. The golf balls are the important things -- your family, health, friends, and feeling of well-being. If everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full."
"The pebbles are the other things that matter -- your job, your house, your accomplishments etc. The sand is everything else -- the small stuff."
"If you put the sand into the jar first," he continued, "there's no room left for the golf balls or pebbles. The same holds true for life. If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff, you'll never have room for the things that are really important to you."
"Pay attention to the things that are essential to your happiness. Spend time with your children. Spend time with your parents. Take your spouse out to dinner. Smell the flowers. Enjoy the beauty of existence. There will always be time to clean the house and fix the disposal. Take care of the golf balls first -- the things that really matter. The rest is just sand."
One of the students then raised her hand and asked what the beer represented. The professor smiled, "I'm glad you asked."
"The beer shows you that, no matter how full your life may seem, there's always room for a couple of beers with a friend."
(Many thanks to Jan Buchalter for forwarding this sweet story...)
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 09:45 PM | Comments (0)
July 30, 2008A Thimble's Worth
People ask me what it was like
being with Maharaji five days in a row.
Here's what I tell them:
It was like spinning around in a monsoon, thimble in hand,
trying to catch the rain.
Every time I noticed my thimble was full,
I opened my mouth to sing,
but my mouth filled up with water.
I gulped, I drank,
I bailed my boat of joy.
Somehow,
in between the tidal waves of love
and my odd little habit of trying to understand
what in the world was going on,
I heard what he said:
"Get wet! Get wet!"
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 10:18 PM | Comments (0)
July 29, 2008There's a Saint Louis, Missouri... Why Not a Saint Francis?
If you happen to be feeling overwhelmed at the moment, unappreciated, neglected, ignored, unloved, unsettled, diminished, disappointed, disillusioned, disgruntled, or just plain dissed, the following words from Saint Francis -- spoken over 800 years ago -- may be just what the doctor ordered.
By the way, you don't have to be a saint to get the value. Just a human being.
THE SAINT FRANCIS PRAYER
"O Lord, make me an instrument of Thy Peace!
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
Where there is injury, pardon;
Where there is discord, harmony;
Where there is doubt, faith;
Where there is despair, hope;
Where there is darkness, light, and
Where there is sorrow, joy.
Oh Divine Master, grant that I may not
so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love;
for it is in giving that we receive;
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life."
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 09:13 PM | Comments (1)
July 28, 2008Draw a Breath, Not a Line
Throughout history, inner-directed people on the so-called "spiritual path", have had a tendency to perceive the world as "maya" -- the fancy sanskrit name for "illusion."
I used to feel this way a lot.
Back in the early days of my adolescent quest for meaning, I had a curious habit of drawing lines in the sand. On one side of the line was the "inner life" -- the place where God lived (or if not lived, at least vacationed). On the other side of the line was "the world." You know -- the laughable detritus of life on planet Earth: relationships, shopping malls, money, politics, ego, organized religion, high school geometry, taxes, Frosted Flakes, and anything I didn't understand, agree with, or like.
Somehow, it made me feel good to draw these lines -- not unlike the way Democrat and Republican spin doctors strut their stuff on CNN after each political debate.
Well... I would like to take this late night blogospheric moment to humbly apologize to all of those whose lives I somehow judged by my habitual line-drawing behavior.
I see things differently now -- kind of like that old Zen story...
Two young monks, one fine day, found themselves existentially arguing over whether it was the wind or the flag that was moving. Unable to agree, they sought the counsel of their teacher.
"Master, oh Master" they asked, "is it the wind or the flag that is moving?"
"Neither," the Master replied. "It's your mind that is moving."
And so, dear friend, if you find yourself judging anyone these days, including yourself, chill. It's a total waste of time to judge -- especially when you could be enjoying the very thing you were born for.
Draw a breath, not a line.
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 12:22 AM | Comments (0)
July 18, 2008The Falcon and the Falconer
NOTE: This song of praise to Maharaji is best read aloud...
I am the falcon, you are the falconer. Always I am coming back to you, my soaring skyward just a strategy to gather speed for my ultimate return.
How you have trained me is a mystery -- the way you've tamed my restless heart. It is not with fear. I do not fear you. It is not with food. There is prey enough for me everywhere I fly. It is more the way you offer me your arm, a place to land, a second skin scented with the wild musk of one who waits for me, what I would be if I would be a man.
It is a wonderful game the two of us play -- this coming and going, this circular ballet. Each time you loose the loops around my legs and signal me to fly, I remember what it is to rise for the first time. It is here I find my rest, my home. Untethered, still I do not move, needing only to be close to you, my falconer.
It is this that beats my wings, releases me to sky, rides the unseen currents of the air, and though I notice other things: the tops of trees, a cloud, a nimble rabbit on the ground, all I see is you, holding out your arm to me, even as a thousand other falcons overhead, each within your view, circle closer, spiral down, descend.
Still I know that I am next and this is the perfect moment of my return.
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 04:26 PM | Comments (1)
July 11, 2008WAITING DOWN UNDER: A Timeless Moment in Amaroo
When asked to explain his highly abstract Theory of Relativity, Albert Einstein made it comprehensible in just two sentences. "Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute," he said, "and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute."
I can relate.
There are entire years of my life I can barely remember, but singular moments that seem eternal. The birth of my first child was one of them. So was the birth of my second... as was the first time I saw the woman who would later become my wife... and the time I almost drowned.
"Peak experiences," they're called, moments when time seems to stop and we connect with something timeless -- moments when thinking gives way to feeling and we realize, without words, what life is all about.
And though the catalysts for these moments are different for each of us, the experience is universal.
Something takes us over. Something opens up. A Red Sea parts and we feel totally alive, far beyond the usual ways we measure the world, our worth, and life itself.
I've had my share of these moments and am grateful for each of them. But the most memorable ones have been in the company of my teacher, Maharaji.
Being around him brings out the best in me.
I laugh the loudest, feel the deepest, and experience the kind of spaciousness within that contains everything. Home sweet home. Free Parking in Monopoly. The peace that passes all understanding.
Maharaji, for me, is an amplifier of all things good, a human tuning fork vibrating at the frequency I most love to frequent -- the frequency of love.
Which brings me back to the reason why I began this article in the first place.
Last September, I attended a five-day event with Maharaji, in Australia, along with 3,500 other people from more than 30 countries.
It took me 27 hours to get there, but it seemed like a minute.
Life was simple in Amaroo. I lived in a tent. I went to bed when the sun went down. I woke with the birds. I had no cell phone, no laptop, no worries, and nothing to do but listen to Maharaji -- twice a day -- hold forth beneath the vast Australian sky.
I was a happy camper.
On the fifth day of the event, I began to feel an old melancholy creeping in -- the kind I used to feel as a kid on Sunday afternoons when I knew the weekend was coming to an end.
Ah... the paradox!
On one hand, I was immersed in an experience that left me wanting nothing. On the other hand, the more this awareness grew, the harder it was for me think about leaving.
And so when I bumped into Michelle, an old friend of mine now working at Daya's Fine Dining, the on-site restaurant Maharaji was known to frequent, I asked if there was any way I could get in tonight -- my chance, I thought, to see him one more time before I flew home.
"All the reservations are taken," she replied. "But we still need waiters. If you meet me after the event, I'll introduce you to the woman in charge of personnel."
Fast forward a few hours.
The next thing I know a very focused woman is introducing me to Carl, the Head Waiter -- a well-dressed gent oozing confidence, purpose, and five-star restaurantiness.
Quickly, he explains my role, the difference between salad plates and dessert plates, when to bring the bread, when to pour the water, when to open the wine, when to take an order, how to take an order, where to find the spoons, how to fold the napkins, when to present the check, where to get the checks, what the consecutive numbers of my tables were, and a thousand other things that went over my head like an empty thought bubble in a Homer Simpson comic I had no time to read.
I wanted to take notes, but couldn't find a pen. I wanted to ask questions, but there wasn't any time. I wanted to confess my ignorance, but no one was available to play the priest.
I still didn't know where the kitchen was.
And then, before you could say "What are the specials tonight?" the doors open wide and the guests come flooding in.
I go to my section. I meet. I greet. I pour. I nod. I try to remember how the pork is prepared.
So there I am, walking across the room, carrying a chilled bottle of an Italian mineral water I couldn't pronounce if my life depended on it, when the entire restaurant becomes totally still.
Not the sound of a fork. Not the clink of a glass. Just pin drop silence and everyone looking in the same direction.
This, I knew, could mean only one thing.
There, at the threshold of the room, stood Maharaji, radiant, buoyant, completely present. He is looking in what I think of as "my direction," (though I'm convinced he's looking at someone else over my shoulder.)
"Hey Mitch!" he calls out. "So it's come to this? You've been demoted to a waiter!"
Everyone laughs. It's funny. But more than that, it has opened the floodgates. He's broken the ice and opened my heart with only 13 words.
It's clear that Maharaji is talking to me, not that mythical dude over my mythical shoulder. It's also clear that, standing halfway across the room, I'm much too far away to be having a meaningful conversation with him.
I should be closer. Much closer.
And then... I have one of those moments Einstein must have been referring to, years ago, when explaining the Theory of Relativity to people like me.
Time twisted. A second became a lifetime. A lifetime became a second.
Next thing I know I'm standing next to Maharaji.
I have no clue how I got there. Technically speaking, I walked, but not really. I didn't move an inch as far as I could tell. I was moved -- as if the entire restaurant had just been tilted in his direction... and I simply slid towards him.
Effortlessly.
Now next to him, before any other conversations in the room had a chance to begin, we continue the thread of what started as his humorous ice-breaker. I look at him and smile. He looks at me and says something about ADI, the new magazine he likes so much. I respond with news of my recent meetings with Ole, the editor. He says something else. So do I. Small talk, you could say, but for me it wasn't small at all.
It was huge.
Now everyone in the room is getting into the act. The guy at Table 12 (Trout Almondine and the broccoli soup) asks Maharaji about a new software program. The couple sipping champagne at Table 9 talks about music. Someone asks about this. Someone asks about that. And he is totally gracious and present with everyone -- as if each person speaking was the only one in the room.
Me? I'm just standing there next to him, soaking it all up.
And then, just before he continues on his way, he turns and, out of the blue, says something kind about my writing.
Then he pivots and is gone, schmoozing forward into the next room where more people who love him are waiting patiently. I follow behind, a self-appointed member of his entourage, but I know my moment with him is over. I have people to wait on, wine to pour.
And so I return to my station.
Everyone seems a bit different now than when they first came in. Lighter. More expansive. And no one is asking about food.
Of course, that moment passes, too. Soon someone is asking for more butter. Someone else complains about the bread.
The odd thing?
If you look at this story from the outside, it doesn't seem all that extraordinary. OK, so I fly to Australia, live in a tent, don't use my cell phone, and listen to Maharaji for five days. Then I dress up like a waiter, walk across the room, and have a seemingly mundane conversation with him.
"That's it?" one could easily conclude.
Ahhh... This is precisely where the great mystery kicks in, my friends -- the mystery of the off-the-grid relationship between Master and devotee.
It's never about the what. It's all about the who and how.
When you're in love it doesn't matter what's happening. Everything you do, everything you say, everything you don't do or don't say is infused with a feeling.
And that feeling is what it's all about.
My moving across the floor at Daya's Fine Dining took just a few seconds. My conversation with Maharaji took just a few minutes. But the feeling of it all will last a lifetime.
This is what Knowledge is all about. This is what we were born to experience: the timelessness of love. And it is available to each and every one of us every single second of our blessed lives.
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PS: This posting is actually one of two articles on this blog about being a waiter for Maharaji. To read the other one, click here. If either of these move you in the slightest way, please consider forwarding them to a friend or (ahem) a...relative.
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 11:14 PM | Comments (1)
July 05, 2008Give Everything You Have
Give everything you have,
and after you have given,
give what's left.
After you give what's left,
give what remains.
After giving that,
give the feeling of having given.
After giving the feeling
of having given,
give what you get
for having given.
Then give again,
never stopping, always giving.
And should it come to pass that you forget,
forgive yourself immediately.
Then begin again,
giving everything you have,
and after you have given,
give what's left.
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 08:41 PM | Comments (0)
July 04, 2008ASK YOURSELF THIS: "What Can I Do to Help?"
No matter what path you're on, used to be on, think about being on, can't remember you're on... or disbelieve there is any such thing as a "path," the question always remains the same:
"What can I do to help?"
In other words, how can you participate on planet Earth in a way that serves? Certainly, there must be something you can do to go beyond yourself and make a contribution.
In the end, it doesn't really matter what form your effort takes, as long as you are authentically stepping up to the plate and giving it your best to pitch in.
Maybe your effort to serve will have something to do with a "cause" or a Master. Maybe not. If you have a Master, maybe he or she is living. Maybe not. Maybe your Master is Maharaji... or Gurumayi... or the 17th Karmapa... or Thich Nhat Hanh... or Neem Karoli Baba... or Yogananda... or Buddha... or Lao Tzu... or Jesus... or countless other great souls who, from the beginning of time, have been reminding human beings about what's really important in this life.
Yes, the way they've communicated this message has differed, but the essence of the message has always been the same:
What you are searching for is already within you -- and you can experience it. Indeed, that's what you're here for.
Once you've experienced it -- no matter what adjective you use to describe it, it's time to give back -- time to participate... time to serve.
Or, as Bob Dylan once said, "You've got to serve somebody..."
No need to wait, like some wallflower at the High School prom, to be asked. Now's the time.
Start dancing!
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 02:12 PM | Comments (0)
July 02, 2008Snow Day
Growing up in New York, there were three things I found utterly amazing. The accents of people from other places, baseball, and snow days.
If you're from California, Mexico, or Hawaii, you probably know what the first two are all about. But the third? Please allow me to explain.
A snow day, for those of you who have never experienced winter, is an unexpected day off from school granted by a benevolent universe. You go to bed at night, dreading your history test the next day, and wake up with three feet of snow outside your window -- your mother telling you (having just heard it on the radio) that school is closed.
It's a snow day!
Somehow, while you slept, the whole world shut down. Everything came to a halt. The only thing you can see out your window is a solitary bird looking for food and the kid next door, arms outstretched, making snow angels.
You jump for joy! Yahoo! Hallelujah!
Gone is the need to rush through breakfast. Gone is the need to catch the bus. Gone is the need to perform.
All bets are off. Your time is your own. You are free!
You look out the window and everything is white. The jagged edges of the world have been softened, curved, and relaxed. Everything is still, as if the God you've heard so much about in Sunday school has just hit the pause button.
You have time to slow down, time to admire, time to do nothing at all -- and feel really good about it. After all, this isn't a sick day, it's a snow day -- a complete and utter gift... an unexpected bit of grace... an inheritance you didn't realize was on its way.
For me, the experience of Maharaji's Knowledge is a bit like that.
And the ultimate beauty of the whole thing? You don't have to wait for an "Act of God," while you sleep, to enjoy its benefits. It's with you every second of the day, every breath.
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 06:54 AM | Comments (0)
June 28, 2008A Stroke of Insight
This 20 minute video is extraordinary. It's the story of a brain scientist, Jill Bolte Taylor, who had a severe stroke and, in the process, experienced the true essence of who she was. She makes a compelling case for the choice we all have -- separateness or unity, struggle or peace. Well worth watching. In the words of an old song whose name escapes me at the moment, "You are not your body, you are not your mind..."
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 02:46 AM | Comments (1)
June 25, 2008I Want to Tell You About My Master
I want to tell you about my Master, the one who teaches from within, that like a heartbeat longing to be heard becomes the twin I never knew I had.
Him! That one! He is calling me, not with music, that would be too easy, but with laughter -- that's his choir!
I cannot describe this man, my words only exclude. Better simply to say, "The one I love," answer to a prayer much too subtle for anyone else to hear. Keeper of the flame, who I am, was, and will be when there's no one left to remember my name. Why you like candlelight, want a child, dream.
The one with no other master plan but love.
I have met this man, or should I say observed, struck dumb by his simplicity and the unspeakable glory of seeing what these eyes first opened for.
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 10:27 PM | Comments (0)
June 10, 200834 Reasons Why I Like Being with Maharaji
This past weekend I attended a two-day event with Maharaji at the Palace Theater in Albany, NY. As always, I enjoyed the experience immensely.
On the way home, I started thinking about why, specifically, I enjoy being with him as much as I do -- and how I might describe these benefits to others, especially those intrigued by Maharaji's message, but not totally sure if it's really for them.
Well... at the risk of trying to explain the unexplainable, here goes:
34 Reasons Why I Like Being with Maharaji
1. I breathe more deeply
2. It becomes very easy to savor every moment
3. I stop judging myself and everyone else
4. Time slows down
5. I listen from a still place inside me
6. I feel like I'm dancing when I walk -- or at least, gliding
7. I laugh uncontrollably
8. I cry tears of joy
9. I stop worrying
10. I like what I see when I look in the mirror
11. I have a lot more fun than usual
12. I experience timelessness
13. Everything seems perfect just the way it is
14. I let go of being self-conscious
15. I feel like I'm being massaged from the inside out
16. I move in tune with a hidden music
17. I see how peace is possible for the entire planet
18. I feel like he's talking just to me
19. I am grateful for everything
20. I want to serve
21. I feel whole and complete
22. I feel a vast spaciousness
23. I live in the present moment
24. Everything is profoundly simple
25. I rededicate myself to the practice of Knowledge
26. I stop trying to improve myself
27. I lose my need to gain anyone's approval
28. I am content
29. I come from my heart, not my head
30. Life feels like a party
31. I let things come to me -- and they do
32. I feel more authentic
33. I realize I have no problems
34. I feel like I'm totally home
PS: Feel free to add to this list by posting a comment -- your own "reasons" why it's good being with Maharaji.
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 08:56 AM | Comments (8)
June 06, 2008I planted a seed, I watered it. I took a breath and it grew. That's how simple the whole thing is...
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 10:46 PM | Comments (1)
June 04, 2008Off the Coast of Love
My wife tells me I should pay more attention to details --
the house, the car, the lawn --
there's a thousand things, by sunset, that need to be done.
She's right, of course.
It's true.
If only I wasn't floating
three feet off the ground today,
caught in the updraft
of a single gaze from you,
spinning like a thousand cyclones
off the coast of love.
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 07:33 AM | Comments (1)
May 15, 2008Jazzman
A couple of nights ago I went to a local concert that featured my friend, the jazz saxophonist, Peter Buettner and his quartet. I had heard Peter play many times before, but never like this. He was soaring, free, transcendental, and plugged into the saxophone Gods that night. After the gig, I saw him in the lobby and told him how awesome he was. Peter smiled and mentioned that he finally figured out a way to go beyond himself and stop analyzing his own playing. In other words, he let go to his natural gifts and just let it rip.
This is the same challenge we all have, no matter what medium we use to express ourselves. When we give up being self-conscious, when we give up worrying about what other people think, the true power and beauty of our art form materializes immediately.
And so, in honor of Peter's breakthrough and the one that's imminent for you, here's a song of praise for all the jazz boppers out there -- the ones who go beyond the boundaries of form and somehow find their way home.
(Please read it aloud for maximum impact...)
JAZZMAN
There's a billion jazz men in my blood, blowing their horns for love. They've been out on the street too long to wonder what the hell is going on -- for in their freedom -- in their utmost respect for recklessness, they know that life is but a high note held above the head of anyone who listens.
Happy to be playing on a night when others less fortunate than them are recovering from day jobs, these jazz boppers restore all integrity to the underground club that is my body here in this nether world of friends and future lovers. I sing with them! I dance! I tap my soul to the beat of their incessant drumming! And though they do not need to look at me, they smile.
What I see I cannot say, nor can this midnight review redeem the essence of what it is these billion molecules of madness in human form demand.
This is the form of God before your eyes! This is the moment of majesty!
Jazz men, jazz men, play your horns and drums, pound those keys so the vague interrupters of eternity can finally get up and dance and forget themselves once and for all.
Jazz men, play yourselves.
Hey you finger drumming soldiers of man's need to stop finding himself, and so stopping, actually find himself to be found. Hey, you street licking bluesmen of the space between day and night, I love your song, your scream for no one in particular.
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 11:53 AM | Comments (0)
April 29, 2008Time Out for Love
Ta da! Introducing Jesse (13) and Mimi (11), my two kids.
When Jesse was four, I asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up. "Everything!" he replied, without missing a beat. And then there was the time when Mimi mounted the living room table, raised both hands high overhead and declared, as if kicking off some kind of invisible Olympic ceremony: "Babies... and gentlemen!"
When it snows, they think snow angels. I think shovel.
Thomas Edison had it right: "The greatest invention in the world is the mind of a child."
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 07:44 AM | Comments (0)
February 17, 2008Watercolor
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)
