The ordinary poet simply hops; for a moment he is off the ground, but only for a moment, and then he is back on the ground again.
A buddha has wings -- he does not hop. He knows how to go to the farthest star. He knows the way to approach the unknown, he has the key to unlock the doors to the mysterious. He is a master. And then something starts flowing through him which is not his own. He is only a medium: he is possessed. Then whatsoever he says is poetry; or, even if he keeps silent, his silence is poetry. His silence has tremendous music in it; whether he speaks or not doesn't matter. Speaking, he speaks poetry; not speaking, he remains poetry. He is surrounded by poetry: he walks in poetry, he sleeps in poetry, poetry is his very soul, it is his essential being.
How does this poetry happen? It happens in surrender, it happens when the part gathers enough courage to surrender to the whole, when the dewdrop slips into the ocean and becomes the ocean.
-Rajneesh
- GO! - The Creator Writings
Monday, December 31, 2018 - 16:37 - Daily Message ~ Monday December 31, 2018 - Trinity Esoterics
Monday, December 31, 2018 - 16:36 - All in Good Time - Heavenletters
Monday, December 31, 2018 - 16:35
