Welcome to the Writings Gallery, a collection of my writings. They vary considerably. It is my intent to blend writings of insight teachings with those of raw human experience. I hope you'll enjoy the 'inner disciplines' as much as the 'dramatic' and be encouraged to make the most of this precious human birth.
|Poetry & Shorts Gallery – Poetry and Other Short Encounters
I remainTeachings Gallery – Teachings on Various Subjects
Wisdom Gallery – Quotes from various authors and teacher over the ages
Book Indexes – What began as a rather spontaneous curiosity became a meticulous contemplative practice that provided wonderful insights. Eventually it became as much a devotional offering to others who might find them helpful. I hope they serve you well.
A New Earth, Eckhart TolleLiving Awareness Newsletter – Past Issues (Not available yet)
i have felt terror
rage comfort despair
-- so many feelings
charged & important
eventually passed --
Yet I remain
i had a thought
which i forgot
i held a belief
then changed my mind
nursed a grudge
which i forgave
each came & went
Yet I remain
i was a child
a son a student
a spouse a father
& abandoned --
Yet I remain
i was clothed in flesh
the gift of movement
this garment has
grown with me
worn from use
soon to be discarded
then naked will
yet I remain
i loved & lost the
object of my love
time & again to
find it is i who
loves and chooses
to love all life
& so I remain
scared to death
in the middle of the dark of night
shaking I peered out from the covers
and dared to look under the bed
it was a frightening sight
to find that I was both in
and under the same bed
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|Death of a Child
The death of my daughter; the death of my son— at whatever age; to behold them has already been an absolute miracle; Who am I to demand anything more?
What if my 13 year old died today in an auto accident? Of course, I will be pained. Of course, I have other plans …but who am I to actually expect something different?
In 100 years I will be gone. In another fifty so also my children. Photographs will eventually fade, memories forgotten. All that will remain of us will be the signature of whatever love we loved left reverberating in the lives of others.
What if my daughter died tomorrow?
Would any hardness of expectation stifle my gratitude?
This is it… why when someone faces death their whole life “flashes before their eyes.” It is not memory. It is the Self looking back from the Everlasting Now at the reality of this life as it in actuality is—a flash. Nothing more.
If my son dies this day who am I to expect anything more? His years are a miracle as it is.
I may valiantly lay claim to protect him until I must completely let go.
This is the art of life, to see it for the miracle that it is without clinging to an expectation of what we think it should be. It is only from the perspective of death—that freedom into the Eternal Moment— that we see the joy of knowing each person but for a single breath, as the perfect and utterly complete gift that they are.
Kurt Treftz 2006
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|"I am tired of hearing myself speak.
Now you tell me a story.
You, with your deep eyes,
you with your sweet breasts,
tender shoulders, gentle waist,
and lovely hips—though all be covered.”
She responded with silence…then,
“I don’t know what to say.
I feel naked before you.”
“Like children, then.”
|“No, not like children,” she responded.
Looking into her eyes and into her body I said,
“Then as lovers and as children,
tell me a story.”
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|Desire and Longing
As I went for a run yesterday morning I contemplated my own intensely, long-held desires quite a bit and realized what a wonder it is how we must know our deepest desires as the crazy wild, immensely powerful horses that they are.that must at the same time be held like an incredibly beautiful butterfly, with the most tender wing-scales, invited to rest in our open hand.
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|Poem of the Damned
I am hardened, reinforced with steel
I span the banks
Never moving, never compromising my
I arch my back to
Hold myself against the flow
Closed, not allowing,
Not opening, not open
Behind me builds this
Vast pressure, this
Great unrelenting burden
Yet I hold fast to my anchorage
Trusting my foundation
Unwilling to venture a peek, a spout
That would surely result in
My painful death
Holding fast, the rain
Continue to fall
And my burden grows daily
Straining me, torturing me
Though the reinforcement of fear
The strain-full suffering
Oblivious to myself I am parched, a desert
A living dilemma
My convicted contractions
Meant to protect me
Now hurt me with unbearable,
Oh, that I were not
So strongly hardened
Oh, that I knew my gateways
Oh, that I were not a dam at all
That I might discover
My dreaded shadow—that
Ugly, filthy, dangerous and disgusting beast
To be no less than the
Waters of life
Oh, that I might break
The concrete and steel that
Surrounds my heart
And see myself for what
I was meant to be—
A part of the River of Life
The deserts and wastelands
Before me would again
Spring forth in abundance
Oh, that I might have the
Strength to let go of
What I take to be my strength
And realize the power and glory
Of my flow
Recognition and Realization
We want to love Life the way it was meant to be lived. And, indeed, this is Life's intention.
It is also Life's loving intention to birth us through pain and grow us through challenge-that which we tend to avoid-only so that we might live more abundantly.
And so it is, that when we recognize pain and Challenge as our benefactors-open to Life and engage it fully-that we realize how Life lives us the way we were meant to be loved.
|The Sweetest of Surrenders
There he rested, seated in the chair at the side of the bed, his upper body slumped over and onto it. He had gently collapsed with the sweet peace after long battles and the fatigue that come with them.
Just two days ago I teased him, "I suppose you'll sooner or later find another lover." As much as he responded with a painful glance I wanted him to see that I know and accept how life must go on without me. I wouldn't want him to limit his life because of me. I want him free to live fully.
Stan just continues to lay there. It is so good to see him rest. He's been such a perfect husband, hanging in with me as I fade away. Even when he burst forth in frustration at the medical team he was perfect. I didn't think so at the time, but it was his way to fight for me, to protect me. And it was his way to protect himself.
Counting the days we could get out as precious, we not long ago had gone to the lake side park where Stan had brought all manor of blankets and pillows and propped me against the base of a tree in the sun.
From what depths he sourced himself to care for me on top of all else was beyond me. Of course he'd cut back his hours at work. But his work with, for and around me was endless. I couldn't count the tasks and constant vigilances on the days I was given over to pain.or worse, medicated to oblivion. On those days I was self-absorbed or just altogether absent. But when we went to sit in the sun near the lake I was fully aware of his heroic efforts to "create life" for me.
I watched him that day as he shifted and looked directly into my eyes. He was full of pain, and full of surrender, and full of his love for me. I was seeing him through the infinite place I was quickly approaching and I saw eternal beauty reflected in his eyes. Such were the heights we realized in what could otherwise seem as pain with no bottom.
|Finding My Tears and My Child
To find my tears-to cry
To find my sensitivity
is to shed my armor.to shed my armor from fear
and shame-much of it passed on from
generation to generation-"family of origin"-the
family of 'man'.
To wake up and find years of what has hid behind
the faces of those I trusted—those I let way too
behind the smiles, the politically
behind the face of “Nice”
behind the lie of care-taking placation
behind the masks that merely handled me—
To see it all at once is more than dis-equilibrium—
it is the hint of paranoia
begging “who then can be trusted?”
“where do I start trusting?” and
“where do I stop doubting?”
|More to come...|
All writings by Kurt Treftz (unless otherwise quoted), copyrighted 2006 (or otherwise dated). All rights reserved. These writings may be shared on only a non-commercial basis unless specific permission has been granted otherwise.
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