I don’t tell you that I love you because your soul knows it

I won’t look into your eyes because emerald is richer in dreams

The Great Persian novel breathes in my heart but my fingers won’t tap it

I can’t recommend Maria Callas because it was untrained compulsion singing through her

Why speak of God when unspoken love takes courage and that much courage is overwhelming

I won’t cry at your son’s funeral; sometimes it’s just best to hold a mother’s hand

How can I compliment the butterfly? After all it’s no fashion show

The day you moved in I heard your childlike giggle and that was my reassurance.

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Chasing the Lost Self

Are you familiar with that sickening feeling of having achieved huge power and success at the age of sixty? That feeling that soon you will run of out of time and that you are now “hurting in all the places where you used to play.”

Sometimes we lose our real self while the false self (ego) is reaching its zenith of success. Many men when they reach peak success, desire forty five women before it’s too late. Add to that list five automobiles, all the different flavors of ice cream, and of course various medical miracles that bring them back to the ripe age of nineteen.

All of the above belongs to the false life of the ego. How painful it is when we lose our Essential Self; the one who is identified with simple breathing, prayer, children, family, and a day’s earnest work to feed the belly.

There are different thinkers who feel that the real self is made of light that cannot perish and does not need plastic surgery and aphrodisiacs to stay lovely and potent.

There are those who step lightly on Earth, those who leave their physical body with a smile of knowingness that “I am now going home.”

 God Bless you

Kambiz Naficy


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Broom of Wisdom


 He is wiry, tall like a poplar, and dark as the night. He sweeps a sidewalk in New Delhi with eyes white as marble, soft gaze piercing the concrete.

In an older India, they would have called him “untouchable” due to his low cast. Now a days, there is no such label yet no one of a higher order will touch his broom.

It seems that he is sweeping away dust but he must be doing something else because his eyes look beyond the clay; he is filled with joy and chanting in bliss the name of God.

Swoosh—Rama Rama

Swoosh—Krishna Krishna

Swoosh—My Lord Buddha

Swoosh—Allah Allah

Swoosh—Hail Mother Mary

It is as if his body sweeps away illusions while his mind is building worthwhile castles in the air. He lives in apparent ecstasy and inside I know that he has earned my respect, respect from the depths of my heart.

Take a broom today and begin to sweep; make you home shine from now on. Let your mind become untouchable with every stroke. With every stroke sweep away anxiety, fears, and regrets. Sweep away “my life story”, your personal interpretations of what happened in the past—most interpretations about what happened are illusions.

Chant a beautiful song and bellow out your exhalations as if you are expelling everything unnecessary in your life. All the while and with every stroke, build your life one thought at a time. Think and sweep away the clutter; sweep and build courage; sweep and sweep as you build up your will to live fully.

Today on the sidewalks of New Delhi, I came upon a saint. I had never seen a street cleaner in bliss and ecstasy of God. This Untouchable teaches the lesson of the ancient Vedas; that a simple life brings order, that the mind is the master and not the dust, the job, and one’s belongings.

Many Blessings

Kambiz Naficy

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Some might think me mad, but I am not the only one who senses your soft skin on the magnolia flower, drunk with your scent in the flower’s scent.

Sometimes I catch you beaming in the sparkle of rippling steams.

Just yesterday, a dragonfly came to a dead stall, hovering eye-to-eye, so near yet not scared at all. In its satin wings there were your veins, flowing.

Some days with water on my face, a summer breeze will brush by and I, recognize your caress.

Sane or not, a butterfly flits from one flower to another garden, and that can be none other than your childlike play.

See all those feathers on the pompous rooster; who set them on fire with astounding color? Ah, but isn’t the miracle just a stroke of your brush?

When little sisters under the mosquito nets, and under the full moon, cannot stop their belly-laughs, I know those Buddha belies to be yours.

Some years back, I was alone, looking for love in newspapers, but now I am not alone.

One day I paid attention to mere being; then I knew that all along you loved me still the same.

Attention to life is the most romantic thing!

Some days,

              my friend,

                     pay attention ,

                            and soon,

                                      you will fall in love!



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I a Persian poet, have come to you, Mother India, to share a gem, a secret of all times with your children. It is the secret of the falcon soaring, the palm leaves bending to the monsoon, the unassuming smile of the naked child riding the back of her elder sister. But who is the child, the older sister, the mother and the father? Does the black crow call out in random shrieks or does she imitate the vibrations and pulsations of the earth?

There is a secret of simple Oneness; the One Shakti which pulsates within Herself to create “Leela” which means the Lord’s Earthly play of a thousand masks. The Persian poet Rumi likens the Lord’s play on earth to a hall of mirrors, he hints that Brahman is both the mirror and the multi-colored faces in the mirror.

As long as any of us feel separated or smaller than the Spanda, the heartbeat of the Universe, we shall be forever struggling with Fear of loneliness, isolation, vulnerability, old age, poverty, and death. Then again, who holds the real power in a world full of aggression and competition?  The Bhagavad Gita states that no  weapon can destroy the One who has merged.

How do I merge with whom and with what, you may ask?

The secret is that you have always been your Creator’s glory. Toss away the illusions and you will quickly recognize that you the creation cannot possibly be different from THAT which created you—Ham Sa, Ham Sa…

If you sometimes miss your Lord in a moment of abandonment, then why won’t you assume the obvious—that the One Pulse that created you, is also the Mother who is missing her child? After all, She is the impulse behind your heartbeat. Why beseech Shiva, Rama, Christ, and Allah to return to your side when all the while She pulsates within you, waiting with patience for her child to give up that childish resistance? Why won’t you just come Home?

The secret of the Vedantas, Kabir, Rumi, and Hafez has always been the One Pulse, the One Glory, One Race, and One Endless Love.

All you need to do is to close your eyes and assume that the crow, the child’s smile, the Indian Ocean, and the whisper of the wind combing through the palm leaves are all One Song. Assume that your skin is thinning so that the outer and the inner-meditations are becoming one.

Just assume the Bliss and the Bliss will be there. Assume the wealth, the health, the love in your life and all will be granted as easily as the breeze flows.  The Vedas call Brahman consciousness. If the One who created you is of the substance of Pure Consciousness, then the quantum physicist will assure you that your consciousness, your thoughts, beliefs, and outlook will co-mingle with that of the Creator to create the results of your life.

Then why do we experience all this pain on earth? Well, God may not be destructive but some of your thought may very well be, and the Lord being a noble Being, will never veto what you have agreed to believe.

The language that your Lord Shiva understands is spiritual certainty; just be who you want to be and with that kind simple dialogue with the Lord, Grace will be granted. The only force that drives away Her protection and Grace is ego and ego’s fear. Be certain that your consciousness is one with Her’s, that Her breath is the impulse behind yours, that you exist in your physical body as a testament of Her Glory. You are not who you believe you are; you are Her Glory.

When you wake up to your own faultless Glory, your heart will surge with such intolerable shakti; with such unbearable Lightness of Love that your old separate self will die to the One Pulse—the process of merging begins with love and wonder for the ordinary day.

Once you are a child and a servant of Grace, you will live unassumingly and tirelessly to spread the prosperity of Oneness.

Much Love

Kambiz Naficy


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