Monday, April 11, 2011

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Inf: Maruri: The Master.

TEACHER

***
Maruri Roberto Ampuero

Arts.xx @ gmail.com

http://vocesdelanuevaconciencia.blogspot.com/
The Master is to wonder at the style of beauty, is only the Self that strips, remaining open space in the non-spatial and non-time
within "Silence outside nestled in the clouds of Nothing, steeped in the truths of Pure Intelligence.
The Master is one who understands and who flies Emptiness Transparency.

who understands "is not from the mental- that is absolutely permanent, and Silence of the Void.
The teacher is sick of Eternity of tacit knowledge, factual, and acknowledges that there is no identity or the ego from which eventually perceived. has been depolarized during the experiments.

has fallen Master of History after diving into the insignificance of non-being.
True Disappears Master of Time, is the fusion of perceiver and perceived, is not identified, loose, dies at the experiences, is the only death: letting go .
Master has begun looking beyond the human to the purity of the real. Has begun to live beyond the Cosmos, beyond the skills of the ephemeral, channels beyond the banal.

The Master has disappeared, or has been amplified, the human but still singing inside the Earth. Her singing is the Song Unfathomable. The vastness in his eyes without blood, untouched by the events. It is the Beauty itself, is the Freedom in a heart transcended, the absolute consciousness. Teacher voices are anonymous, no one speaks. The Master has no identity or bleeds. Light is the wind that runs through the willows and wet bark of coigüe, smoking is a suburb in the grasslands, a wetland of Beauty of the Earth, fresh water springs on the tops of the universe, live reef funds, fish watercolors in relentless waves.
Master is eternal Spirit: your home without walls. The Master naked inside the heart, in his absence of boundaries, transcended the separation there of the organic. That began to style at the pinnacle that is beyond the wounded.
Freedom is the wonder that runs through his veins, without desires, they are a flaming coral beyond a living cosmos. The Cosmos Consciousness disappears.
The Maestro is music, permeating every tree and grass and revive the icebergs, priming the musicality of the torrents, the sensitivity of the blade and moisture on the back of the animals. Nature is the lover and expands. This is the master. Love prevailed. In the deepage river under the wings of an eagle, pressing life on the rocks.


is blue in the Piélagos. It was not easy for the Master, the winds devastated the islands, rose autumn yellow.
The Master made it unlikely. It is being resurrected from the Song of Dreams, from the indomitable of dawn secrets. Now lives in the bell of Song of the Universe and the Song of the Earth at a time, beyond the light surf on the dives. The sunsets have lost the sense of his flesh coming stars. Its flesh is now peaceful and light as sailing between red print. Today is burning in the fires of heaven and bonfires terrestrial in the instant. For this to be the cardinal is dead, the density has disappeared and his body is wind today has been buried within the winds. Spectral eye is ancient. No one sees in the land of stone terraces in the dust, in the previous paradigm. And it appears transparent unredeemed in landscapes of a new land, crystallized into light and with a new voice, full, sovereign, on Peace, sung, generous, beautiful and clouds of light in other ranges, without pain or fear naked, soaked. Master shining in the shades of the new music: a bodice of a breast magnificent, splendid, as the new women's bodies displayed on the beach or surrounded forests. Nude. Inflamed. Powerful.
A day burned in the fires of death as a witch in the pits of autumn, in medieval time. Now lost in the beauty, cast Freedom. Beautiful. Nude Consciousness. Puro. Indelible.


Here in the surf music in the hearts of the swans. (And one day no one believed him.) Today it flies in the honeysuckle, nalcas on the edge of the crusts. It's a living. The virtual hid it, he did invisible among his kinsmen. It was not. Was never in the figures, was an abstraction of wind in the old paradigm. It was always Nothing. Unto itself was empty. I vacuum. Was the Void, which is, in the now deeper channels where no dream and spread light in the rhythm. The Master is a mountain bird sailing the rivers of the sky and terrestrial rivers. No clouds, no cliffs or ravines, no moss or fungi, or blooms. Truth is essential. The essences powerful and perpetual. Embracing the new Mother Earth. Gaia is the one who sings. It's the Song of Beauty. Here is the naked man.

The imaginary boundary fading presence in those now nameless. His reflexes in fiery spirited, mounts the wind beyond fractals. Being only be resounding in the fullness of beauty, the majesty of Air.
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