Dorothy Hunt
Dorothy Hunt is the founder of the San Francisco Center for Meditation and Psychotherapy, where she currently offers meditation, satsang, and retreats in small group settings, and also sees individuals. Following a series of ever-deepening realizations, Dorothy was invited by her spiritual teacher, Adyashanti, to teach within his lineage. Dorothy's spiritual path led from Mother Teresa of Calcutta to the Advaita teachers Ramana Maharshi and Ramesh Balsekar, and eventually to Adyashanti. Each one of her teachers appeared to her totally unexpectedly, yet profoundly.

The Altar of This Moment

Place everything you can perceive -
Everything you can
    See,
         Hear,
              Smell,
                   Taste,
                        Or touch,
Upon the altar of this moment
                             And give thanks.

It is over so soon -
      This expression,
           This single moment of your precious life,
                This one heart
                     pounding itself open
                          with fear or wild joy,

                This one breath rising
                     in the cold winter air
                          smoothly and gently
                               or coughing and sputtering,

Bow, while you can, before
      This one taste
           Of afternoon tea
                Warming its way to your belly,
                     Or the fragrant orange
                          exploding its sweet juice
                               in your grateful mouth.

You have to love
          The antics of your mind,
                   Imagining life should only be sweet.
          The bitter makes the sweet; and life is both.
          It is whole, like you,
                   Before you think yourself to pieces.

Place this moment's pain and confusion on the altar, too,
          And give special thanks for such grace
                 That wakes you up from sleeping through your life.
          Pain is greatly under-rated as a pointer to Unknowing,
                 yet greatly over-rated when taken as identity.

In this one moment,
          Your eyes meet mine and there is
              a single looking.
                  What is peering from behind our masks?
                      Can it touch itself across the room?

Place your palms together;
          Touch your holy skin.
              In another moment it will shed itself.
                  What will you be then?
                      What were you before you had two hands?
                          What are you now?

You cannot capture That
          and place It on the altar of this moment.
              It is the altar,
                  And this moment's infinite expressions,
                      And the Seeing,
                          And its own devotion to itself.

You are That.

Silence Empty of Nothing

This Silence is empty.
What is empty is silent;
yet this Silence is empty
of nothing.

Today in the Market Place

Today in the market place, I will love you in the lemons
and caress you in the smooth-skinned apple.
I will laugh at the ripples of your kale body
and kiss your sweet strawberry lips.
I will savor every kind of seed you bear
and lick the pomegranate juice dripping
from my finger tips with sensuous delight.
I will touch you in the firm young carrot
and toss you playfully in piles of spinach leaves.
I will smell you in the fragrant bins of spices
and take the lids off shampoos to find your scent.
I will look at your eyes in new potatoes
and hold the slender stalks of green celery
with their leafy tops up to the light,
admiring each mist-drop still glistening there.

Today in the market place, I will love you
as I push the cart and sometimes jump on
to catch a ride between the oranges and the onions.
I will suck the sweetness from your fruit
and marvel at the intricacies of your green
and purple, red and yellow forms.
I will feel your shiny grains of rice,
and linger where you bake your bread.
I will smell you, touch you, drink you, taste you,
kiss you and consume you until you have become
a part of me; and when I see you in a human face,
my heart will feel delight, my eyes will smile their joy,
and I will receive you without one hesitation,
for nothing can interrupt our lovemaking.
Today I will meet my Beloved in the market place.

Silence Is Freedom

Silence is not
freedom from sound.
Silence is not
freedom from thought.
Silence is freedom
from some other moment.

A Vast Wardrobe

Look how this nakedness shows its vast wardrobe!
Here it dresses as a rose;
there it dresses as a car;
here the suit is Mother;
there the suit is Daughter.
Spirit does not inhabit these things.
Nothingness does not climb in and out.
The rose grows thorns
and does not bloom in winter;
the mother will one day sleep without waking
and her daughter will weep.