One Hand Clapping

It seems to me that awareness operates outside time, perhaps feeding upon time the way interstellar black holes mature; eating such mass as can influence. Or perhaps like some cosmic surfer, awareness harnesses the wave of Now. Moving in the Now for the rewards thereof, goal and balance are everything: the trout's small moves let the stream bring to it its desire.

In meditation there is the distinct awareness of existential motionlessness: something one might imagine as the state of existence before the creation of the universe. All is awareness: no mind, no matter, no energy. We return to the material world with an appreciation of the native power of inevitability, and with new apprehensions of utility.

The continuity of experience is an immaterial event . . . or perhaps one should say "non-material". We have, at this point in our understanding of the universe, no way to weigh awareness; no way to measure, to detect, no way to prove, or to capture the fact of awareness. We can measure electrical activity in the tissue of a brain, but in simpler life forms awareness exists independent of nerve tissue. So a mysterious "non-material" event happens to be the substrate of what "we" are as creatures with "personalities".

Why a mere stack of atoms should be able to ask anything at all is the right question to ask.

All things are happening or they don't exist at all. A rock on a Martian desert plain is happening. A single photon pressing through space on the other side of the universe is happening.

But what is the sound of awareness happening?

Rainy Drive to Town

inertia is more efficient

when less mechanical advantage is presented

to opposing forces

yesterday's verdant hills now blaze reds and golds

the damp sky billows gray

and how is it possible the sky could be so beautiful

or that the cry of the great flocks can be so new each fall

experience is beyond the reach of memory

for memory is an experience unto itself

the living instant of our experience is held by the senses

as a leaf holds the wind

experience nurtures and sustains us

as the sky supports the cloud

and although the fact precludes possession

in truth experience is all we own

experience is our source and our destination

it is this damp fall day

Inevitability, Time, and the Law of Accident

Time is and is not. The stream of time is the same as the existence of mathematics; it is a utilitarian concept. The concept of time is an acknowledgement that all things are in flux, and therefore possess trajectories. If we take the existence of the universe all at once, every wave form is just where it is regardless of the rate of sequence in its existence. There is simultaneity of existence, but not of time. What really exist is Now, and Now is a system of ubiquitous pressure, everywhere in motion. "Now" is a roar without duration or cessation. If there is no awareness there is no time: there is a seethe of being, but that seethe of being is timeless.

Awareness seamlessly flows on the material Now giving rise to the illusion that Past exists: and of course nominally and colloquially it does. What this means for living creatures is that things done in this now will echo in our ensuing now, and no act is quite what it seems because the trajectories of existences that will impact the results of our actions in the flux of inevitability can not be known. The essence of "Good and Evil" concerns presumed outcomes, and well intended people are capable of great evil.

In meditation one sometimes has a feeling that might be likened to a boulder in a mountain stream: ones awareness is motionless and the flow of the stream of time around one is palpable.

Conscious Tillage of a Mystery

stampeding leaves herd

this way

now that

in search of some utopian frozen ground

wind waves crash

and pound

and hiss

and then recede

sharply as a hatchet lopping limbs

a crow call

the kettle hums a high note

the fire pops and cracks

smoke plows straight to ground

vanishing in silent impact

the inevitable rules by law of accident in fate's rich domain

conscious tillage of fate's field

is the one resource of destiny's slim province

Anatman and the Balloon Show Wiener-dog

We have probably all seen at some time or other a balloon entertainer who can twist the air-filled resilient sack into any animal that you can imagine...say, a wiener-dog. It is no different with awareness and self. The dominant imperatives of person-hood are biologically driven and have no selfness that is not hostage to the vagaries of animal existence. Far from being de-humanizing, this truth is the foundation of all that is noble and all that is vile in humanity. At the same time it must be acknowledged that the self as popularly conceived is an illusion.

Awareness has no choice but to fill the space defined by its form; and finding self in form, accrue identity. The central fact of enlightenment is the potential for awareness to awaken existentially and then to pre-empt the biological self as the center of its existence. And far from de-potentizing the limited expressions of being human, the awakened intelligence finds its self in a garden of wondrous potential.

So what happens when the inevitable friction with environment pops the balloon? Certainly not some atmospheric reiteration of the cosmic wiener-dog.

Noticeable Change Seeking Repose

conditioned cycles of behavior

should they evaporate

what would be left of us

we who can only with great effort retain a focus

at odds with the dictates of the unconscious

we whose most cherished thoughts

are but the shadow of our being

in the light of reality

it is notice

that by saturation illuminates our being

notice is precursor to all true freedom

and powers premature of notice

enthrall

enmesh

aggrandize

idea is her novice

and genius is her adept

and though we may juggle well the ideas of others

it is what we have noticed

that is our own

in the swirling billions of galaxies

what takes notice

before this mystery unfold all questions

Icarus Pilots the Juggernaut

Taken en-mass humanity is clever but not wise. There is wealth and intelligence enough to commit great crimes, but not enough of either to save mankind from it's self. The kind of aggressive altruism and fearless facing of fact necessary to save our little dirt-ball, our beautiful little island afloat in the endless emptiness of space, is simply in too short supply to suggest a happy landing for life on earth this time around.

The ancient Chinese Taoists recommended that in times of disorder the sage retreat to his own virtue. Or I suppose one could stand in front of a tidal wave waving ones arms and screaming stop. The Punch and Judy show of good and evil must play its self out; after all we are only human.

There was a fellow by the name of George Gurdjieff (died 1947) who was an arch disciplinarian (and one whose work deserves survey) who in his ruminations suggested that humanity could be saved only by a threat to existence so huge that it over-shadowed culture everywhere and of every stripe.....well it seems to me that we have a rainbow of such dire information, but it is just not able to cut through the sea of darkness that is the modern self. So I'm expecting a spontaneous flowering of awakened intelligence.....no one will have seen that coming.

Clearing Skies at Midnight in December

it is that moment just midway of dusk and dawn

and between stragglers of the grey that all day fed rivulets and puddles

in lazy drift through Gemini appears

Jupiter now startling bright

now dissolved in haze once more

stars are close

tomorrow

sun

it is not

Monday droning

after monotonic cretin Monday

that brings December's dreary repetition

the days have no names

and convention's reassurance does not tame them

on every side of God's toy top the flood of light goes on forever

never is there any dark

but for shadow

and this

our little corner of the universe

rages

for reunion with oblivion

they are reckless

the stars that send their light to fill this puddle

and we

are their children

Free Teeshirt Slogns

awareness ?????

consciousness ? ? ? ?

WTF

Symbol and the Nothingness of Time

All meaning is symbolically constellated. A proper symbol is a cymbal that resonates within the catacombs of archetype.

When we survey the art and literature of mankind's rise from blessedly ignorant earth, we find a treasure trove of truth and light. Riches beyond the imaginings of the merely acquisitive are scattered on the ground for the taking. Carl Jung (1875-1961) may have been the first western mind to fully appreciate this. I have found the more valuable gems to be those closest to the earth-source, and there are scholars that should be sainted for their insightful collections of this material.

Symbol does not reduce to icon: it is rather that icon is a pointing to symbol. Icon is a stick that would hope to strike the cymbal. Symbol is the voice of the facts of our existence in the nothingness of time.

Ten Thousand Previous Poets

the smell of your hair

is with me in the world

the thousand previous poets

have with honed pens torn their hearts

to tell of love

their words

are no mere dried butterflies

upon pins of heartless history

and I find

across the motionless centuries

we chant in unison

I find no thought . . . no yearning

unthought

un-yearned

unknown before

within our souls

are the living incarnations of primordial goddesses and gods

their life eternal is our rushing wave of mortal selfhood

and there forever

they find and they love one another

for our petty human lives

there are such riches as can assure a patient poverty

and for the restless gods within my soul

all that is found

in you

A Swig From the Bottle While Admiring a Spoon Collection

There exists a pervasive difficulty with technologies of being. Most (if not all) individuals first encounter these technologies in the guise of religion which leads the affected person to identify the benefits of the discipline with an efficacy of religion. I suppose this is to be expected of the emergent state in which we find mankind, but it is rather like attributing the power of medicine to the spoon.

If we distill the "spirit" from juices of fermentation we will end up with the same chemical intoxicant regardless of the nature of the original ferment, because ferment produces alcohol. It is just fine to prefer brandy to whisky, and with a bit of sugar either will ease a cough regardless of the picture engraved on the handle of the spoon.

Enlightenment is the product of ferment within an individual. After his satori Lin Chi (died 867) is supposed to have said "So after all, there isn't much in the Buddhism of Huang Po (died 850)", where upon he immediately returned to his master. It was also Lin Chi who, when himself the master, said "If in your travels you meet the Buddha, slay him."

It is appropriate and good to respect the antique forms in which high truths were first revealed to humanity. And it is absolutely necessary to apply the ensuing evolved technologies of being to our person.

A chain of gold will do as well as one of iron if we are to be imprisoned.

The Pole

I

knowledge of esoteric fact

and possession of technique

are as different as roast beef from a photograph

II

of silence

a reflection

will never be the silence

and the power of evocation is that of resonance

expression transforms and is transformed

but noble ideas

numerous as all the sands of all the deserts in the universe

do not weigh as much as one single noble act

III

to thrive all seeds must have a matrix

a man may climb to the top of a pole one hundred feet

and there stand on his head for a week

that is all very nice

but he should proceed from there

and manifest his entire body in every quadrant of the universe

Conscious of the Little Things

Consciousness is huge in its implications. One might even say "Cosmic" in that it is undiscoverable in its fact, and infinite in its implications.

Human motives are quite small. There is no behavior without motive, be it smoking a cigarette or zazen. Motives are small; tiny, all but infinitesimal cues that animals get from environment. These little cues are writ large in the stuff of life and death. Motives are the result of consciousness growing into animal form over hundreds of millions of turns 'round the sun. You don't think your self up. Your self happens to you because of the myriad tiny things that humanity makes conscious in a Darwinian social-circumstance sort of way.

There is, of course, growing to the light.

Selflessness is not without self.

The Soul of Things

as if upon one knee in prayer

the rust-roofed barn sinks through the years

back to the dust from which it sprang

where cats once stalked mice that stole the draft horse grain

owls now freely wait for rats that secret acorns

beneath a steel wheeled tractor's rust pitted cowl

as dust will in a vortex all things coalesce

and then like dust by wind they are dispersed

effaced

to leave no trace

for no mark made upon the earth

will survive the earths evaporation

not in matter

but in mystery

lies the soul of things

Sway

There is sway

There is that which is swayed

If the willow knows its existence only by its movements

it thinks the wind

god.

The Awakening of the Intelligence Revisited

Intelligence has been variously described and the only one we really know anything about is our own [if we know any thing about it]. I've gone on about the nature of intelligence elsewhere so we will consider that as read (the point being: ordinary atoms properly stacked=life). The question then is the fixation of intelligence, and might there be such a thing as the awakening of the intelligence. Intelligence is the very stuff of life. It is the difference between a molecule and a paramecium. Intelligence has no ideas. Intelligence is the stuff of which ideas are woven.

If we imagine intelligence as a flower in the fruition of the evolution of the universe, then it would seem that the finest fruit of this flower would be the universe awakening to its self.

The May Pole

we are the May Pole

mummified

in wrappings of imagination

dancing round are a circumference of lovely demons

weaving with colors existential

the life that will entomb us

drawn to accept vagaries of the sun

can we accept the certainty of the moon

Awareness, Mentation and the Zen Doctrine of No Mind

Awareness is a passive state that seeks no affirmation of its existence or its contents. Mentation is an active state made inevitable by the existence of Awareness in exactly the same way as water will ripple in response to circumstance. In the absence of mentation Awareness in all creatures presents the same sense of being.

Mind is the behavior of Awareness made inevitable by the genetic imperatives of creature-hood. The existence of the unconscious mind as a template for behavior shapes our perceptions of the world and of ourselves being.

In meditation we cultivate Awareness: the "no mind" from which mind emerges.

The waves are the water.

Insouciant Anonymity

it is drizzling rain
and the sleek red squirrel weaves her way
the intense glow new-green floor growth her umbrella

stop

sniff

hop a bit and sniff again


dig a bit and up with last falls full acorn
sit and peel and eat

back to the hunt and with the next find undulate the nearest tree
stub-branch perch and eat
calmly in the warm spring rain


Her kits will find themselves well fed




wind

and rain
every drop real and alone

snow
every flake cold and unique

searing heat


care not for life or for death
joy or sorrow
for pain
for pleasure

for crushing servitude or leisure

every voice proceeds to flex the void
every cry of hope and despair un-echoed
spends its immeasurably tiny weight into the void

unmet unresisted unobserved
unanswered

but yes form

and form

shapes everything

the winking out of an instance of cognisant warmth
is dissolved in the fabric of nothingness from which it sprang
and nothing there-by is enriched
by everything


the voice of the universe



is the taste of being

The Visionary

Seeing is one thing, having an idea is quite another. Vision is the result of direct contact with the physical environment. Idea is an intellectual construct. The difficulty inevitable between visionaries and ideologues is that to the ideologue the visionary is merely in possession of different ideas.

We can not connect dots that are invisible to us. The sky is falling; it just falls, in human terms, very slowly. And by the time the obvious becomes apparent to the hopelessly occluded things will be totally FUBAR.

Flotsam and Jetsam on the Point and the Line

Flotsam and Jetsam

In their drift upon the sea of life discoursed and pondered

many a weighty and provocative imponderable

such as

might there exist a vertical dimension

to illustrate his object Jetsam recounted a tale about Mr. Point

conversing with

Mr. Line

Mr. Point found Line to be an interesting fellow

though something of an egotist

for though Mr Line was quite like any other point taken straight on

he alluded to possession of dimensions not shared by points around

Line boldly spoke about his intimations of the plane

at which the scoffing Point declared that

"even if there were such a thing as a plane it would be inconceivable

and therefore all talk of planes was

idle speculation"

to which Line replied that

if Point would stretch a bit he would gain perspective

well, Flotsam was not entertained by reasoning in this line

for thinly veiled in Jetsam's anecdote was his tired old point

concerning rectilinear space

which

not merely contrary to experience

blasphemed the sanctity of the plane

The Mechanics of Wellbeing

Understanding the mechanics of the sense of purpose no more invalidates having one than a degree in chemistry ruins the enjoyment of fine wine. There is no purpose that does not tug at our human nature.

The awareness that one cultivates in meditation is capable of mining a rich field of self knowledge through recognition of the tides of purpose generated within ones self as the gravity of being acts upon the mechanical fact of our humanity. And as a water wheel provides an endless and practically free source of energy, awareness of the mechanical aspects of our humanity can provide an awakened engine of well being.

In the Prime of Your Life

I have no fear of growing old

and I would choose to die the death that old age brings

my fear of future

is that I might never again hear your voice

or touch your face

and I am so glad to be here

in the prime of your life

Merry What Ever

Religious belief opens a Pandora's Box of credulity that leads the holder to equate fact with faith. When intuitions are transformed into dogmas, confusion can not but follow. The parable of "the blind men and the elephant" is a simply stated truth, and holds true for political beliefs, or belief of any stripe. We know enough within the simplicity of our humanity to answer the seemingly complex questions of human existence. But who can be that intelligently simple?

The efficacy of religion to unite the social imagination has throughout history brought tidings good and evil; and as our understanding of the universe and ourselves matures, religion will find its place amongst the lovely landmarks of awakening.

Cosmic Postal Service

oh . . .

the message was delivered right on time

and it was from the hand of God all right

but something went awry

for they have long since ceased ponder of the message

and spend their holy days worshipping the envelope

Lightness of Being

Shine a flashlight or burn a candle and the photons go at the speed of light through empty space til they hit something. The light of a candle in a featureless desert proceeds in space to the limits of being. That light is absorbed by something or moves on forever. Brain waves are no less an element of electromagnetic emanation. The sphere of your existence is written into the fabric of being at the speed of light times your age. 

Let those who have eyes see.

The earthworm and the elephant.

Individual Self Expression

Those who languish for an affirming identity are vulnerable to ostentatious displays of self expression. And this quite simply because they have something to prove to themselves and to the world. There exists a pervasive brand of mischief spawned only by practitioners of nervous self expression.

It is categorically impossible to not express ones self. Grotesque displays of self expression are inversely proportional to the progress of individuation.

Zen Pretzel

Twisting ones self into a Zen pretzel is not the way to freedom.




People Like Me

people like me
aren't like me

they are, like



them selves

Local Limitations

Any discription of what is real is a discription of "local limitations". A single photon screaming through space is a manifestation of "local limitations". A walking talking stack of atoms known as a human being is a manifestation of "local limitations". A universe ablaze with imploding galaxies is a manifestation of "local limitations".

If the organism that we are were not limited in the eye's perception of the electromagnetic spectrum there would be no light.

Our life is the swim of conscious awareness through the sea of local limitations.

What is the Who 2.0

If you do not own what you are, what you are will own you.

He

he wore a man-skirt from India

and a beanie from some South American tribe

and the smock from some table waiter in Japan

and he loved to speak in shopworn riddles

the same cloth

will clothe a wizard

or a clown

Uniformly Uniform

When one dons a uniform one is in costume. And each costume represents an idea proclaiming the wearer as an advocate playing a role. The Dali Lama, the tattoo gangster, the stripper, are advocates playing a role. As human beings there exist necessary functions, but roles are made necessary only by collective naivete. There also exist myriad functions made necessary only by the un-evolved state of the creatures we are. A world without uniforms will be a world in which the power of symbol is wholly awake.

In spite of ones self one finds admirable those individuals who so dedicated themselves to their vision of truth that they would make a symbol of themselves for the good of history and of humanity. Without them ignorance and injustice would proceed unchallenged.

There is a very good chance that things could sort themselves out if intelligent people were simply brought to the fore.

And role playing is part of that.

The Meaning of Life

The question is a misguided twisting of an observation. The life of meaning is life its self. Where there is no life there is no meaning. We ask the meaning of life in the same way the eye must seek a mirror if it is to see its self.

Field Guide To Reality

only if we recognize the difference

between imagination and perception

can we touch the inconceivable truth

which is the abode

of being

Distraction

After several seasons lost in the Om zone it is time to return to work, and I shall start with a poem that suggests the silence of my normal winter day.



The Fire Is All There Is


tending the fire is all that there is in the world

a boistrous band of crows call to each other
hunting down the ridge

the fridged morning breeze sends the smoke swirling through the snowclad bare trees
oak twigs pop in promise
the yellow flames snap like some searing fluid whip


and tending the fire
is the only thing there is in the world

Garland Crown of Flowers

the girl-child's little legs carried her back and forth
her hands full she ran rampant flowers to the garden table

"What will you make for me?" cried she

"A garland for a crown"
said I



they were daisy-like
a brilliant yellow aura around the blood red core

I plaited long stems into a flower spangled crown
and set it upon her head

the gold of her hair shone in the summer sun
and the brightest flower of all
was she
in her garland crown of flowers

she struck a pose and she cried out
"I'm Beautiful!"






and I was struck through the heart

I saw the garland crown of hours plaited for me
by you
in the moments of our life together

and I found my self whispering her words

I'm beautiful





.

The Only Sound

the cool dark of the forest
was shelter from the blazing moon

and fire flies punctuated the darkly seen



crunching foot falls



the only sound

Hearing as Seeing, the Noise of Being

In the market today I couldn't avoid the sense that I was hearing the being of those around me. Just as each creature in its movements makes a sound, each creature in its existence is a noise in the silence of non-being. Civilization en-mass is rather like the roar of the 17 year locusts, and the sound of a given individual is the noise of its hopes and dreams, its disappointments, its weight of archetype, and the cacophony of its individuality.

We could be perceived as singing our selves into being. And though we are taught to sing certain songs, the song of our individuality can always be heard through the chorus by those who know how to listen. Most individuals are a source of random noise; the modern jazz of being I suppose. One finds greater and lesser degrees of harmony, but a being that strikes an awakened chord of being is a rare find.

Until we have met the silence that is the substrate of our existence we will never hear the sound that is the fact of our presence. All that exists is noise. Music is the product of integration. To hear the music of the spheres is to know ones self.

Slice and Dice a Bucket Full of Stress

The slice and dice guru guys crack me up. Last night on the TV the guy says that no one can bring him a bucket of stress. Well now. He says that there are only stressful ideas. Well I don't live in my head the way that he does, and I guarantee that if he would like a bucket full of stress, I can deliver.

The salesmen of self-hypnosis make a darn'd good living. The sick part is that they teach posture as being.

We are what we are. Perhaps we should start from there: discover ourselves before we launch off into some exercise of self improvement.

The Monkey Factor

There are all kinds of dogs. There are all kinds of cats. There are all kinds of birds and all kind of bees. There are all kinds of monkeys. As animals go we are apes. And the only thing that will make us happy is the life that makes the ape that we are happy.

Perhaps we are unique in the animal world in that some of us are capable of a radical awareness that transcends the chipmunk-like unreflective consciousness we recognise as life even in paramecium. We are hypnotized by form, and fail to recognize in ourselves the endless awareness which is all manner of existences.

Would we castigate a Water Buffalo for not recognising the fact of its existence? No. Humanity has all ready specieated. If you have ever been in front of a dot matrix color-blindness test you will be in a position to recognise that you either see the dots or you don't. You can not connect dots that are invisible to you. We are animals. And we are as different amongst ourselves as wolves are to sheep.

People really are as confused as they appear to be. And if the universe should wake up in the space that you occupy my condolences. Its not much fun to be a wake-up monkey right now. Unless you content yourself with the monkey life.

The Fire Monkey

We are the fire monkeys

The smartest of them all

Noses itch same way ours do

They reach up and scratch-it: just like we do

We are the fire monkeys

No more

No less

Lest the substrate of our existence wake up in the space we occupy.

Befriending Shadows

We are conditioned from childhood to be critical of our thoughts and our actions. This manipulation of the instinctual need for tribal approval is probably effective enough left unaggravated. Much unnecessary suffering is caused when instictual habitual assessments are made with a view that is hostile to vagaries that are inherently human.

We do not expect our friends to be infallible. We tend to see our friends more or less as they are, and accept with good-will the idiosyncrasies that are the marks of individuality. We extend good-will when they trip on the stones of their humanity, and comfort when error has led them to sorrow. We will not jeopardise friendship by harping on some small flaw. Friends extend counsel in the face of error, and in the face of error give support such as can though the friend may have been foolish or unwise. If you have no friends who will tell you when you are fucking up, you don't have any friends at all; but this is a far cry from a beating over the head for every failure to operate in optimum mode.

Many actions for which we berate ourselves express a need to jump fences we have made in ourselves. Fervor that religious sects exhibit is due to fear that without ridged behavioral guidelines humanity would reduce to chaos. This is not so. The will to good is instinctual, and the natural aversion to disorder does not require pathological proportions. Self destructive behaviors: emotional, intellectual, physical, are almost always unconsidered attempts to jump fences that we have set up in ourselves with the generous help of others.

We cannot be set free by chaining ourselves to a self image, and unless we befriend ourselves we can never afford to see ourselves as we are. We run from our shadow because we have not embraced our shadow.

Shadows

the setting sun has put the sky ablaze

trees loom black

shadows reach long

there are shadows without

there are shadows within

vacancies in luminance

when perceived

appear as creatures of a nether light

Dream Good Things

the me that looks out
drinking up the sunlight exploding from every leaf

the me that so delights in symphony of breeze and limb


the me that loves the new burgeoned closing green
closing off all avenues of vision but for its self
the tambourine of spring rain
the bandstand of the chorus frog

this me
is the only Me that is

and when not hypnotized by self
I am all creatures
and everywhere I hear the hum of Me
awakened from the silence of dumb matter

all creatures sing Me
our song is the Divine chord of Me existing



if the sleep of self hood is our fate

let us dream good things