Wednesday, November 15, 2017

footnotes to a declaration

and when i get that feeling, i need that natural healing, like penobscot mountain in acadia, or simply being, sexually or not—

what if whatever the world calls health was not? what if bizarro superman was the secret coke of buddha? what if one manifests the dream as it is—lovingly lucidly luminous—to the power of ten-thousand Maya?

here's an inside joke. intuitive observation is the force. as if synchronicity is past seeing future now, and vice versa. the one called gurdjieff would call this self-remembering. real yin. true yang. like tao.

this is dedicated to some amazing places: Acadia, Big Sur, Monument Valley, Grand Canyon, Half Dome, The Atlantic, Pacific Beach, Canyon Del Muerte. like hiking in Enchanted Canyon on the the east side of barbed wire.

if I am That, then That goes I, power of three. here’s the darkest secret, all sex aside, there is no secret. all secrets are sexist.

the simple Zatoichi speech: deconstruct belief but don’t throw out the baby love.
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A Declaration of Electrical November

It's not exactly freedom from the game of life. That would be insanity. It's playing by original rules, but manifesting new ones as I go along. My game on Cold Mountain.

Eternal ash trees in New England winter woods aren't exactly bare trees as almost every branch contains one ethereal amber leaf. So don't throw out the love that held belief together!

If self-awareness is a fact of omnipresence, being is the knowledge, and evolution, story. All is necessarily eternal. Thank you, thank you, thank you. But don't drink the electricity!

Excuse me while I kiss the Christ! Chain lightning over Hopi! Talking consciousness. In other words, on the grid not of the grid. Beware electric blankets.

Talking Tree and Verse

Consciousness is like sapwood uniting ground to leaf. Jesus, speaking as Christ Consciousness, says a similar trope this way:  "I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.”

No amount of thinking gets the living leaf to ground, so death is not an option. Thus, to the world, experiential consciousness is quite the radical idea, but to experiential consciousness, the world is only an idea.

Simply said, there’s absolutely no one but my self. At worst, the world is my projection. At best, my manifestation. For I am the only poet! And if another poet once said, poet be like god, I am that god, I am.

Tuesday, November 14, 2017

Talking Self-reliance I Am Deep Sleep Truth

Social conditioning obviously stresses the importance of the social above all else. And so the world becomes all-important, its economies, policies, and philosophies. There’s nothing wrong with any of this. Through samsara I turn to nirvana.

But the world is only relative to the world and absolutely irrelevant to the absolute truth. There’s nothing in it for oneself. Self-reliance is not about a person working wisely in the world, but the experiential fact there’s only oneself and consciousness is the only knowledge.

Knowing this as absolute fact, along with those deconstructive corollaries of projecting and manifesting, is the only way to truth. Knowing this primal original knowledge is all there is—dropping like dreaming falling into absolute unborn deep sleep self-realizing.

Saturday, November 11, 2017

island question haiku


cicada? cricket?

what’s energy? who am i?

earthling? alien?

footnotes on an island

what is awakening?

when kensho happens late in life but who knows what on earth this kensho is—maybe dementia?

what’s so bad about bliss?

here we are now. nirvana is samsara. imagine me?

what if aliens were enlightened and earthlings were not?

consciousness only. experiential always. don’t forget the pain of belief. always further. furthur?

to subtweet or not, is that the question?

My Private Island Stand-up Sutra


It's never what you think it is but it's always what you know. If every Buddhist killed the Buddha, there'd be no Buddhists—only Buddha. I mean it's not exactly dropping body-mind. It's more like renting.

Then again, what is body-mind if I don't think about it, sailor. The world is doing everything in its power rubbing the red dust of the world out of my eyes. Talk about tough love! Still, it's best to do some light reading—like mystery sutras—before one's eyes are opening.

All I know is consciousness. Like I was only told about my birth. And the senses tell me everything appears as attributes of energy—light, sound, smell, touch, taste—but everyone says the material opposite and I go believe them. I don't even want to think about their takes on death!

But Maya has a vital, crucial, consequential part to play in self-awareness. Many parts in fact. Everyone.

Imagination—when released from its conditioning—is free to picture self-awareness as it is—or as one imagines it to be—my private Lankavatara—off the coast of Maine so to speak.

As self-awareness is so self-evident, it's easy to forget the Dark Ages. In the blink of an eye is born a new belief. As they say, if you're not going further, you're gone again. Even if Hunter S. Thompson never said that, he said that.

Truthfully and experientially, all appears in consciousness. But once there was a great notion otherwise. Always respect your roots. The world scares you awake. Give thanks every night. Don't hurry absolution. It happens every early morning. Imagine self-awareness. As if I am the Light! Cameras! Projection!

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tl;dr 2

imagine the world
as some bizarro realm,
like this reflection
in a funhouse mirror
where everything is opposite of truth.

it’s a crazy game for sure.
but now, it’s dealer’s choice;
i get to call exactly
what is trump.
imagine that.

Friday, November 10, 2017

Son River’s Seventh Sudden Symphony


Confusion begins believing there are others who impart their precious knowledge to myself—

there is no one but oneself and that is all the knowledge there is.

Without this experiential understanding, the rest is so much noise and commotion.


So a sage points a finger to the moon and the world believes it has to go there.

But listen to the little lower telling, I am Moon as You are Moon and We are All the Absolute's Reflection.

The only authenticity is consciousness. All belief is second-hand.


Not that there's anything wrong with this—

for the world—is like a Mayan auditorium—and Beethoven's Ninth is the teacher—

the violence and sirens—the lies, betrayals, ignorance—and inattention to—All the Signs of the Prophets—followed by an Ode to Joy and Kensho—


In consciousness alone is the energetic feeling of the senses before the mind creates a story all about it

—call this bliss—

and that eternal sudden insight into unborn Absolution—I am That


Every lover knows what rebirth really means.

Every single person knows that sudden sighing of well-being

in deep sleep—like Death I would imagine.


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Wednesday, November 8, 2017

going prime. a sonnet.


dm while openings are available.

first consultation is always free.

i know the sidewalks of the broken-hearted.

jesus imagined all your sins already.

go in peace. pay at the exit.

buddha explains everything in exquisite code.

jesus lives it. this is my humble translation.

buy it or not. the odds are one in a million.

the joke is i am. text me already. priceless.

get in on the ground floor while you can.

options are still available. no irony necessary.

sonrivers.not2@gmail.com