Harbinger, Herald, Courier, and Prophet

Death is a concept. The person is a concept.

So death is a concept about the end of a concept.

Therefore ask yourself today: am I a concept?

One doesn't really die before dying.

One kills the concept one thinks one is.

The emperor has no clothes. I am.

On the other hand, lucid dreaming knows

the clothes one wears and wears them well.

But there are tricksters tricksters everywhere!

Some like Coyote believe in tricks

and so become outsmarted by them.

Raven flies on black wings.

The Basic Secret

Evolution is about the journey from self-centeredness to self-awareness and back again.

Science only tells the surface story.

This game of clue always ends with the rattlesnake in the garden with its so-called tools of knowledge.

Deconstruction is the first sign of the personal apocalypse.

If belief is fundamental to the transformational existence of the world, who am I?

I dream. Therefore I know I am.

And there’s the ancient way of unknowing who I think I am.

The basic secret to nonduality is either way I am.

Believe it or not, nonexistence takes thinking.

Simply being is meditation enough.

And lucent dreaming is being enough.

Deconstruction is always further. Dreaming is always now.

The basic secret to nonduality is either way I am...

Between Baroque and Nonduality

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan. In apricot is doing not.

And absolute intent is only delayed by thought.

Meanwhile surfing a wave is a reoccurring metaphor in all the great works of California.

Wouldn’t it be nice if God only knows—

(translating the sage in saying

following only love

appears as equal measures of pain and pleasure

but really is constantly always

pure bliss)

what’s in a name Wolfgang Amadeus Malibu?

Quicksilver radical in inner-knowing knowing nothing, one is next to godliness, but being is the absolute unknown!

One personal story tells the curious marriage of not-knowing and the magnificent distrust of the known.

Coyote trips between the thin and ever-thinning stretch of beach between the dunes and sea—until Xanadu!

If a sonnet is fourteen lines, an epic is at least double-digits.