Saturday, January 31, 2015

A Joke Wrapped in a Parody Inside Make-Believe

One is either on or off but never two or nothing. 

A fact like this is self-evident when clearly seeing as oneself. If not, one is divided by belief and feel a separation is existing where there’s none. 

Thus the universe is not a universe and cause is not effect and action is a work of doing by a separate will that’s free of all holistic intent. 

In such a world there’s war between the one and suffering for this which isn't and a slow and painful death for that never born.

It's like the joke about the nonexistent chicken and the one who needs the eggs. Wake up if you've heard this one before.

Friday, January 30, 2015

Unbelievably Unborn and Deathless

The dream of leaves is waiting in this morning's snow. Although the spring’s potentiality appears to be a frozen void and blank impossibility or any metaphor for signifying nothing.

But from that ground in March, the buds of life will suddenly appear and blossom, growing into worlds fantastic. Such am I. From out of nowhere, I arrived.

And then the world conditioned this mere presence to construct a fabrication full of thought and raw emotion. There I lived forgetting what I am, like a wild and anxious being in a jungle of abandon and destruction.

But wisdom is always in the wind. Return to being and appreciate its simple unbelievability and more. Or less. For what we see as nothing comes to claim itself again. There never is this something else—

being has never been.

Thursday, January 29, 2015

Uncertain and Unknown

No one knows which way the wind will blow. 
The butterfly effect is certainly as subtle as a flower. 
The birds are being and the bees are buzzing and 
the buzz is on the street; the news is never something old. 
The past is but the fiction that we build around ourselves 
in order to traverse an ever-changing landscape 
of a universe intent on knowing the unknown. 
The path begins among a green explosion we call trees. 
In fact there's no beginning, not to mention any object 
like our image of a tree. Thus, whether one believes or not 
is neither here nor there. Uncertainty is just this godchild 
of that great unknown and loving it is clearly godsend.

Wednesday, January 28, 2015

nothing much pseutra

like someone said: much ado about nothing.
  
1.

seeing the false as false is not seeing the false as bad.

suffering together = compassion = turning inwards = repentance = seeing through = awareness of oneself = love = wisdom.

pay attention to nothing and see how it came to be.

effortless, unintentional, sudden and timeless.

pure awareness unknowing viewless godhead, loving knowledge being silent godchild, and enlightening intent earnest wu wei holy spirit godsend.

not to mention compassionately deconstructing mind.

there are no words...


2.

there's really nothing to it. like remembering deep sleep.

like how the world just suddenly comes to you.

intent is self-medicinal

diamond, wind and water.

everybody is trying to feel nothing. one way or the other.

whatever way you take to feel nothing will be addictive until you truly realize you are nothing.

to experience something so completely as to know it arises from nothing, toward nothing, and within nothing.


3.

note there's not even nothing in nothing.

the gate only opens when you see there's no gate.

and without something there isn't nothing.

but the gate never opens if you believe there's no gate.

nothing and the art of surfing.

something and the art of suffering.

one doesn't experience nothing as much as nothing manifests one.

Monday, January 26, 2015

Venus on a Universal Shell

The gods go living in our DNA. 
Those primal waves of consciousness 
from numberless millennia 
are churning in its chemistry. 
Walking through this Mount Olympus, 
I am every vital one of them. 
I worship each on landscaped altars 
with grateful garlands of wildflowers—
for in truth I'm not a single one of them. 
In essence, even Mars is not a planetary 
warrior but the pull of earliest division. 
Seeing it as such is seeing through it. 
Holding all these gods within my space, 
I honor them but never occupy 
their territory. All but Venus. 
Love! The sea is parting. 
Love! All space is disappearing. 
Love! I'm washing up upon this desert 
shoreline, disembodied, universal, 
bursting with original intent.

Sunday, January 25, 2015

Moby I

Thus I give up the search.
Existence is completely unbelievable 
and yet undoubtedly I am. 
Nothing else is as self-evident as this. 
The world is just conditioning, 
be it chemical or social, 
just this matrix formed by evolution 
in the service of enlightening intent. 
But all of it is nothing without consciousness, 
or in that little lower layer of expression, 
all of it is consciousness, all of it, I am. 
But further, maties, further: 
in the seeing all there is is this I am, 
the I that is is making clear 
that nothing other is than I. 
In other words, 
not even am is; 
only I. 
Aye, my captain, aye!

Friday, January 23, 2015

The Moon Quartet

Faith-healing

The moon is nurse tonight.
Its therapeutic crescent
holds the sky within its care.
I feel its soothing reflection
in the bottomless asylum
of these bones. And I divine
its energetic gravity
within this rush of blood.
What wolf is this that walks
my breath? What seventh son am I?
Apollo pulls me from the underworld
with power of a god’s intent.
Oh yes, the world is healed within
a faith beyond all space and time.
And shaman-like I shine!


New Moon Monkeyshine

The moon is only new
because it turns to face the sun.
No longer is the world
a matter of its slightest interest.
Wolves are tame, coyotes
just a waste of breath, and all
the poets drowned themselves
before this singular event.
Their words are washing up
upon this pointless page. They say
the moon is always new;
the world should get a clue.


Deep Goddess

Deep sleep is nearest
that to what I am
and day is time to suffer
all delusions contrary
until I know this that
I am. The moon repeats
as specified. Returning to
the source, the sun is guided
by the cryptic goddess of
our underworld with dark
surreal and swirling dreams
of baby corn and kings,
of river-ways and rings,
of thoughts and things.
Until another day
arrives and sings.


No Independent Variable

There’s a place where science cannot go.
No measurements exist to be observed,
no words to be reviewed. The best that one
can do is point to something obvious
but not within our grasp. A mystic says
to look upon the moon. But most will either
turn that lunatic into a cult
of personality or immeasurably
comment that Apollo 'been there done that'
in nineteen-sixty-nine and all we got
was just a lousy bunch of rocks. No matter.
There’s a thing that science never gets
and I am always That right here right now.

Thursday, January 22, 2015

No Independent Variable

for Debbie
There’s a place where science cannot go.
No measurements exist to be observed,
no words to be reviewed. The best that one
can do is point to something obvious
but not within our grasp. A mystic says
to look upon the moon. But most will either
turn that lunatic into a cult
of personality or immeasurably
comment that Apollo 'been there done that'
in nineteen-sixty-nine and all we got
was just a lousy bunch of rocks. No matter.
There’s a thing that science never gets
and I am always That right here right now. 

Wednesday, January 21, 2015

Deep Goddess

Deep sleep is nearest 
that to what I am 
and day is time to suffer 
all delusions contrary 
until I know this that 
I am. The moon repeats 
as specified. Returning to 
the source, the sun is guided 
by the cryptic goddess of 
our underworld with dark 
surreal and swirling dreams 
of baby corn and kings, 
of river-ways and rings, 
of thoughts and things. 
Until another day 
arrives and sings.

Tuesday, January 20, 2015

New Moon Monkeyshine

The moon is only new 
because it turns to face the sun. 
No longer is the world 
a matter of its slightest interest. 
Wolves are tame, coyotes 
just a waste of breath, and all 
the poets drowned themselves 
before this singular event. 
Their words are washing up 
upon this pointless page. They say 
the moon is always new; 
the world should get a clue.

Sunday, January 18, 2015

Faith-healing

The moon is nurse tonight.
Its therapeutic crescent
holds the sky within its care.
I feel its soothing reflection
in the bottomless asylum
of these bones. And I divine
its energetic gravity
within this rush of blood.
What wolf is this that walks
my breath? What seventh son am I?
Apollo pulls me from the underworld
with power of a god’s intent.
Oh yes, the world is healed within
a faith beyond all space and time.
And shaman-like I shine!


Thursday, January 15, 2015

Siddhi Sense

The kinesthetic understanding that the past and future are contained within the existential present—

the kinesthetic feeling that the undivided universe is my extended body—

the kinesthetic seeing all is here within this space of being—

the kinesthetic flash from nowhere knowing I am That—

such primal powers are the common sense of self-awareness.

And the evolutionary elevation of this human existential self-awareness is now leading to awareness that awareness is oneself—

one can merely remember one is in the world; one can only be the moon; one is sun!

“Perhaps the sentiments contained in the [preceding lines,] are not yet sufficiently fashionable to procure them general favour; a long habit of not thinking a thing wrong, gives it a superficial appearance of being right.”

Wednesday, January 14, 2015

Undoing Dimeter

This is being 
writing now. 
Somewhere in 
the world, a child 
is learning long 
division. Yes, 
it's summertime 
in Rio; heavy 
lies the Yang 
in Yellowknife. 
Thoughtless people 
are full of thoughts 
they never see 
but seeing thoughts 
for what they are 
is simply mindful. 
Would you like 
to play a game 
of paradox-
ical roulette? 
Silence is 
the ammunition.

Tuesday, January 13, 2015

Really Heart Matters

She was five years old when I told her that her world was breaking. Her mother and father were caught within an argument without an ending. 

So I was moving out. And she was crying like I'd never seen her cry before. The world her parents built for her is being broken by her parents.

It's twenty-eight years later and I know just what I'm not and what I am and even know that knowing is a matter of imagination. 

It doesn't matter, though. Of all the places in the world that I've been driven to, that's the only one I wish I never visited.

Because I know I broke my daughter's heart that day. Although in time, of course, she mended. 

For hearts are not a matter of this world and can't be really broken. That's why it hurts so much when breaking one.

Monday, January 12, 2015

The Sermon on Love v. Love

Some say that love holds us in our time of incarnation 
resulting in continued ignorance of what we really are. 
And strife, and its resultant disaffection of its suffering, 
releases us from holding onto this divisional illusion.

Of course, there's some that say love is what we are 
as universal consciousness and its presence in our lives 
is just our way of telling us there is no ‘us’ of separate 
entities but just the one.

This apparent disagreement on the nature of love 
may just be one of definition, say romantic love, 
which sides with our desires, and unconditional love 
which has no sides but shines like a jewel of light—

universally pervasive and without a single facet 
in its diamond-like appearance, manifesting 
from the great potentiality of what one really is…

Saturday, January 10, 2015

The Sermon on the Wall

It's said that Bodhidharma sat 
before a wall for twenty years 
and so we sit before a wall for thirty, 
not knowing what the wall is pointing to. 
It's like a most significant metaphor 
heard by idiots signifying nothing 
but exactly what they think they heard. 
Thus most of our religions are created 
by the metaphorically-impaired, 
who wouldn't know a Fiat 
from a Pavarotti. Listen, 
Ahab knew exactly what 
that white whale was, pursuing it 
across the waves of consciousness 
until he was absorbed within its sea. 
It's how all great explorers come to know 
they are the great unknown.

Friday, January 9, 2015

Hiking the Whites

I’m looking at the days of hiking in the Whites. 
At first, the climb appears to be a chore; 
you fight for every step you take. 
Is that a pebble in my boot? 
I think my backpack isn’t packed precisely. 
Maybe I should stop to have a swig of Gatorade. 
Maybe I should turn around and try another day. 
But soon there comes a time when such 
a wall of thinking disappears, 
when you yourself have disappeared. 
I am the bear claw imprint on the ash tree. 
I am the deep ravine hardscrabble rock-slide. 
I am the Lapland Rosebay far above the tree line. 
All that now remains is just the closest cairn 
and that resplendent clarity of alpine fresh awareness.

Thursday, January 8, 2015

Sermon on the Shit

Cain slew Abel 
now we're really in the shit. 
This primal myth is 
screaming out so loud 
that no one hears it anymore—
kind of like white noise 
but only redder, 
saying violence is 
our only birthright 
and to be divided 
into individuals 
inevitably is divisive. 
No shit Sherlock! 
Yet it's subtext says 
it's all holistic in existence 
but unborn in its incipient reality. 
Though no one gives a shit 
upon the whole—
we're all too busy choosing sides.

Wednesday, January 7, 2015

American e^(pi * i) + 1 = 0

Winter time and the living is inside. 
Foolish thinking—stops. 
Returning to i. 

The bad news is we die. 
The good news is that one is never born. 
We hold this truth to be Self-evident. 

Dividuals will be dividuals, 
and violence is their other name—
although we never answer to it.

A house divided is the world. 
There's nothing to fear 
when fear is viewed clear through. 

See through that wall! 
Ask not what you can do 
but ask just ‘who am i.’

The business of the world 
is dropping business. 
Peace, baby!

Tuesday, January 6, 2015

Insomnia Divina

No one ever knows the world as well 
as you do. Pine trees pine for nothing. 
In Arizona, everything is all about 
your altitude. Without the ocean though, 
what about the waves? It seems the moon 
shone full and midnight was alive 
with silver dreams about the morning 
in America when dreams were full. 
This light is all about the intermittent 
flashes far beyond the desert emptiness. 
Sometimes coyotes eat the starry night. 
Sometimes the night will talk your ear off. 

Monday, January 5, 2015

A Sermon on the Magical Event Horizon

Nothing is ever known. What we think we know is variations on a theme of light. It’s the hydrologic cycle at its subatomic core made manifest as if it’s matter. 

Matter doesn’t really matter though, although it is the stuff of dreams. And dreams are useful in their tendency to point to truth that light of day will never see. 

Beyond our sun is that black hole to which astronomers have said each sun appears to fundamentally become—and sages say from which it never disappeared. 

That said, one is that which. This is its spell. Abracadabra, hocus-pocus, shazam and presto-chango! But a wise magician keeps in mind one’s not at any point the trick. 

Saturday, January 3, 2015

Meditating Words

It’s winter and the river is reflecting nothing. 
It’s not the words which say it wrong 
but our insistence on translating them. 
Have you ever noticed that it’s always cloudy 
when you’re living while it’s January? 
Begin this sentence with a noun instead. 
The antichrist is driving off the bridge again. 
Working in the relative, we rest within the absolute. 
In wintertime, telecommuting is like 
a slow waltz from amazingly nowhere. 
If you haven’t learned to shoot a word, 
you shouldn’t read or write them. 
Silence doesn’t kill but the cold will do. 

Friday, January 2, 2015

Quick Start Guide for the Heart of Poetry

To craft an authentic poem, 
first rest in silent inspiration. 
Let me quickly clarify: 
if intuition is defined 
as universal consciousness 
whispering to divided mind, 
then inspiration is reflection 
of awareness sagaciously 
informing that holistic being. 
Now begin to write, or rather, 
write what one is being told. 
When all appears complete, 
perform an end inspection 
and remove whatever time slipped in.