The Epistle of the Personal, Self-awareness, and the Beautiful Truthful Universe

The personal is divided from the universal manifestation of the absolute and its world can never be at peace. The personal is war, period.

There's nothing wrong with this of course. It's just a phase in the evolutionary process of self-awareness. There's a flower at the end of every gun.

Note the social isn't universal and there is no future world to be inhabited by higher consciousness. Omnipresent being is now and going into it is paradoxically an individual endeavor.


Self-awareness isn't nothing and it's not an 'it' as well except for convenience of this communication. It's my omnipresent understanding of myself so full of pure potentiality

that within the ever-present process of itself, it appears to be this universe to the mirroring mind, which is a space-time work procedure intending towards such self-awareness.

Note, self-awareness is such an innate quality of absolute pure awareness, I'm like Nisargadatta's flowing life between everything and nothing, love and wisdom, unmanifest is manifest, manifest is unmanifest, gone gone, gone beyond.


Leaves fall. There is a tree! Trees die. There is an earth! The earth is deconstructing. There's the sun I am! Black whole. Texas tea.

In the self-reflexive universe, there's an intentional turning from material imprisonment to life, from thought-belief—be it scientific materialism or fundamental religion—to being, from unawareness to self-awareness, pure awareness, and so on.

Nothing in the universe is superfluous, even a dream. Everything intends to self-awareness, even the warring changes on the surface of the mirror of the mind. See flowers. Note stars.

The Gospel of October As It Is

One's material identity is a most mistaken one—but quite believable.  For the mind perceives its own conceptions.  And not the one immaculate conception that's conceiving it.

Consciousness, although conceptual, is not conceivable.  Consciousness is like energy and the mind is like the transformation of this energy—or causation by mistaken identity.

It's as if that consciousness conceives the mind to be a mirror of memory for the absolute intent of omnipresent self-awareness.  But such mind gets lost in memories of itself and so on.

So there's nothing wrong with sentience.  And there's nothing right about belief.  One doesn't throw away the tool just because it's been dazed and misused for so long it’s not true.

Everything in the universe is intending toward that absolute self-awareness for the universe is that self-awareness.  Only in the misuse of a tool rests the real instructions for the tool.

One sees light only in appearances like turning leaves.  Even the sun is only seen in its penultimate forms like a ring of fire and autumn sunsets.  One cannot say that pure awareness is being self-aware although I am.

footnotes

1. an appearance doesn't see that in which it is appearing
2. make no mistake, the mistaken identity of mind is mind
3. the mirror is made from memory reflecting on itself
4. there's nothing wrong with memory but there's nothing right in what's remembered
5. one only learns by doing, that one is being done
6. mind is just the space-time cross-section of the beginningless and endless, boundless and depthless, omnipresent potentiality of self-awareness

The Eye Thru Witch

The instrument of self-awareness is so sensitive, it thinks it is the instrument. They say the universe is contained in a single drop of water;

I say that drop of water must be dropped like a tear. How many movies must I see before I know I'm not this movie?

Look—leaves fall, trees topple, earth disintegrates, the sun goes out, galaxies implode, the universe disproves the big bang theory. I'm that eye.


If the world is my projection, imagination works both ways. Is Sakyamuni holding up a living flower or does Mahakasyapa know there is no death?

It's easier to live in the future than predict it. If every cause is like a unicorn, love is like a goddess or a god or lgbtqx—

to the seductive sparkle and death of materialistic belief, medicinal deconstruction, and the subsequent eternal clarity of self-awareness.

footnotes

the users manual is learn by being done

my only view on movies is that that's a movie; the rest are just reviews

if pure awareness is the nameless, being is the word

put away your childish beliefs about the doings of gods and scientists and be done by love

being imagines self-awareness; thought is quite the tool when used as i am directing

deconstruction of samsara is nirvana of nirvana only

what me eckhart
 

The Ballad of Wu Wei and Kokoro

Although it's true there is no doing, love does undo. And as a poem is the undoing of that infinite potentiality,

consciousness is the empty poet. Yellow leaves are blown away by an early September cold front—inspirational!

The world is the childish thing that love lets go—One Corinthians Thirteen Eleven.

The meeting of the mind and revelation is like the smoke of pen and paper—remember to come up for being!

Ice, forsythia, fireworks, and transformation—thought does you and love undoes me. There is no personal doing.

Imagine My Moon Arjuna

Here across the sea of many craters from your love tonight, I’m looking at the brilliant crescent earth—knowing you are looking at it too.

On the moon, but never of green cheese—one never knows the unknown but one can be the werewolf that one is.

Beneath all rivers and mountains there lies hidden—the third moon of a seventh sun!


On Half Moon Lake when emptiness was empress of the waters once again and storms of form come beckoning like a city school of fools—

the social conditioning of scientific materialism is the old division. Deconstruction is the new math—consciousness only is avant garde!

You can never know the sun, you know. But if I try some times I find I am, the stainless moon—

consciousness only is the unborn mirror in which the absolute godness of pure awareness is spontaneously self-aware.

Imagination 8

And on the seventh day, there's idleness and adoration—float like a river, sting like hail. Wu Wei. Tao Te.

Across the river from here, white pines are attracted to the sun each day but point to the moon every night.

And around here, it's cats and dogs all day. But at night, it's owls and coyotes. Everyone ultimately agrees.

There's nothing to do and nowhere to go. Call it karma or surrender, it really doesn't matter.


I'm not responsible for my past; true love secretly did me. The way I see it, my job was to follow the script.

Maybe I should improvise! Thought is just a tool but affectionate awareness is the hand.

Bring them together as one in silence twice a day. If self-awareness is god, imagination is angelic.

Six days on the road. One night at sea. Dependent clauses. This, that, these, and those—demonstrative only.

footnotes to imagination 8

revolution nine is my absolute reference point. 1/9

i remember living by the mills and one day my friend's oldest brother appears from out of the streaming homeward-bound masses on my street, which i am showing off to my suburban cousin, to show off a recently acquired ted williams baseball card. "fucking jesus with a bat!" 2/9

the ferryman returns me to that three-mile strip of consciousness north of the merrimack

between whole and howl, an e is silent 4/9

no damn space, and no damn time 5/9

all the world's a stage and all the men and women my projections 6/9

embodiment is that between the seventh and the next octave calling 7/9

returning wu wei to i am is like the diamond wing of way 8/9

in the name of the further, enlightening intent, not of the dream. #9 #9 #9 #9 9/9

Medicine, Crow, Bee & Butterfly

As conditioning is deconstructing, one might see the world as a murder of conspiracy theories, as one subliminally discovers one is That exactly.

The primordial tool of thought when absent-mindedly lost in it's fascinating function of inquiring tool begins to play the role of a thought.


This is why self-inquiry a la Ramana Maharshi is a comedy of errors. The tool is ultimately conditioned to ask who am I

and I am That which playfully asks. Look, JFK's assassination was my father. My mother was the Gulf of Tonkin.


Cherry blossoms never fall. Winter likes to summer in New Mexico. Just imagine Ariel and Caliban! Maharshi, Maharaj.

My prescription is default to consciousness at least once a day and more if possible. While writing this, I noticed I was coming up for air.

My Letter from the River Valley

In mythic terms, the universe is like the god of pure awareness being self-aware.  That is a definition of evolution for any non-believer.  The world is not an error but an integrated work procedure of the undivided process.  One comes to nirvana through samsara.

When I was a child, I believed samsara and played its worldly games.  On opening, I am nirvana dropping all those childish things.  I am the fish that got away.  I am the silver striper dancing in and out of silver river water!

Any river valley resident can tell you that the river is the valley.  Lately everything along the river is that August morning mist from longer nights following concentrated summer days that still can burn the morning mist before you even know it.

In China, the Milky Way is called River of Stars.  It's the frontier source of the Yellow River: universe, earth, enlightenment.  The world is all about the turning: spring conditioning, summer heat, autumn understanding, first there is a winter then there is no winter then there is.

The primary reflexive paradox is a testament to evidence that every seventh substage requires a pre-existing first stage of the next stage in the overall process.  In Early Christianity, they call this dark enigma between the child and parent, Holy Spirit.

Love, Wu Wei

Thought,
when not
the tool of love,
unwisely thinks
thought alone can do.

Love just does—
there is no thought behind it.

So when finding oneself caught
within the whirlpool world of thought
and all its agitations of division and identity,
default to love—
this is what the world calls Being Only.

Preface Plot Conclusion

To sail the unassailable—squirrels are monkeys waiting for harmonic convergence.  Where has all the transformation gone? “Tell all the truth but say it slant.”  This is what philosophers can't. How can anyone from my generation listen to My Generation and not destroy a planet or two?

There's that day in August when the heat wave breaks and I remember there's a world beyond the water—or so I'm schooled to think. If lilacs are like my deconstruction, purple loosestrife is my backslide. Self-awareness has no personality or else there is the trickster, raven, what a tangled web we weave, and trick-or-treat coyote!

There is no reason for what my I intends and so I must imagine one—by the way, this is actually the secret. Genuine mountains and rivers, sea and sky, again with the crickets! Self-consciousness is consciousness unable to let go although there's only Self.
 

Saving Nonduality

Neither geocentric nor heliocentric but consciousness only—universal consciousness is not a theory.  Theories rely on thought

or thoughts arranged in systems of belief—stop and smell the consciousness of That Absolute.

Like Yosemite from Glacier Point—Shaman, Light, and Holy Granite.  Like Seeing Basho 2007 Matsushima—

consciousness only, only consciousness, consciousness only.  Like Mesa Verde and its kiva-like attraction of an inner secret—

this is the grand unified truth.  Pure Awareness is Being Self-aware.

Ode to Break On Through (To No Side)

Division feeds division. Political salvation is the last refuge of conditioning, and rightfully so.

Only love sees through that monster—there is no right or wrong in the Heart of Tao. There's only Self-awareness.

The mirror needing cleaning is not the mirror, grasshopper. After lightning sounds thunder. After thunder babbles crickets.

When the fourth wall is broken through, the other three become paradoxical, poetic, and light.

It was Nixon's resignation party.  Jackie Wilson said.  This Great Intent is coursing through me.  I'm in Heaven when She Smiles.

Tonight the picture window reflects the room around me. The screens on each side are open to the night. Listen, I smell the rain!

Composition in Consciousness Only

Appearances in consciousness are both spontaneous and temporary. No matter how far down the material world one drills,

there isn't even rope, never mind some theory of string—there's no two to tie everything together.

Disproving the concept of God is the reactionary first half in any game of natural deconstruction.

Being radical is questioning one's own identity as a person in scientific self-inquiry, knowing being isn't divided into halves.

Post-modernism is literally such a reactionary deconstruction at the half. Self-inquiry sees through Zeno's Paradox. Tao is neither left nor right.

Coincidentally, after the last sunset after eight, I finally hear crickets—which in some ways sound similar to peepers, but seasoned, sharper.

Lythrum Salicaria seems to take forever to arrive but when the loosestrife finally purples—timeless!

Half-moon after August dawn—it's not about some quantum that the senses can or cannot sense, but what I know, feel, fundamentally am.

My Myth of Nonduality

If mountains are god the father and the sea is god the mother, then of course I’m god the child realizing earth is one.

In this particular myth, earth is inside what I am and the manifested universe is unmanifested, absolute.

And there's a stand of white birch trees growing where eastern white pines stood before the fire.

Thought is a tool of being. Thinking you're the tool in this equation requires deconstruction. Every picture of

a rose tells its story of a thorn. For in every antique mirror, thought is like the mercury and being is like glass.

In a true desert, there's breathtaking silence. Not merely of sound, but of silence. Call that self-awareness.

Ode

Here Comes The Sun King, The God Lugh, John Barleycorn, O Juliet and They Must Die. For It Is Lammas Eve, Looking to Lughnasadh, Beginning of The Harvest, August, A Certain Slant Of Light

O Psychological Thought is responsible for every War and every Murder and all Unspeakable Acts. If you choose a side, any side, this is what you ultimately choose. Thank god there's choiceless awareness

love is not a choice. Love is what there is before a choice. Always choose love. Render unto August the objects belonging to August but render to myself their life force. At last

a field of purple loosestrife, invasive weed, like deconstructive thoughts from Asia—August—late dawns, early sunsets—the apparent lessening of light—but these days taste concentrated as if boiled to an essence—

if July is the month of lightning bugs, August is the month of dragonflies—they don't just shine their light. They breathe fire! August 2007—I am climbing Yamadera—

the rest of my group is somewhere else around this temple being mountain—an ancient Chinese woman is translating the cicadas for me—ever since the First of August means No Crickets Yet.

Haiku Haiku Haiku

Speaking your mind is plagiarism. Speak love instead. In the world, silence is not a right. This love is silence speaking. Truest outlaw.

Now is the season of the butterfly. Its story is the nectar of the gods. Transformation is the nature of the beast.

Even science says that self-awareness is the only great intention and the fact of death is pointless and absurd.

But philosophy only thinks about it. Experiential being without thinking knows. Haiku haiku haiku.

The sun sets earlier tonight but I know it's only this and that. Space has no seasons. Contemplation is knowing a cigarette boat is

temporary. Open windows on a summer evening like the sea seen from an easternmost peak.

Evening breeze and leaves are dancing like translucent jade ninjas. Early July night. Not a sound in the valley. Not even a cricket.

An Epistle to the Person

The human body-mind is this wondrous instrument in and of consciousness developed in the process of evolutionary self-awareness.

But because of its metamorphic novelty, the body-mind misidentifies with itself, as a person, in a deficient sense of self-awareness,

and in effect usurps the absolute noumenon, which is a separate and most unnatural state, to say the least.

The resultant human condition of suffering is the natural balancing of forces in this process of self-awareness,

although to the mistaken identity of the person, it appears to be some kind of political imbalance within infinitesimal divisions,

and so it goes on and on. But “all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well” because consciousness.

2008 No Other Side

No division, no separation, no politics—there’s just purple loosestrife. If space is a metaphor for consciousness, then time is the darkest matter

of all anti-matter. A snake doesn't look like an illusion. A person lost at sea doesn't feel like self-awareness.

Li Po didn't drown in some watery reflection of the moon. He sees he is the moon and jumps right in! Look, being is not a social media—

it's more like an Emily Dickinson poem. Ten years ago, a coyote crossed the road to kill me. Somehow I still got to Santa Fe.

Georgia O'Keeffe. Ansel Adams. The Church of Saint Francis at Rancho de Taos 1929. The desert is form. Form is the desert.

At latest count, 140 bighorn sheep inhabit the alpine regions of Pikes Peak. By the time I got to Woodstock, who am I?

An Epistle to Nothing but Water

A person is like a fish out of water but call it brainwashing instead—there’s nothing but water in this divine analogy.

They call it selling water by the river but it’s really selling water in the river.

It takes a certain kind of sick infected suffering imagination to think that any phenomenon, no matter how personal it may appear to be, is not in consciousness.

Consciousness is the only manifestation of the unmanifest noumenon. The material world is as immaterial in consciousness as a dream is in mind—call it emptiness, impermanence, transformation, even vanity, but it’s not a real world.

Manifest consciousness is the unmanifest Absolute knowing it is the unmanifest Absolute. The dream state is how consciousness facilitates this knowing within consciousness. Call this evolutionary story the specter of self-awareness.

This fluid specter of self-awareness is called divine imagination when imagination is not sick infected suffering. Whether a butterfly or a Taoist wandering at ease, such a fish knows it’s in the wholly holey holy water.

Festival Manifestation

This weekend marks the height of New England summer heat—the sun is dropping body-mind. 

Everything appears in consciousness and it's abundantly apparent if one doesn't think about it.

Body-mind is like the dream machine of divine imagination getting lost within the nuts and bolts of its survival—but it's just my imagination running away with me. 

Next week the summer starts to fall. Nagarjuna's emptiness is Han Shan's transformation. Nothing not cold can stay.

Looking inside is called leaving the world. Dropping body-mind is called experiencing oneself.

Being is called self-awareness. This is called That.

Belief is about a single point of view but I contain multitudes!

Let my summers go; manifest one's current understanding.

Being is non-doing. Non-doing doesn't mean no choice. Choicelessness is choosing love.