Rhapsody on a Superstition or My Scientific Rant

All belief is superstitious and the greatest superstition is believing consciousness is a product of the brain.

This is why all science is about technique and not the truth.

Even an atomic bomb, although the epitome of scientific thought within its day, is just a better way of being some Neanderthal

bashing other people with a club.

Moreover, quantum physics may be looking at the limits of the mind arriving at that point where consciousness is looking at itself

resulting in electric ladylands of feedback

but science doesn't have a clue about the limits of the mind or just the simple and experiential fact that consciousness is fundamental.

The world and all its sciences are looking at reflections

and believing they're reality, the definition of some backwards, backwoods, backwater existence.

Consciousness is everything

and that's the scientific truth which unawakened science, although useful and productive and convenient,

does not see.

Blue Jay Play

The world is my reflection; signs will manifest accordingly.

The other day I saw a flock of blue jays and the night before I’d dreamt of one who came to visit with me in my living room.

And so the manifest resounds my inner echo.

Don't allow the great objective powerful pretender to usurp one's own unfathomable potentiality—

allow it's multifaceted reflection

to assist in understanding one's pure subjective state instead. The blue jays are my Shakti and all their squawking speak to self-awareness.

I am Shiva! Welcome to your world.

A Shaman at the Andover Library

Before the internet went viral

descending toward the digital–electric hell of virtual realities in which the mind keeps playing with itself

and love is left abandoned at the altar like a guru gone unheeded and the vows of realization left completely unintended,

I would browse the local library,

which of course was just another stage of hellish A.I. reality the mind has played since mind evolved from swamps in molecules of being,

and there within said library, I met a homeless man who read the newspapers and whispered softly to himself

about the wildness of the world

and how the shamans like himself no longer could assist in mind's complex descent from sky to ceiling—

no one listens anymore, he said to me while noticing I was eavesdropping on his private conversation with the world.

No one listens anymore.

Reflexive Prophecy

Love is the turn

and self-awareness is the return

but the digital is the wild mind’s shot

at double or nothing—

from my lips to the cloud’s ear.

Neurological science is following a dead end

so the digital-electric looks to create

a brand new virtual reality.

Stop in the name of love—

return to forever.

Playing with Lalla G:105. Awake

In the waning moonlight, the madwoman rises

to soothe her pain in the light of that Supreme.

Lalla Lalla the beloved awakens!

And all vitalities merge in a shimmering lake.

Playing with Lalla G:13. Difference

You have six and I have six;

now tell me Blue-throated Shiva,

what exactly is the difference here?

Oh, never mind, I totally know.

You are the master of your six

and make them accolades of immortality.

But I’ve been enslaved by mine

making them blemishes of personality. 

Playing with Lalla G: 95. Nandi

How do I manage five elements, ten vital energies,

and eleven functions of senses, expressions, and mind?

They have emptied out this container and run away!

If only they had pulled upon a single lead together,

the happy bull of Shiva would not have gone astray.

Playing with Lalla G:102/103. Way

I, Lalla, wished only to be a natural lovely cotton flower 

but the cleaning woman split me and the carding man shred me 

and the spinner then conditioned me to fine thin thread upon its wheel—

and lastly I was stretched upon the weaver's loom 

and woven into finished useful worldly cloth.

Only when the washing one turns me over stone,

and scrubs me with hard earth and soap,

and the tailor works its scissors on me, piece by piece, 

am I, Lalla, open to the way of that supreme truth.

Playing with Lalla G:7. Who

Lord Shiva! I didn’t realize precisely what I am.

I merely thought I was this substance of a body.

You are me and I am you. O that I never knew!

Asking who are you and who am I undoes that doubt of who.

Playing with Lalla G:8. Thou

Shiva the Auspicious One or Vishnu the Demon-Killer

or Buddha the Conqueror or the Lotus-Born Lord Brahma,

whatever your designation is as That, please alleviate

this unwell woman from the sickness which is this world,

in the name of Thou or Thou or Thou or Thou or Thou.

Playing with Lalla G:18. Ashes

Let them cast a thousand curses at this naked woman.

Their pointed words will never touch my heart.

I am devoted to the innate and annealing truth of Shiva.

Nothing but polishing comes from throwing ashes on a mirror.

Playing with Lalla G:83. Release

I've seen a wise man die of hunger.

And leaves fall in winter even with the slightest wind.

I’ve seen a fool beat his cook.

And Lalla waits for love of an absurd world to let go.

Playing with Lalla G:108. "Drop it”

This sack of sweetness gets heavier

as the shoulder strap loosens and drops.

The road before me appears crooked and lost.

O how can I carry this burden any further?

The liberating words of the guru keep falling

hard on my shoulders with blistering loss.

Ah but this flock of senses has no shepherd!

O how can I carry this burden any further?

Playing with Lalla G: 67. Riverboat

Lightly, lightly, I am sighing for you Soul.

You have lost your mind upon a Ship of Fools!

The shadow of an anchor cannot hold you there

and yet, dear me, you've lost the current of my self.

Playing with Lalla G:41. Breathing

From which four winds did I arrive

and what passageway was taken? 

With what wind do I go

and by which passage leave? 

Here I waited for my vital life instructions—

for empty breath has little value.

Playing with Lalla G:106. Sleep

Asleep, confused, I dreamt I was a riverboat and being
towed across the ocean by a single strand of some belief.

I sang O Shiva will you hear me; will you help me in my crossing?

And then I dreamt the sea was seeping through this clay container

like some precious sand that's falling through an hourglass.

I sang O Shiva will I have the time to get back home to you?

Or do I sink before I see we are one sea and be awake?

my playful transcreation of Grierson's translation & commentary no.106
of Lalla (Lal Ded) while also utilizing those of Hoskote, Barks, and Kak

Playing with Lalla G:98. Coin

They say we arrive in this world 

by a way that is not the way. 

You can’t take it with you of course, 

so only by selling my soul to the ferryman 

do I cross the river to the land of karmic rebirth.

O, but with Shiva's name I'm suddenly unborn

to see there is no ferryman—

and no way that isn’t the way.

my playful transcreation of Grierson's translation & commentary no.98 
of Lalla (Lal Ded) while also utilizing those of Hoskote, Barks, and Kak

Inner Monologue on Spiritual Economics

Western paradox—you can't give it away—if it doesn't cost, no one wants it—if you give it to them anyway, they’ll pay anyway, and resent it!

There is no mendicant tradition in the west—there is only homelessness and social welfare—everything personal is a monetary transaction.

Giving something away in the west implies an economic status of homelessness and welfare—not a spiritual status of mendicant and householder.

Those who automatically trash the unfortunate economic side of spirituality in the west misunderstand the hard facts of a materialist west.

I'm a nobody giving away a book & already i can see the associations involved in the transaction. Nobody wants to be accused of homelessness.

Re-evaluate the associative values of said book, he said, working out on twitter an experience he had last night, $7 richer but nothing more.

So Chopra has it right! Disregarding absolute quality of teachings, he is the mendicant allowing householders to fund his spiritual research.

And the scientific guru-basher has it wrong—not only is its higher technical language occluding in itself but its economics are materialist.

Mendicant-householder economics is a spiritual one, benefiting both parties—the mendicant in research and the householder’s instant karma.

Market Square Bakehouse Vortex Sutra

in memory of Isabel Van Merlin's Merrimac Mic

Around an emptiness of absolute identity is swirling river thunderstorms of voices emanating from the lightning strikes of mystical intent

engendering an eye above a traffic circle where the poets talk in tongues and utter stories like the secret caves of France or China

where a woman staring at the wall is seeing through the vehicles of space and time discerning all is consciousness

and in this consciousness reflecting only in this consciousness is self-awareness of the self intending self-awareness of the great unknown

and now the known-unknown and nothing else is known O Vishnu Shiva Shakti Krishna Ishvara Brahma Vishnu thank you thank you thank you

I am I within the eye of voices speaking from their heart of hearts within the bakehouse of this LOVE & WISDOM, Love & Wisdom, love & wisdom

Journal of the Known-Unknown

Mind alone is small-minded.

Mind with heart is mindful.

Heart alone is being.

Neither mind nor heart is real.

God is a name

for the known unknown.

Knowing the name

isn’t knowing the unknown.

Intent is to the universe

as evolution is to mind;

and self-awareness is to self—

being is transcendent

as the known-unknown

enlightens any

shadow of a doubt.