Tao. The Poem. Verse 13 to 18.

13.

Honor and shame

bind us to judgment—

suffering is bound

to our own pretense.

But seeing all as oneself—

one is free to be here for all.

14.

Not seen, heard, nor felt—

one.

Rising, not light.

Falling, not dark.

Formless form.

Hold the Ancient Way

to journey here and now.

   

15.

Ancients were so unfathomable,

we only picture their appearance—

to be so murky as to settle into clarity,

so still to stir to life.

16.

Empty and resonate

in silence—

see all rise and return

to the root.

Not knowing is all-suffering

but knowing the way loses all

to be always.

17.

Best is nearly never known.

Next best is loved.

Then, feared—

the worst is scorned.

But words never do—

it appears

to happen

spontaneously.

18.

When the Way is forsaken—

responsibilities rise.

As knowledge ripens—

duplicity appears.

Then all becomes chaos—

blind faith persists.

Tao. The Poem. Verse 10 to 12.

10.

Can you rest

in the seam of opposites?

See Spirit and Instinct

as One?

Give birth

without claiming,

raise

without ruling?

This deepest power. 

11.

Shape clay into a cup—

from emptiness forms function.

As it is in a dwelling.

In being arises increase,

but in non-being rests value.

12.

Overkill deadens the senses;

wild pursuits enrage the mind;

treasure loses the way.

So a sage

observes insight

and overlooks eyesight.

Tao. The Poem. Verse 7 to 9.

7.

The world abides—

for it doesn’t exist for itself.

So by yielding the body—

one is present.

And being free of self—

one is fulfilled.

8.

As truth,

like water,

one helps all

and vies with none,

lives low—

as Tao.

All holds the truth—

by not resisting,

one is free

from illusion.

9.

A cup filled to the brim will spill.

Acts done in excess produce the opposite.

When work is complete, the self retreats—

Nature’s Way.

Tao. The Poem. Verse 4 to 6.

4.

Tao is 

bottomless

emptiness—

seeming source

of all things. 

Harmonizing,

it perhaps exists. 

Yet its birth is unknown—

image older than God.

5.

The cosmos isn’t humane

nor is the sage—

all beings are sacrificial.

The universe will always make more.

Thus abide in the silent center.

6.

The valley spirit never dies—

call it the feminine

mystery.

Its gate is the root of the cosmos.

Ethereal—

but in use

inexhaustible. 

Tao. A long poem. Transforming a transcreation.

In the summer of 2009 I started transcreating the Tao Te Ching, reading different translations (Ellen M. Chen, David Hinton, Stephen Mitchell, Red Pine and several others), pondering each word of each verse as translated in a word-by-word grid created by Jonathan Star, and abridging each and every verse into a 140 character tweet. I ended up publishing it in book form: http://www.amazon.com/Tao-Te-Tweet-transcreated-140-character/dp/1466248912/

I am now transforming the transcreations into short sections of a long poem as a new project, making minor revisions along the way, and no longer holding to the 140 character limit, although not necessarily adding or subtracting or revising either, except in the lineation added to the original. I am trying to stay true to the initial transcreation, which attempted to stay true to the original as viewed through translations—this is not a project revisiting those translations or that amazing grid, for that was an extensive project in and of itself.

The first three transformations are included in this post, with more to follow in future posts. I am considering it a long poem based directly on the Tao Te Ching—

the latest transformation

of an original transcreation

of several unique translations
of the nameless...

Tao

1.

No words

for Tao—

words are for things.

To know Tao

no desire—

desires are for things.

Both are sourced

in darkness—

doorway to no-thing.

2.

Knowing good

creates bad—

as ordinary opposites

relying on each other.

So the sage does

without doing—

claims nothing as

deeds are never lost.

3.

Don’t praise persons and things—

people will distort.

Lead by clarifying desire—

fulfilling essentials.

If nothing is doing—

all is done.

April Fools Da Da Da

April is the month of birdsong. Great intent is in the air.

Even trees begin to show their heartburn.

In an hour or so the rain will fall like rain is always falling somewhere.

The wind will speak with nurturing authority.

One could say the earth awakens to desire.

One could say awareness is appearing in the memory.

None of this is true beyond the artifice of space-time.

Does the river of existence flow upstream to be the nameless source?

Game of Games

The game is called long division; the only rule is play your part. 

Know division by zero is an unlawful operation

because the answer is unknown. Outlaws call this insight.

As it is in quiet desperation, so it is with the cry of war.

Further, laughter is the spirit of deconstruction

as speechlessness is the matter of truth.

All the players are shaped by social conditioning.

The field of battle is deoxyribonucleic acid.

And doves go flying through the hall of mirrors.

Fear and taxes. Sadness and a movie.

Location is the holy trinity of real estate.

Yet Christ alive! Everywhere is here in consciousness.

burn this poem

anew 

declaration 

awareness 

not belief 

love 

not politics 

wisdom 

not knowledge 

deconstruction 

not nihilism 

transformation 

not monuments 

The Crystal Peaks of Ten Thousand Ways

There's a new myth written every hour. This one says a recluse doesn't avoid people. Hermits avoid one person. That which looks like me.

Sure, there's a con-artist born every minute on the way. But there's only one way. That is my way.

Listen. I add my poem to the cairn. Basically there's view and source. And one step at a time.

Only follow this way until you see your own sign. Mountains and rivers. Sunrise sunset. Consciousness speaks to the child.

Real deconstruction isn't nihilistic. True north isn't east or west. Go visualize the sun.

I am hiking further lucid dreaming consciousness awakening forgiveness on the cross of love and wisdom Krishna Shiva Vishnu.

Self Play

The angel of absolute I is whispering a firmament of words. If April is all about memory and desire, March is all about innocence and experience. Clear woods, full sun, choiceless awareness.

So the universe is a phenomenon of an absolute I as we are the circus of the universe. Monkeys see and monkeys do. This is the elephant in the great room of the blind. Being may be useless but belief is a wasteland.

And absolute I is like the experience of deep sleep. And this universal dream is like the self-awareness of absolute I. Oh wisdom and love are too nondual for cats. Inhale, exhale, sneeze, and god bless you.

As if we the phenomena could usurp the blessings of absolute I. Not even the six eyes of lions and the four wings of eagles can approach the vanity of these two faces. To end, one must locate the beginning of this play.

Who am I? Absolutely.

Easter Dreaming Absolution

Easter is actually the celebration of altered consciousness. The child is the ground of the dream.

They come for the resurrection but stay for the apocalypse. Forgive yourself. For we never knew what hit us.

Deep sleep is primal meditation. A dream cannot stop dreaming. And being is the primal dream. Intending a dream is on the other hand.

Listen. One either dreams the dream forward. Or follows the dream signs. Tantra. Yoga.

All dream is based on the latest mythology. You are living the dream you need to dream.

Words are translations of direct experience. Translations are conversions to different belief systems.

Only consciousness cures consciousness. Forgiveness doesn't forget. Forgiveness transforms.

Question everything. Believing is something. Nothing is definitely not. And samadhi is beyond the question at the moment.

Ode Sakura

You are my mirror and I'm looking beautiful today. You are my self and I am writing every moment of this play. This is my dream and lucid self-awareness its display.

True, self-awareness is not a laughing matter, but all that clouds awareness is. Why did the turkey vulture cross the road? The reflection of the sky in this stream of consciousness knows no sides.

Every word is just another brick in the story. Real masons deconstruct conspiratorially. In an ocean of Shiva swim invisible whales in true moby glory.

Thus, dreaming separation is the first addiction. Dreaming self-awareness is the last step. Still, I keep telling myself over and over it takes zero steps to reach the heart of godliness.

And In a gadda da vida lived the plus and minus. One would think it's zero, yet I know the great unknown. Knowing I am, while understanding I'm not what I think I am, is like walking on a razor's edge without a net.

Oh the godly-mystic-experiential-naturally-without-thought is being like a cherry blossom once again.

The Church of Earth

Secret beach and open sea.

Slow seductive waves.

A sudden metronome of an unseen bell-buoy.

Dune grass kissing sweet mirage.

White mountains spied from an ancient crow's nest.

The blessed Satori in every grain of sand.

Sunshine Whiskey Tango Foxtrot

Cumulus clouds. Pink granite. The deep blue sirens of the sea.

Like the gods singing around a midnight starlight love-bright bonfire.

The radio blue response of earth wind and fire.

Agni. Vayu. Indra. Uma!

I dreamt they came from all around the world. Their names were Amadeus, Janis, Frank. They gathered in the Himalayas. Listen!

Taste the fire of the woods. Soothe your eyes in the circle of the sun.

The Optical Geometry of Rivers and Sky

The math of walls

and windows

doesn't add up.

I walk outside

to be the open space

of vast awareness.

A river is always

running through this

pleasant valley view.

Houses populate the northern bank

but on the southern side is eagle

innocence and disbelief.

The blue canoe of sky is ferrying

this ground of blind belief to the other side

where no side is the ground of seeing.

Another way is walk across the current

in a different pair of shoes

marked with the swoosh of compassion.

The calculus of pine trees swaying in the wind is whispering

there's no solution for

the absolute unknown.

No matter what one thinks,

clouds can never separate

the sky.

Listen, all of this is just a polychromatic vision

which I speak while sitting

silently at home.

The Divine Vision of Lucid Dreaming

All people are sick against themselves inside. So when someone coughs violently, war breaks out.

There are no bridges in the 21st century. Only sides, you fucking idiot. It's not social media. It's niche media.

And it's not reality shows. It's Machiavellian training.

The center is exposed by a spotlight to be rotten to the core. The spokes are flying off the wheel. But true center of no center is filling in the void.

Conscious self-awareness is the lucid dreaming of the bodhisattva.

Conscious self-awareness is the lucid dreaming of the bodhisattva.

Conscious self-awareness is the lucid dreaming of the bodhisattva.

The lucid dreaming of absolute intent is the seventh house. Lucid dreaming is to quantum physics as Newton is to Genesis.

Inspiration is to a muse as self-awareness is to revelation is to lucid dreaming is to I is to Self is to The 1 as manifestation is to signs.

Listen, for every apocalypse now there's an awakening here.

Listen, for every apocalypse now there's an awakening here.

Listen, for every apocalypse now there's an awakening here.

That math of lucid dreaming is compassion and love and forgiveness. This is the zero myth superseding the quantum of new belief or old snake oil.

To recap in old language. We're either fucked. Or we literally make love.

There are ten thousand detours to death but one way of life. Verily belief is a rainbow but truth is the light.

Nirvana is what you make of it. If it's not long division, love! Lucid dreaming is both practice and manifestation.

Lucid dreaming is both practice and manifestation.

The way out of war is unconditional surrender. The way into peace is lucid dreaming. One quick way to reach zero without the sirens of zero.

I have seen the best minds of my generation destroyed by zero.

I have seen the best minds of my generation destroyed by zero.

Shiva is the god of deconstruction. Kali is the goddess of deconstructing deconstruction. They are like husband and wife.

Ice melts. Taste the fire. It’s like deconstructing division. War is over. One love. Negative capability is negative and capable.

The concept of death is felt in the body and imagined by the mind. The living light of faith faith and faith is confirmed by the experiential.

No beauty. No truth. That is the back beat of Keats. Awareness is intelligence is bliss is as nirvana is to samsara.

World is to samsara as deep sleep is to being as food is to body as dream is to mind as self-awareness is to nirvana as re-visioning is to samadhi.

In satcitananda, breathe in dream, breathe out vision.

In satcitananda, breathe in dream, breathe out vision.

In satcitananda, breathe in dream, breathe out vision.

Blissfully a PseudoSonnet

fol 

low 

your 

meta 

bolism 

doing

or not doing.

perfect.

hummingbird or emu.

emu or hummingbird.

qoheleth says absurd

zhuangzi says what

serendipitous

mistake or

absolute intent?

The Great Usurper

During the day 

the air is clear

and disappears 

into the blue—

and at night 

when the air

ain't there,

I disappear

into you.

I steal your name

pretending this

locality is every

thing to living—

and when I lay

with you and

give it back,

all is instantly

forgiven.

Footnotes to a Dragonfly

Nihilism is

extreme

ego-tripping.

Denial is

the last resort

of true belief.

I am that

I am is

real humility.

It's not a new age

but it's also not

nothing.

Temper deconstruction

with the disbelief

of being.

It's not

not satcitananda.

And that is satcitananda.

The Song of the Dragonfly

One's psychological myth 

after deconstruction is 

the revelation.

The body is universal 

and dark matter is

the mind.

The sun

light of starlight is

enlightened intent.

And the black hole of self-awareness

is

behind door number three.

Hiking

the mountain of no mountain name,

I meet the wall. I am the peak.

A mountain stream is whispering

the name of the mountain stream

and now I am this mountain stream.

You can live

in the new world but just

don't take its modern medicine.

On the altar of Consciousness,

I am burning

everything I know.

Fire
flies
only live

for a mid-summer dream

but words

are

the

breath

of

d

r

a

g

o

n

f

l

i

e

s

At least

once every hour

once every hour

once every hour

once every hour

drink the lemon of silence.

By hook or by crook,

by ray or by way,

alter consciousness

mindfully

every

day;

this

is true

practice.

Honey bees

beat their

wings

two

hundred

thirty

beats per second.

This is

like

being

in the now.

Be in the now.

Stop waiting

and re

lax.

Enlightenment is never here on time.

Relaxing

in reality

there are no trees

and birds never sing

when we agreed

to call imagination

t

r

e

e

s

song

imagined birds

the birds are singing

death

is just imagination

and no ex

periment

has proven other

wise

for birds love

the science

so listen

you tell me

am i to believe

the birds of reality

singing

singing

singing

pure awareness

now

a

p

p

e

a

r

i

n

g

as one being

in

tend

ing

self-awareness

only God

is

Self

only Self

is

self-aware

only self-awareness

appears

to be

the universe

only the universe

evolves

to

no self

only no self

is

self-

awareness

only Self

is

self-aware

the science

the science

the science

God God

God Goddess

Goddess Goddess

and Goddesses never sing

there are no Gods

in reality