This is Called Nine Names

Mistaking the current definition of a word for its usage in another spacetime rendering is another way of getting lost in translation. Definitions also transform. Obviously.


A wave becomes a frog becomes a wolf becomes an owl becomes a stormy Monday.

Yesterday is false. Tomorrow is a fantasy. Today is just the smoke of potentiality.

Note the two unstressed syllables in 'smoke of potentiality.' For prior to that, it's all iambic. Form is emptiness and emptiness is form.


A broken arrow once meant peace but now means accidental nuclear detonation. Thus all definitions pass.

Light of being is filtered by belief—or transformation frozen in the memory of mind—i.e. attachment—becoming an emotion—i.e. moving action.

This lack of self-awareness is an evolutionary step between the active known inanimate and non-doing of the great unknown.


Dragons only breathe out fire. Sages breathe it in. This is Tao of Thrones. Revisited.

It's not the nothing of atheism nor the something of religion, but this being that unknown which knocks me out in out in out in...

Suspending disbelief is practice for the seeing through belief as comedy is deconstruction. The popular is smoke. Esoteric is the fire.


I’d begin at the beginning, but there’s no beginning.

Instead, let me begin now.

By the way, every change in meter is a change in voice.


Remember, for every metaphor, there’s a vehicle and tenor.

In every Travis Bickle, there’s a Luciano Pavarotti.

Singing the song of self-awareness. Walt Whitman style or Emily Dickinson.


The grass reflects time. The recluse reflects space. The mirror is always Brahma, Vishnu, Shiva.

This is almost the end of the preface.

Now begins the apocalypse of Son Rivers.


John Lennon said war is over if you want it. This is dedicated to that spirit.

The world is what you think, believe, it is. So war is over when you think it is.

This is called Learning to Eat an Apple.


Remember death is just a concept and being is the only truth one knows.

This is called Utilizing Memory Efficiently.

It also makes an acronym.


Irony aside. Dying is easy. Deconstruction is hard.

This is called Primal Sutra.

Knowing when to stop deconstruction is not knowable. This is called Grace, Faith, or Trust. Depending what you call your self.


Dreaming lucidly is creating your own mythology. This experience is called Naming the Nameless.

In the Name of Only I Make Mountains Move.

That fine line between deconstruction and being that unknown is called Spontaneity or Sudden.


Only something knows how to believe in nothing. This is called Last House on the Left.

The world is either mirror or mystery. Clarity or mist. Subject or object. I or me. This is called It Is What It Is.

This is called This Is Called.


Number Nine

Signs of the Revelation

At Dunkin Donuts,

I was saying to a friend

I finally accepted what I am

within this dream of nature.

I'm a songbird

and songbirds sing.

Later, driving home,

listening to Open Source

on public radio,

I heard an interview

with John Luther Adams,

not John Coolidge Adams,

who is saying birdsong is

his primal inspiration.

Synchronicity is music

of this universal consciousness

and that goes deeper

than primordial baptism.

Such a sign is confirmation

I am singing what I am.

The Self-Awareness Game

Practice paying mindful attention. Dream lucidly and creatively. Only self-awareness shall spontaneously evolve!

This is the self-awareness game: dreaming what the world shall be. And it is written that shall is such a timeless word.

Now is the time for some beauty. Imagine spring. The daffodils bow to the winter and then. They say nothing gold can stay. But quicksilver shall.

I was raised in the church of fear and loathing. Only thought is deconstructed. Being is immortal space.

To take things personally is the original misdeed of universal consciousness appearing localized. Being is where potentiality is.

We were conditioned to be mountains. And then you saw the mountain is conditioned. I am the mountain. I am the sky.

Belief is magic. Desire is enchantment. I am in the world. My prayer: may they all see that I am not what we believed us to be.

Like kissing every thought before it becomes belief. Like balancing deep sleep and the ordinary mystic. Self-awareness! What else is there?

Alone and Drinking Under a New Moon

Lately a week feels like seven days.

And April has a tendency to freeze frame.

So I wouldn't say this is enlightenment

but I've deconstructed so much bullshit

I can see it in another almost instantly.

This makes it difficult for new relationships

and all the old ones have gone South

to die or be with loving grandchildren.

I like the Chinese poets and their way with wine.

I choose a stout instead seeking moderation

only because I value benefits of deep sleep.

This is where the poem will take a turn.

The absolute unknown is what I am

and every night I like to circle back

to pure awareness, black as Tao,

completely lost to memory or moon.

This is why Li Po jumped in the pond.

Tao. The Poem. Verse 28 to 36.

28.

Know splendor—

abide in obscurity—

return to the natural.

When something uncut

is split, it is used.

But a sage is unhewn and divides nothing.

29.

One can’t improve

the world—

it’s perfect spirit.

One’s hot—then cold.

Strong—weak.

On—off.

So a sage avoids indulgence in extremes.

30.

As armies occupy,

thorns arise.

The adept are resolute,

but never favor force—

for things gone overgrown decay.

That isn’t the Way.

31.

Weapons are tools of misfortune—

the sage avoids them.

When many are killed—

clearly mourn them.

But even in a victory—

observe it with a funeral.

32.

Tao is ever nameless—

none command it.

Rain falls without an order.

Make rules—

names rise—

stop!

Tao in use is like a river flowing to the sea.

  

33.

To know others—

wise.

To know self—

enlightened.

To overcome others—

strong.

To overcome self—

all-powerful.

To not be lost in status—

enduring.

To die yet not die—

immortal.

34.

Tao

floods all directions.

All rely on it for being

yet it claims no name.

Thus a sage not acting for oneself

accomplishes greatness.

35.

Whoever follows the Great Image

enjoys peace.

Song and cake entice the passersby

to stop.

But the Way is tasteless—

never seen, heard, or exhausted.

36.

To weaken—first brace.

To take—give.

This is Dark Light.

Soft breaks hard.

Fish aren’t caught in depths.

A nation’s weapon is its peaceful villages.

Tao. The Poem. Verse 19 to 27.

19.

Abandon knowledge, morality, and profit—

people will thrive.

Yet one more item is crucial:

hold to the unhewn—

self erodes, desires fade.

 

20.

What’s the difference between good and bad?

People conform—they’re all so full!

I’m homeless and useless with the mind of a fool.

I nurture on the Mother.

21.

Tao alone is truth.

Formless—it holds an image.

Indistinct—it shelters fact.

Hidden—it embraces essence.

How do I know? It tells me.

22.

Yield—

and be whole.

As hollow—

so filled.

Thus the sage embraces unity.

Not self-absorbed—

self-evident.

Not empty talk—

the way to the whole.

23.

Speak sparingly as nature—

wind and rain doesn’t storm all day.

To follow Tao is to be Tao.

In gain be gain, in loss, loss.

In Tao trust.

24.

On tiptoes, one can’t stand.

Showing off, one doesn’t shine.

For one on the Way, it’s called

excess food and a tiring pace.

Never indulge.

25.

Before all—

there was something silent,

empty.

Name?

Call it Tao.

Humans follow earth

follows heaven

follows Tao.

Tao follows itself.

26.

Firm—root of light.

Still—lord of the wilderness.

Sages walk with resources near—

calm amid lookouts.

Lightly—lose footing.

Wildly—lose direction.

27.

Perfect action is not undone.

Students are enshrouded light.

Teachers employ that fact

or lack all resources—

simply confusion!

So a sage sees subtly

 

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.