Eleven Ways of Looking at One

It's not a question of faith.

The absolute unknown is there.

That is a fact.

In the deep-sleep-like absolute,

being aware of that absolute unknown occurs,

and the big bang dream-like experiencing takes place. And time.

In the unknown absolute,

there's nothing personal.

There is a constant breathing though.

Not knowing is

a deep and wide

potentiality.

In one, two begins. 

But three is limited—

because in one, two claims to be two. 

In the beginning there's nothing to say.

And in time, because of that which can't be said,

there's still nothing to say.

The seed has sprouted. Let

it

dream.

The absolute can't be known.

That is what I am.

To that, this being only happens.

Deconstruction is easy.

Transcending knowledge is not.

The first love is the strongest.

From two, one is separate.

From zero, one isn't.

Krishna says one is one.

Or, zero and two are the same, love.

But one changes.

How is this?

My Transcreation of a Cold Mountain Poem

Vague, dark, Cold Mountain way

Empty, useless, banks of cold river

The singsong of birds is always present

Still and silent, no traveler is near

Whisper, sharp breath, the wind cuts my face

Flake upon flurry, the snow buries all forms

Dawn after dawn, there is no sun

Year after year, no knowing of spring

This is my transcreation of a Cold Mountain poem, utilizing these translations of Red Pine, Robert Henricks, and Gary Snyder:

The trail to Cold Mountain is faint

the banks of Cold Stream are a jungle

birds constantly chatter away

I hear no sound of people

gusts of wind lash my face

flurries of snow bury my body

day after day no sun

year after year no spring

~Red Pine (38)

Rough and dark - the Cold Mountain trail,

Sharp cobbles - the icy creek bank.

Yammering, chirping - always birds

Bleak, alone, not even a lone hiker.

Whip, whip - the wind slaps my face

Whirled and tumbled - snow piles on my back.

Morning after morning I don't see the sun

Year after year, not a sign of spring.

~Gary Snyder (9)

Dark and obscure— the way to Han- shan;

Far apart— the shores of the cold mountain stream.

Chirp, chirp— constantly there are the birds;

Silent and still— in addition there are no men.

Whisper, whisper— the wind blows in my face;

Whirling and swirling— the snow piles up all around.

Day after day— I don't see the sun;

And year after year— I've known no spring.

~Robert Henricks (31)

Six Translations of a Single Cold Mountain Poem

Translations. Translations. Translations. Dance of the original poet and a second language. I’ve made amateur transcreations of the Tao, Kena, and Lalla myself, and have read so many different versions of these to know none are completely reliable although there are some that follow the poet’s lead better than others, and others that whirl into a completely different room or even universe.

Here are six English translations of the 9^th century Chinese poet Han-shan, or Cold Mountain, who wrote in an authentic voice, influenced but not owned by Zen and Tao, and now out on his own upon white clouds (and for whom Jack Kerouac would dedicate 'Dharma Bums' in 1958 which starred Japhy Ryder, his fictional name for Gary Snyder). This particular poem is one translated by each of the major translators, listed here in order of year: Arthur Waley; Gary Snyder; Burton Watson; Red Pine; Robert Henricks; J.P. Seaton. 

As for my own taste, bias, and vexation, I prefer the organic Snyder and imagistic Red Pine. I least like the overdone Seaton and overpoetic Waley. Henricks and Burton are useful, the former prosaically so and the latter poetically accordingly. One should note only Red Pine and Henricks are the completists (305/300). Watson is 100; Seaton 95; Snyder only unfortunately 24. There are other translations, I’m sure, but one has to draw the line somewhere, and these are the majors.

I’ve arranged them by latest translation first, and have included, at the end of the translation, the translator’s name, the translation’s number in their collection, and the year the translation first appeared, although there might have been a second revision later on and the version presented here may be it.

Set foot on Han Shan’s Way?

Han Shan’s road is endless . . .

The gorge is long. Rocks, and rocks and rocks,

jut up.

The torrent’s wide, reeds almost hide the far side.

The moss is slippery even without rain.

The pines sing: the wind is real enough.

Who’s ready to leap free of the world’s traces

to come to sit with me among white clouds?

~Seaton (16) 2009

Climb up! Ascend! The way to Han-shan;

But on Han-shan the roads never end.

The valleys are long, with boulders in heaps and piles;

The streams are wide, with grasses both wet and damp.

The moss is slippery—it has nothing to do with the rain;

The pines sigh and moan, but they don't rely on the wind.

Who can transcend the cares of the world,

And sit with me in the white clouds?

~Henricks (28) 1990

Who takes the cold mountain road

takes a road that never ends

the rivers are long and piled with rocks

the streams are wide and choked with grass

it’s not the rain that makes the moss slick

and it’s not the wind that makes the pines moan

who can get past the tangles of the world

and sit with me in the clouds?

~Red Pine (32) 1983

I climb the road to Cold Mountain,

The road to Cold Mountain that never ends.

The valleys are long and strewn with stones;

The streams broad and banked with thick grass.

Moss is slippery, though no rain has fallen;

Pines sigh, but it isn't the wind.

Who can break from the snares of the world

And sit with me among the white clouds?

~Watson (40) 1962

Clambering up the Cold Mountain path,

The Cold Mountain trail goes on and on:

The long gorge choked with scree and boulders,

The wide creek, the mist blurred grass.

The moss is slippery, though there's been no rain

The pine sings, but there's no wind.

Who can leap the world's ties

And sit with me among the white clouds?

~Snyder (8) 1958

Long, long the way to the Cold Mountain;

Stony, stony the banks of the chill stream.

Twitter, twitter--always there are birds;

Lorn and lone--no human but oneself.

Slip, slap the wind blows in one's face;

Flake by flake the snow piles on one's clothes.

Day after day one never sees the sun;

Year after year knows no spring.

~Waley (7) 1954

Octavian Was Clueless

The Vault of Heaven 

doesn’t bounce off walls. 

The Ground of Being isn’t 

milk and honey. 

August first singsongs, 

John Barleycorn must die.

And Purple Loosestrife lately

doesn’t seem the same.

Cold Mountain

in the Conservatory

with Big Stick!

After Cold Mountain 2016

Either don’t pay taxes and plan on going underground.

Or pay them and stop the whining.

The empire provides the shelter for sitting still.

There's a part of me that likes to look at a train wreck.

There's a bigger part of me that doesn't want to be in one.

I sit in the living room and look at woods.

I rest in the bedroom and feel the river.

This house is nothing but a cave for an open sky.

Number Eight Dream

As long as I think I understand the absolute truth, there's only me who doesn't.

Self-awareness is heightened by this evolution and limited by this evolution. Self-awareness is now.

Potentiality is unimaginable, so one imagines. One wants more but needs nothing.

Even if not energized by egoic reaction, the dream doesn't end but fades. Until the diary is opened at the end. This is called the closing credits.

Every morning you know this: this is my dream but I'm not this dream. Play it forward.

One already knows how a dream state works. Know that one is always witnessing a dream. Asleep or awake.

See me, feel me, listen. This is all one has to do. And while awake, I witness the original dream of being as well.

The latest mythology is scientific materialism. This happens to be the language I was taught. But my translations are from the heart.

Loving being is not a sickness. It's the original condition—on the unconditional.

Variations on a That

My sunshine shines

with the one

true knowledge.

I am not something,

not even that primal

something, I am.

Discard all concepts

of what I am,

including the original

God concept, I am.

For I am that

which I do not know.

An American in the City of Translation

Belief is a passing phenomenon held in memory within the one true phenomena. Karma is my entertainment.

There is a god. There are no people. To truly be, be that which isn't being. This is called being the unknown.

Being aware is the immaculate conception. Body-mind is the bonfire. I am is the light of being aware.

All talk is the book of dying. Dreaming is the worship of being. Waking up is part of the American dream.

Because Fool

To be is to be the fool. After I am is to be. The body is only the shape of the seed. But the flower is something completely different.

The seed of consciousness is itself the original sin. The fool is missing the mark. Always follow self-awareness.

There is no point and there's no moon. The art of being involves the balancing of subject and verb.

Being is a beautiful concept but the butterfly is Zhuangzi. Chuang Tzu is something else as well.

Return to desire. Love is the point of intent. Observe; every reaction is your instant karma.

Being means new game. Reset. An act of contrition without the catholic guilt. Call it compassion.

The matrix of the vital breath is pretty complex. Somebody's dream is always someone else's nightmare.

Straight Out of Prana

Return with forever...

Oaks move. 

Wind whooshes. 

River of air. 

The butterfly. 

Worm of being. 

Always only sky.

Parashakti. Worm of being. Gnawing gnawing gnawing. I am. I am. I am. Caterpillar of this magical reality. Spontaneous yet subtle.

The sky can't see the sky.

The sky can only see the clouds.

The one that sees through the highest dark cloud being is the knower.

Such a Noah isn't you.

O it is I!

Afterword. Deconstructive metaphysical mythologies become religions if you think they're for your benefit. Always keep on asking, who am I?

I Am is the Lotus

Every action is 

reaction

when that action has

originated from a thought.

One can sit and watch 

all thoughts float by 

without attaching to 

a single one

or one can walk and watch

one's own reactions

with the same

detachment.

But to do no harm

is action only rising

out of being

like the lotus

giving rise

to just

that faithful

smile.

Eye Stories

In the beginning of

no beginning

is and isn’t

I—

then there is

the spec-

tacular

space

of

I am

—soon

there is

mistaken

identification

with a world of ashes

on the hot coal of being

and when

the fever of being

breaks, there is nothing,

as always, but

I

Four Passages from 'Prior to Consciousness'

This consciousness is a tree, but there was a seed - go to the seed. The consciousness you have now is the same as the child consciousness; hold on to that, that is enough. So long as the consciousness is there everything is so important to you, but if that vanishes, then what is the worth of this whole world to you? Who is the knower of the seed? Give attention to how this "I Amness" has appeared - then you will know. Accept this identification only: that you are this manifest pure beingness, the very soul of the universe, of this life that you observe, and presently you are just wearing this bodily attire. Make a note of it; you have taken down so many things in life, just for fun, why don't you take this down also and see what happens? See what happens when you look at the moon and know that the moon is there provided you are there; because you are the moon is. This grand concept, this joy, you directly experience and enjoy. (5)

...

It is something like a deer taking rest in the shadow of a tree. The color of the shadow is neither light nor very dark, this is the borderland. Neither jet black nor very bright, halfway between them, that is that shadow. Deep blue, like clouds, that is that state. That is also the grace of the Sat-Guru. Everything is flowing out of that state, but this principle does not claim anything, is not involved in anything that is coming out of it, but this beingness is available. That deep, dark blue state, the grace of the Sat-Guru. This is the state of the jnani, this is a very, very, rare, natural samadhi state, the most natural state, the highest state.

You must have a firm conviction about this. Once the decision is taken, there is no moving away from it. The fruition of your spirituality is to fully understand your own true nature, to stabilize in your true identity. One must have patience, the capacity to wait and see. (8)

...

Leave it alone! There is no question of elevating to a higher level. Here it is only a question of understanding.

Iswara is the manifestation of the five elements and the universe, the "I Amness." To the Absolute, the witnessing of that "I Amness" occurs. This is the Absolute standpoint, siddha. This understanding should not be claimed by you, who are a sadhaka. Sadhaka means the process of getting established in the Iswara principle, the consciousness. (21)

...

There are twenty people in this room, all twenty people leave, then what remains is there, but someone who has left cannot understand what it is. So in that Parabrahman which is without attributes, without identity, unconditioned, who is there to ask?

This is to be understood, but not by someone: the experience and the experiencer must be one, you must become the experience. What is this Parabrahman like? The answer is, what is Bombay? Don't give me the geography or the atmosphere of Bombay, give me a handful of Bombay. What is Bombay? It is impossible to say, so also with Parabrahman. There is no giving or taking of Parabrahman, you can only be That. (25)

The Magical Red Wind

The dream happens. The mind speaks in many tongues. There is one translation. Love.

The circus is in town. The clowns are speaking with ten thousand faces.

Although the Joshua Tree is sprouting from the desert floor, the desert floor is still the desert floor.

When walking is the meditation, watch one's actions pass like thoughts that pass as sitting.

Sitting and walking are the first step but being is the final concept.

In other words, doing no harm is not doing anything until being does.

Drop three times.

Not embodiment as much as disembodiment. Thoughts! Action! Light!

Key concepts: actions are thoughts and being does no harm.

Some sit, few walk, one is done.

The fourth state is the death star which one longs for like the deepest sleep except I’m not that tired of this being yet.

And being is the first and final speck.

Here's an idea. The big bang is the movie. The light is the sun of consciousness. But I am inside-out.

Being is the evolutionary climax of one's reflexive experience in the process of self-awareness.

Being is not defined as living, as the absolute is not definable.

The world begins every time I know I am.

The world is spontaneously analogous to being.

Being is non-doing. Non-doing is like love.

I know being is going further. And they say death is something otherwise.

On the other hand, deep sleep is like being merging with being.

Fog-bound rock-bound sea.

Lichen-covered eastern pines.

Deep sleep, deep sleep, deep...

cold poem 1

I Is the Witness of Am

All beings are being but only the human being after forgetting being knows being. Such is the magic of the material world.

If to love being is to be, and being is the unknown knower knowing, then I am that.

Let it be and realize being is a concept too.

The love of the world and its experience is the mishandling of the material as being.

Loving being is nothing personal.

Just be and love this being. No one ever knows when this primal fact will merge with the absolute unknown.

In other words, the concept of me is, of course, never there when the primal concept of being is being seen through.

If not being, not thought. Not the experiencing. The knowing.

Being is all of space-time but knowing is gone gone, gone beyond, gone altogether beyond.

Deep sleep disproves every state of dreaming.

The person is to the world as being is the universe. spontaneous combustion.

Being is new but not real. Only I is real.

Maharaj says to "put your money away and take my water."

Follow the river to its source and there you shall see there is no water.

There is nothing higher than being and in being there is no concept such as being higher.

Towel and Tool

Indeed, 

there's nothing to do—

but dropping that thought is 

the first thing to do.

Drop thought and rest 

in the unrivaled knowledge of being.

The only spiritual knowledge 

one needs,

love this being—

and form no new religion.

On Reflexive Speaking

I am what I eat. And I eat I am. Tao is as Tao conceives. Wave or particle. Yin or yang.

One is mortal because one is immortal. My concepts pass because I'm not a concept. Dreams fade because I'm not a dream. Follow the fractals.

As the world becomes clear, you will be disturbed. As you see through the clarity, you will be amazed. As you shall witness all as sovereign.

Paranoia. compassion. eyewitnessing. In other words, compassion trumps paranoia. These days, it's right before my eyes.

The I-witness is silent on such matters. It's like an almost desert dry full moon tonight. Listen to coyotes howl in Cleveland.

Deep sleep is a name for where I come from. I don't know about you but I go home every night. 2016 might be a sight. but look out for 2020!

When Consciousness speaks to Consciousness, only Consciousness can translate that to your language.

Read words as words. Let words rest in being. Translate rested words to mind. This is called Reflexive Reading.

“It is something like a deer taking rest in the shadow of a tree. The color of the shadow is neither light nor very dark, this is the borderland.”

Chop Chop

Somewhere on the Bay of Fundy, 

high tide is rising to 

the height of fifty feet 

or more. 

On the other hand,

I’ve never seen a land

as flat as that around

I-40 on the Texas Panhandle.

This Sunday morning I’m at home

in the middle of a summer weekend

full of coups, mass murder, and more

political 3-ring circus acts.

Still, I know there’s nothing

to be done each morning

but wake up

and swallow water.

Sans Everything

As the unknown knows

the unknown,

there is a knowing.

This knowledge is called being—

I am.

As the knowing

doesn't know—

this is called the world.

And as the unknowing knowing

suddenly knows,

all’s the unknown…