The City on the Hill of Synchronicity

Synchronicity is always happening.

What isn't synchronicity is illusion.

Synchronicity is not of this continuum.

Synchronicity isn't seasonal but a rose is

synchronicity synchronicity synchronicity.

Winter is annual but each snowflake is perennial.

Synchronicity is neither one nor zero—

in such binary totality, it's more like three.

When synchronicity is happening, Let It Be.

Follow oneself joyously in the evolutionary

synchronicity of thou and three.

In other words, enlightening intent appears

as synchronicity in this space-time continuum.

Between love and wisdom, synchronicity.

Between the highest peak and deepest sea,

synchronicity.

Between non-duality, synchronicity.

But synchronicity is never in-between.

Something there is that doesn't love a wall is synchronicity.

Jesus, every single baby is the sign of synchronicity.

Being before the naming is synchronicity.

And deconstructing mega-paradigms is synchronicity,                        .

for the child is the mother of synchronicity.

Synchronicity is always happening somewhere in a dream near you.

When you're sleeping, synchronicity sings the blues.

When awake synchronicity is wow.

Synchronicity is not a scientific theory. It's a fact.

The immaculate synchronicity.

Synchronicity is sometimes named Tom Brady.

Dreaming nirvana begins with the smallest synchronicity called kensho.

Lucid dreaming is the greatest art of synchronicity.

As understanding approaches the speed of manifestation,

synchronicity will happen.

Synchronicity is never a lost art.

One play at a time is synchronicity.

Cherry blossoms, Fourth of July, Autumn leaves, absolution.

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Deconstruct belief

and make no new belief.

Being is the true faith.

All dreaming selects its causes

from the causeless

for its special effects.

Only lucid dreaming doesn't believe them.

The rough gods go moving

through the constellations

of our stories

while the moon turns

on and off as

love and wisdom.

stream of consciousness thru current conditions

Between pure awareness and self-awareness falls the shadow. This silhouette of dreams cast from my original face. And the gibbous is a necessary phase between the new moon and the full moon.

Everyone gets lost in the material for all intent and purposes. That between pure awareness and self-awareness is called the fall of man. And appearances in consciousness are closer than a mirror.

First word, best word, as if as if every word is my last word and testament. Whither goest thou, America, in thy shiny western scientific materialism of the night? Between pure awareness & self-awareness appears a universe to what’s between—but just spontaneous combustion to a dweller on the threshold.

He who dies with the most toys dies by the most toys—but she who dies before she dies never dies The seven degrees of separation between pure awareness and self-awareness: light, nuclear, atomic, molecular, vegetable, animal, enlightenment. And babies are born as light—to be conditioned otherwise—in order to be enlightened—to that nameless absolute self unborn.

O let this between awareness and self-awareness be! In a col between two peaks, there is a secret pond named paradise. The locals call it hell. And one time while hiking between Penobscot and Sargent mountains in Acadia on Mount Desert Island, I came upon a family swimming au naturel.

“Sargent Mountain Pond in Acadia likely Maine’s first lake: Acadia National Park, Maine — Ask someone to name the first lake to appear in Maine thousands of years ago and you’d likely get answers like Moosehead or Sebago. Few would guess the answer is very likely Sargent Mountain Pond.” O let this between awareness and self-awareness see! As death is this salt that slowly awakens the wisdom taste of oneself—love, forgiveness, and compassion is the pepper.

But swamps will grow in the places where the flow is interrupted. Such names are marshland, quagmire, muskeg, peat bog, mire, morass, slough, holm, or everglade. O let this between awareness and self-awareness three!

And the light descended into cobalt nightmares of material heartache. Meanwhile ten thousand kensho rises on the planet of enlightenment each day. O let this dreaming between that unknown awareness and this knowing self-awareness be!

Deconstructing thought police. The wind is crying holy Mary mother of god. Between pure awareness and self-awareness is that unknown being—and this is the only knowledge known to all.

So the river is like this sky-dancing teacher. And when it’s a tidal river, it’s like a waltz. Like nautical waters who calls one a river.

And every day is as different as a tidal river flowing to the open sea. And in variety is one. E pluribus unum for real Walt Whitman. Read my Moby Dick.

Just five syllables. After make it seven more. Ends in further five.

That pure awareness. Spontaneous self-awareness. Bubbles of belief.

The speed of light is the speed of self-awareness. Go as slow as it takes.

O drop body-mind. Consciousness is one and all. Experiential. Imagine not knowing who, what, when, where, or why. Between deep sleep and dreaming appears the question.

Who am I? Thus speaks deconstruction. But always remember. Being is silent.

It is said all energy arises within the gnawing of this being. i am i am i am.

open says me

Light Cicada Tempest

Yes, it's Candlemas or Imbolc as the pagans called it far before the Christians of the Empire claimed all light to be their private property.

Forgive them for it's not their fault—conditioning is every person's birthright but the rich are richer with that dark material unawareness.

Be grateful one perceives this Great Return of Light, that evolutionary point of self-awareness after 13 billion years of self-deception.

It occurs to one there is no space-time in the light and all material appearances thus disappear as relativity returns like day to deep sleep.

This is when the dream begins this lucid dreaming and the Buddhas see for Miles and Miles and Miles and paragate parasamgate bodhi svaha.

From Vulture Peak, ten thousand microchips reverberate in nanoseconds peak to peak or so to speak.

Dreaming as if self-awareness is divided into wisdom and compassion and the Lesser Gods like Venus and Mars and the Milky Way.

Dreaming lucidly this mythology being that unknown is Full Moon Samadhi.

New moon rises in the east. Full moon settles in the west. It's all for the best.

Basho speaks cicada. Shakespeare plays a tempest.

This is That which is Lost in Translation.

No one there is that loves a moonset.

Awareness. Being. Nirvana.

Being great the dream.            

Unknown knowing.                        .

Purple Waves

Frog pond

Pacific

ED on being unborn

ED on wisdom

ED on kensho

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Truth is not statistical,

my dearest one.

Nothing is not you.

Objectivity is

the hardest of delusions

known to humankind

unsigned to hitherto.

All now plays

in a consciousness near you.

For Emily

I saw the best souls of creation sinking in the quicksand of a blathering world. Only one can prevent the separate fires of division. After everything is said and done, one can say it slantwise or be like a tree and Wu Wei.

Some will light my fire and test your metal. One will let it be. Arthur Miller writes The Crucible while Marilyn Monroe is starring in Niagara. Soon they shall be married. Melville publishes his novel, Moby Dick, in 1851, and Whitman, Leaves of Grass, in 1855. But Emily always was anonymous. Correction: Emily always is anonymous.

As deconstruction is the only necessary evil, being is the only scientific knowledge not a theory. No object and no number and no modifier equals what I am. For every Horseman of the Apocalypse, there's a horse's ass pointing toward eternity, said Emily with a voice as cold as I.

On being unborn:

Because I could not stop for Death –

He kindly stopped for me – 

The Carriage held but just Ourselves – 

And Immortality.

We slowly drove – He knew no haste

And I had put away

My labor and my leisure too,

For His Civility –

We passed the School, where Children strove

At Recess – in the Ring – 

We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain – 

We passed the Setting Sun –

Or rather – He passed us –

The Dews drew quivering and chill –

For only Gossamer, my Gown –

My Tippet – only Tulle –

We paused before a House that seemed

A Swelling of the Ground –

The Roof was scarcely visible –

The Cornice – in the Ground –

Since then – ‘tis Centuries – and yet

Feels shorter than the Day

I first surmised the Horses’ Heads

Were toward Eternity –

Children striving at recess. Ouch!

"The Dews drew quivering and chill." See Wu Wei.

If she needs me to be there, I'm there. If she needs me to be not there, I'm not there. Such is my unconditional love for Emily.

‘haiku of revelation’

dreaming up theories

mythology awareness

being an unknown

Science is the one American Idol. God is still the other.

What would will Shakespeare tweet if a Shakespeare could speak Basho?

I don't like it but I love it.

I love Emily.

She is a revelation.

Matsushima ya!

The Inner Groove

Self-awareness

like a nameless desert

underneath a rainless sky—

all the pretty

horrible mirages rising

in the heat of our conditioning—

taking everything

in this wasteland of a world

with a grain of salt as large as a southwest

salt flat, say that three times—

being

being

being

is the only record

of a truthful absolute.

Behold from This Green Earth

Only I am. Everyone else is

just a lovely secondary thought.

And the same goes for you as goes for me.

For Being is the primordial and

immaculate conception. All thoughts

to follow are purely unoriginal.

But in Acadia did

the mountains rise spontaneously

from the deep blue sleep of the cold Maine sea.

And a wedding party hikes the eastern slope of First Light Mountain—

Wapuwoc—or what aliens will christen as Green Mountain—

but empire is calling Cadillac.

Upon sacred Wapuwoc the sun of all

duality is waking up

in stormy threes and sevens.

This is written in the great bronze age of

the United States Geologic Survey

but just wait until awareness is aware of awareness.

Shrieve Me, Shrieve Me

Even being is a dream.

But the separate

person is a nightmare.

This universal dream of heaven isn’t

absolute

but hell wasn’t built in a day either.

And you simply can’t

spell self-awareness

without awareness.

A Rainbow in the Sky

From awareness to self-awareness

in what appears to be a universe

and what appears to be a universe

is simply in the eye of the bedazzled.

For if the parent is pure awareness

and the child is self-awareness,

then everything in-between is

the play of utter conception.

To accept the conception is

the first decree of awakened dreaming.

To accept the conception is

the first degree of being.

To accept the conception is

the seminal way to self-awareness.

And no bedazzlement comes

to the absolute except

through self-awareness.

For it is said, either

the child is father of

the man or let me die.

Thus the question ‘Who am I’

is answered by

the dream of being ‘I am I.’

Insinuations

This false

impression

of separation

is flattened

by one hard slap

from the universal

cosmic Zen master.

Intuition of the catholic.

Revelation of the absolute.

Let the ley lines enter and

insinuate their wisdom

through and through.

Bare trees rise

from white

ground.

Astronomical

energetic waves

are surging through

this central nervous system.

Countless snow flurries are falling

from a muted sky.

The Way of Dreaming

First there is the world.

Then there is a void.

Presently there is a dream.

In this universe of causelessness—

the spirit of intent selects your causes

—effecting a great awakening—

depending on intensity of sleep.

Causes are neither good nor bad

—but pushing and pulling—

along the intentional way.

And when a dream aligns with great intent

—synchronicity will walk the earth—

in enlightening lucidity of self-awareness.

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There are no words for heart.

And love is never having to say.

If there are no words for heart

and love is never having to say—

what is there to say?

Nothing but blue skies.

Like the northwest passage of global warming,

que sera sera.

Something there is that doesn't love a thought.

So much depends upon a dream.

I am. Who are you?

Come forth sweet hermit shaman poets and unite.

For in the land of one, there is no two.

There is nothing but I am.

One word at a time—

unbelievable compassionate interstellar presence.

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What is the word for being. I dream therefore I am.

The world is burned into my eyes. I see things.

Social conditioning is another way of saying being born.

We are all unindicted co-conspirators.

Truth is self-evident: pure awareness is unalienable.

Ceci n'est pas une windpipe.

Story Time

Between awareness and self-awareness is this dream. Between the deep blue sea and sky are waves. There are a billion stories crashing on this beach.

Being is a trip. Awareness is self-awareness. Emptiness is form. This is what the godhead looks like when it looks upon itself.

Like the starry sky as seen from Big Sur. Like the ten thousand sunrises seen one morning in Grand Canyon. Like stopping on the loneliest road in America.

Awareness being self-aware is all she wrote. There's a streetcar named desire and there's a bus called further. Yes, I'm writing this story one verse at a time.

But I’m skipping this 13th line. Other than being Krishna or suffering Kali there's Zhuangzi. Paradox or paradigm. Caterpillar. Butterfly.

It stands to reason that if everything is in your consciousness and without consciousness there is nothing, then everything is consciousness. Or simply put, you are what you dream. Look out for coyotes or look for love.

Once upon a time there was someone who believed she was born. This took place in a time when people believed they were separate and volitional. In other words, this took place before the Great Awakening.

Sometimes I’m  an actor and sometimes I direct and sometimes I have a great notion to be. Feed the body but spare the mind. Everything is penultimate.

Self-awareness appears to be material but awareness always is. And this dream is the holy ghost. It is said the only emperor is the emperor of deconstruction but the only god is that I am.

.

Psalm for Molly

There's no need to run from fire or play with fire. 

We are the fire.

For fire begat fire, and fire, fire. Fire, fire, fire.

So render unto steel and glass its ironworks

and sands of time but render unto fire, fire.

Yea in the flames of consciousness dances

this reverie of universal consummation.

From out of that unknowable unborn is born this knowledge

like a dream emerging from the deepest sleep.

O rockabye baby in this universal love light!

May you learn to question everything we teach you.

May you see that being never needs improvement.

And may you stay forever self-aware.

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You can reach for the stars.

Or soak in the sun.

The sun appears to be external.

But it's just a metaphor.

I am the only energy I know.