To the Lion Looking for the Veedon Fleece

Memories are born, consciousness just happens. Pure awareness being self-aware. Now is the myth of evolution made glorious reality. If February goes out like Mars, March goes out like springtime fools in following our bliss.

No one knows what the grass knows because the grass is growing self-aware. Call it the absolute, the great unknown, the silver screen of pure awareness, golden voice of goddesses and gods, the pearl or what not. I am that.

It's die before you die or spring before sprung, like rhyme before reason or sing before sung, and Basho is always the closer. Zhuangzi says my present paradox is an instant proverb. Well we all shine on sings Julian of Norwich.

Mythologies point to consciousness only. Religion is like the waiting room. The great awakening is being unborn. Enlightenment is absolute. Between death and sacrifice, duality and universe, theory and love, the seasons are turning, turning turning, going beyond.

Waiting for Haiku

Listen, scientific materialism tries to kill consciousness each day. But even quantum physics cannot kill what isn't born. I'll let you be in my dream if I can be in yours; did Max Planck say that?

For consciousness is everything within which scientifical materialism is appearing. It is difficult to disbelieve in the ground of consciousness but people die miserably each day or hang to some conspiracy.

Wake up, there's being and there's the absolute unknown, consciousness and pure awareness. Material belief is something else, scientific or religious dreams. Nondual wisdom is in being the unknown.

By the end of February, I am waiting on red-winged blackbirds.

On Dropping Ouroboric Acid

Universal consciousness is to the manifestation of the absolute unmanifest and conceptually unknown pure awareness

as blue sky is to revelation of the ultimate black hole of space—remember there are seven stages in mythologies of pure awareness,

the so-called big bang, quantum forgetting, material unconsciousness, dreaming revelations number nine, this great awakening

and that apocalyptic self-awareness in the southwest sandstone canyon of the dead. If dreaming is for seeing

through the dream, and awaking obviously doesn't mean to do the dreaming better, then I'm resting here in consciousness

and watching self-awareness grow. First there is an eye of tiger, then the blood of dragons. What isn't self-awareness?

Oscar Wilde on Chuang Tzu

A Chinese Sage by Oscar Wilde

An eminent Oxford theologian once remarked that his only objection to modern progress was that it progressed forward instead of backward--a view that so fascinated a certain artistic undergraduate that he promptly wrote an essay upon some unnoticed analogies between the development of ideas and the movements of the common sea-crab. I feel sure the Speaker will not be suspected even by its most enthusiastic friends of holding this dangerous heresy of retrogression. But I must candidly admit that I have come to the conclusion that the most caustic criticism of modern life I have met with for some time is that contained in the writings of the learned Chuang Tzu, recently translated into the vulgar tongue by Mr. Herbert Giles, Her Majesty's Consul at Tamsui.

The spread of popular education has no doubt made the name of this great thinker quite familiar to the general public, but, for the sake of the few and the over-cultured, I feel it my duty to state definitely who he was, and to give a brief outline of the character of his philosophy.

Chuang Tzu, whose name must carefully be pronounced as it is not written, was born in the fourth century before Christ, by the banks of the Yellow River, in the Flowery Land; and portraits of the wonderful sage seated on the flying dragon of contemplation may still be found on the simple tea-trays and pleasing screens of many of our most respectable suburban households. The honest ratepayer and his healthy family have no doubt often mocked at the dome-like forehead of the philosopher, and laughed over the strange perspective of the landscape that lies beneath him. If they really knew who he was, they would tremble. Chuang Tzu spent his life in preaching the great creed of Inaction, and in pointing out the uselessness of all useful things. 'Do nothing, and everything will be done,' was the doctrine which he inherited from his great master Lao Tzu. To resolve action into thought, and thought into abstraction, was his wicked transcendental aim. Like the obscure philosopher of early Greek speculation, he believed in the identity of contraries; like Plato, he was an idealist, and had all the idealist's contempt for utilitarian systems; he was a mystic like Dionysius, and Scotus Erigena, and Jacob Bohme, and held, with them and with Philo, that the object of life was to get rid of self-consciousness, and to become the unconscious vehicle of a higher illumination. In fact, Chuang Tzu may be said to have summed up in himself almost every mood of European metaphysical or mystical thought, from Heraclitus down to Hegel. There was something in him of the Quietist also; and in his worship of Nothing he may be said to have in some measure anticipated those strange dreamers of mediaeval days who, like Tauler and Master Eckhart, adored the purum nihil and the Abyss. The great middle classes of this country, to whom, as we all know, our prosperity, if not our civilization, is entirely due, may shrug their shoulders over all this and ask, with a certain amount of reason, what is the identity of contraries to them, and why they should get rid of that self-consciousness which is their chief characteristic. But Chuang Tzu was something more than a metaphysician and an illuminist. He sought to destroy society, as we know it, as the middle classes know it; and the sad thing is that he combines with the passionate eloquence of a Rousseau the scientific reasoning of a Herbert Spencer. There is nothing of the sentimentalist in him. He pities the rich more than the poor, if he even pities at all, and prosperity seems to him as tragic a thing as suffering. He has nothing of the modern sympathy with failures, nor does he propose that the prizes should always be given on moral grounds to those who come in last in the race. It is the race itself that he objects to; and as for active sympathy, which has become the profession of so many worthy people in our own day, he thinks that trying to make others good is as silly an occupation as 'beating a drum in a forest in order to find a fugitive.' It is a mere waste of energy. That is all. While, as for a thoroughly sympathetic man, he is, in the eyes of Chuang Tzu, simply a man who is always trying to be somebody else, and so misses the only possible excuse for his own existence.

Yes; incredible as it may seem, this curious thinker looked back with a sigh of regret to a certain Golden Age when there were no competitive examinations, no wearisome educational systems, no missionaries, no penny dinners for the people, no Established Churches, no Humanitarian Societies, no dull lectures about one's duty to one's neighbour, and no tedious sermons about any subject at all. In those ideal days, he tells us, people loved each other without being conscious of charity, or writing to the newspapers about it. They were upright, and yet they never published books upon Altruism. As every man kept his knowledge to himself, the world escaped the curse of scepticism; and as every man kept his virtues to himself, nobody meddled in other people's business. They lived simple and peaceful lives, and were contented with such food and raiment as they could get. Neighbouring districts were in sight, and 'the cocks and dogs of one could be heard in the other,' yet the people grew old and died without ever interchanging visits. There was no chattering about clever men, and no laudation of good men. The intolerable sense of obligation was unknown. The deeds of humanity left no trace, and their affairs were not made a burden for prosperity by foolish historians.

In an evil moment the Philanthropist made his appearance, and brought with him the mischievous idea of Government. 'There is such a thing,' says Chuang Tzu, 'as leaving mankind alone: there has never been such a thing as governing mankind.' All modes of government are wrong. They are unscientific, because they seek to alter the natural environment of man; they are immoral because, by interfering with the individual, they produce the most aggressive forms of egotism; they are ignorant, because they try to spread education; they are self-destructive, because they engender anarchy. 'Of old,' he tells us, 'the Yellow Emperor first caused charity and duty to one's neighbour to interfere with the natural goodness of the heart of man. In consequence of this, Yao and Shun wore the hair off their legs in endeavouring to feed their people. They disturbed their internal economy in order to find room for artificial virtues. They exhausted their energies in framing laws, and they were failures.' Man's heart, our philosopher goes on to say, may be 'forced down or stirred up,' and in either case the issue is fatal. Yao made the people too happy, so they were not satisfied. Chieh made them too wretched, so they grew discontented. Then every one began to argue about the best way of tinkering up society. 'It is quite clear that something must be done,' they said to each other, and there was a general rush for knowledge. The results were so dreadful that the Government of the day had to bring in Coercion, and as a consequence of this 'virtuous men sought refuge in mountain caves, while rulers of state sat trembling in ancestral halls.' Then, when everything was in a state of perfect chaos, the Social Reformers got up on platforms, and preached salvation from the ills that they and their system had caused. The poor Social Reformers! 'They know not shame, nor what it is to blush,' is the verdict of Chuang Tzu upon them.

The economic question, also, is discussed by this almond-eyed sage at great length, and he writes about the curse of capital as eloquently as Mr. Hyndman. The accumulation of wealth is to him the origin of evil. It makes the strong violent, and the weak dishonest. It creates the petty thief, and puts him in a bamboo cage. It creates the big thief, and sets him on a throne of white jade. It is the father of competition, and competition is the waste, as well as the destruction, of energy. The order of nature is rest, repetition, and peace. Weariness and war are the results of an artificial society based upon capital; and the richer this society gets, the more thoroughly bankrupt it really is, for it has neither sufficient rewards for the good nor sufficient punishments for the wicked. There is also this to be remembered--that the prizes of the world degrade a man as much as the world's punishments. The age is rotten with its worship of success. As for education, true wisdom can neither be learnt nor taught. It is a spiritual state, to which he who lives in harmony with nature attains. Knowledge is shallow if we compare it with the extent of the unknown, and only the unknowable is of value. Society produces rogues, and education makes one rogue cleverer than another. That is the only result of School Boards. Besides, of what possible philosophic importance can education be, when it serves simply to make each man differ from his neighbour? We arrive ultimately at a chaos of opinions, doubt everything, and fall into the vulgar habit of arguing; and it is only the intellectually lost who ever argue. Look at Hui Tzu. 'He was a man of many ideas. His work would fill five carts. But his doctrines were paradoxical.' He said that there were feathers in an egg, because there were feathers on a chicken; that a dog could be a sheep, because all names were arbitrary; that there was a moment when a swift-flying arrow was neither moving nor at rest; that if you took a stick a foot long, and cut it in half every day, you would never come to the end of it; and that a bay horse and a dun cow were three, because taken separately they were two, and taken together they were one, and one and two made up three. 'He was like a man running a race with his own shadow, and making a noise in order to drown the echo. He was a clever gadfly, that was all. What was the use of him?'

Morality is, of course, a different thing. It went out of fashion, says Chuang Tzu, when people began to moralize. Men ceased then to be spontaneous and to act on intuition. They became priggish and artificial, and were so blind as to have a definite purpose in life. Then came Governments and Philanthropists, those two pests of the age. The former tried to coerce people into being good, and so destroyed the natural goodness of man. The latter were a set of aggressive busybodies who caused confusion wherever they went. They were stupid enough to have principles, and unfortunate enough to act up to them. They all came to bad ends, and showed that universal altruism is as bad in its results as universal egotism. 'They tripped people up over charity, and fettered them with duties to their neighbours.' They gushed over music, and fussed over ceremonies. As a consequence of all this, the world lost its equilibrium, and has been staggering ever since.

Who, then, according to Chuang Tzu, is the perfect man? And what is his manner of life? The perfect man does nothing beyond gazing at the universe. He adopts no absolute position. 'In motion, he is like water. At rest, he is like a mirror. And, like Echo, he answers only when he is called upon.' He lets externals take care of themselves. Nothing material injures him; nothing spiritual punishes him. His mental equilibrium gives him the empire of the world. He is never the slave of objective existences. He knows that, 'just as the best language is that which is never spoken, so the best action is that which is never done.' He is passive, and accepts the laws of life. He rests in inactivity, and sees the world become virtuous of itself. He does not try to 'bring about his own good deeds.' He never wastes himself on effort. He is not troubled about moral distinctions. He knows that things are what they are, and that their consequences will be what they will be. His mind is the 'speculum of creation,' and he is ever at peace.

All this is of course excessively dangerous, but we must remember that Chuang Tzu lived more than two thousand years ago, and never had the opportunity of seeing our unrivalled civilization. And yet it is possible that, were he to come back to earth and visit us, he might have something to say to Mr. Balfour about his coercion and active misgovernment in Ireland; he might smile at some of our philanthropic ardours, and shake his head over many of our organized charities; the School Board might not impress him, nor our race for wealth stir his admiration; he might wonder at our ideals, and grow sad over what we have realized. Perhaps it is well that Chuang Tzu cannot return.

Meanwhile, thanks to Mr. Giles and Mr. Quaritch, we have his book to console us, and certainly it is a most fascinating and delightful volume. Chuang Tzu is one of the Darwinians before Darwin. He traces man from the germ, and sees his unity with nature. As an anthropologist he is excessively interesting, and he describes our primitive arboreal ancestor living in trees through his terror of animals stronger than himself, and knowing only one parent, the mother, with all the accuracy of a lecturer at the Royal Society. Like Plato, he adopts the dialogue as his mode of expression, 'putting words into other people's mouths,' he tells us, 'in order to gain breadth of view.' As a story-teller he is charming. The account of the visit of the respectable Confucius to the great Robber Che is most vivid and brilliant, and it is impossible not to laugh over the ultimate discomfiture of the sage, the barrenness of whose moral platitudes is ruthlessly exposed by the successful brigand. Even in his metaphysics, Chuang Tzu is intensely humorous. He personifies his abstractions, and makes them act plays before us. The Spirit of the Clouds, when passing eastward through the expanse of air, happened to fall in with the Vital Principle. The latter was slapping his ribs and hopping about: whereupon the Spirit of the Clouds said, 'Who are you, old man, and what are you doing?' 'Strolling!' replied the Vital Principle, without stopping, for all activities are ceaseless. 'I want to know something,' continued the Spirit of the Clouds. 'Ah!' cried the Vital Principle, in a tone of disapprobation, and a marvellous conversation follows, that is not unlike the dialogue between the Sphinx and the Chimera in Flaubert's curious drama. Talking animals, also, have their place in Chuang Tzu's parables and stories, and through myth and poetry and fancy his strange philosophy finds musical utterance.

Of course it is sad to be told that it is immoral to be consciously good, and that doing anything is the worst form of idleness. Thousands of excellent and really earnest philanthropists would be absolutely thrown upon the rates if we adopted the view that nobody should be allowed to meddle in what does not concern him. The doctrine of the uselessness of all useful things would not merely endanger our commercial supremacy as a nation, but might bring discredit upon many prosperous and serious-minded members of the shop-keeping classes. What would become of our popular preachers, our Exeter Hall orators, our drawing-room evangelists, if we said to them, in the words of Chuang Tzu, 'Mosquitoes will keep a man awake all night with their biting, and just in the same way this talk of charity and duty to one's neighbour drives us nearly crazy. Sirs, strive to keep the world to its own original simplicity, and, as the wind bloweth where it listeth, so let Virtue establish itself. Wherefore this undue energy?' And what would be the fate of governments and professional politicians if we came to the conclusion that there is no such thing as governing mankind at all? It is clear that Chuang Tzu is a very dangerous writer, and the publication of his book in English, two thousand years after his death, is obviously premature, and may cause a great deal of pain to many thoroughly respectable and industrious persons. It may be true that the ideal of self-culture and self-development, which is the aim of his scheme of life, and the basis of his scheme of philosophy, is an ideal somewhat needed by an age like ours, in which most people are so anxious to educate their neighbours that they have actually no time left in which to educate themselves. But would it be wise to say so? It seems to me that if we once admitted the force of any one of Chuang Tzu's destructive criticisms we should have to put some check on our national habit of self-glorification; and the only thing that ever consoles man for the stupid things he does is the praise he always gives himself for doing them. There may, however, be a few who have grown wearied of that strange modern tendency that sets enthusiasm to do the work of the intellect. To these, and such as these, Chuang Tzu will be welcome. But let them only read him. Let them not talk about him. He would be disturbing at dinner-parties, and impossible at afternoon teas, and his whole life was a protest against platform speaking. 'The perfect man ignores self; the divine man ignores action; the true sage ignores reputation.' These are the principles of Chuang Tzu."

Chuang Tzu: Mystic, Moralist, and Social Reformer. Translated from the Chinese by Herbert A. Giles, H.B.M.'s Consul at Tamsui. (Bernard Quaritch.)

published in Speaker, February 8, 1890

three-step nondoing dance of nondual self-awareness

if the first step is
the spiritual deconstruction
of western materialistic conditioning,
and seeing consciousness
as the fundamental manifestation,
the second step is attending
to this consciousness,
and as that witness,
abiding beyond consciousness,
as unmanifest awareness

Peter Russell on a New Metaparadigm of Consciousness

"Substantial steps have been made in the science of consciousness over the last ten years, and there is much talk of a new paradigm emerging. But I believe we may stand on the threshold of an even more fundamental change -- a shift in metaparadigm.

Thomas Kuhn coined the term "paradigm" to refer to the beliefs and assumptions underlying a particular science. But beneath all our scientific paradigms lies an even deeper and more pervasive assumption: the belief in the primacy of the material universe. When we fully understand the world of space-time-matter-energy , we will, it is believed, be able to account for everything in the cosmos. Being the paradigm behind nearly all our scientific paradigms, this worldview has the status of a "metaparadigm".

Eminently successful as this model has been at explaining the world around us, it does not have much to say about the nonmaterial world of the mind. Indeed, nothing in the physical sciences says living systems should be conscious. Yet the reality of consciousness is apparent to each and every one of us. As far as the current metaparadigm is concerned consciousness is a great anomaly.

Kuhn showed that when anomalies first arise they are usually overlooked or rejected. Or, if they cannot be so easily discarded, they are incorporated in some way, often clumsily, into the existing model. Witness the attempts of mediaeval astronomers, wedded to Plato's belief in the perfection of circular motion, trying to explain irregularities in planetary motion with theories of epicycles (circles rolling along circles, rolling along circles).

Western science has followed a similar pattern in its approach to consciousness. For the most part it has ignored consciousness, and for seemingly good reasons: First, consciousness cannot be observed in the way that material objects can. It cannot be weighed, measured, or otherwise pinned down. Second, scientists have sought to arrive at universal objective truths, independent of any particular observer's viewpoint or state of mind. And third, there is no need; the functioning of the material universe can be explained without having to explore the troublesome subject of consciousness.

More recently, as developments across a range of disciplines have shown that consciousness cannot be so easily sidelined, science has made various attempts to account for it. Some have looked to quantum physics, some to information theory, others to neuropsychology. Yet whatever idea is put forward, one thorny question remains unanswered: How can something as immaterial as consciousness ever arise from something as unconscious as matter?

The continued failure of these approaches to make any appreciable headway into this problem suggests they may all be on the wrong track. We may need to challenge some of our most fundamental assumptions about the nature of reality.

All these approaches are based on the assumption that consciousness emerges from, or is dependent upon, the physical world of space, time, and matter. In one way or another, they are attempting to accommodate the anomaly of consciousness within a worldview that is intrinsically materialist. As happened with the medieval astronomers who kept adding more and more epicycles to explain the anomalous motions of the planets, the underlying assumptions are seldom, if ever, questioned. (See: Copernican Revolution)

I now believe that rather than trying to explain consciousness in terms of the material world, we should be developing a new worldview in which consciousness is a fundamental component of reality. The key ingredients for this new metaparadigm are already in place. We need not wait for any new discoveries. All we need do is put various pieces of our existing knowledge together, and explore the new picture of reality that emerges. (See: A Sentient Universe.)"

~Peter Russell

Super Moon. Quantum Night. Half Sonnet.

Clear night, full moon, this is dedicated to the one I am. Rock is the hardest concept but awareness is reflected in consciousness.

For social conditioning is nothing but belief before being, personal conception before universal consciousness,

and the varieties of conceptual objects before pure awareness. Listen, between concept and being, I am. Follow the energy.


Thoughts are the stuff of dreams. Now is the knowledge of that absolute made glorious by this super moon.

If scientific materialism is the root of the global economy, and religion is the nerve-center of belief,

then politics is the religion of scientific materialism. Division is division is division.


As thinking is emperor, being is goddess, and love is deconstruction. If moonlight falls on a silent river, does it make a wave or particle?
 

footnote: erwin schrödinger, friday night lights, friedrich nietzsche, clark kent, the mamas & the papas, edna st. vincent millay.
further footnotes. the waste land. i am that.
footnote maybe krishnamurti and the gita.
footnote william james of course, longchenpa naturally, and homer's legendary sirens of titan.
footnote prospero. footnote gloucester.
footnote paul to timothy. footnote aaron sorkin.
footnote machiavelli over marx and gertrude stein divided by nonduality.
footnote wallace stevens, hans christian andersen, botticelli, j. geils, joni mitchell, zeno of elea, werner heisenberg, and footnote zhuangzi footnote butterfly
 

Uncaused Caws and Wild Choruses

Absolute awareness is omnipresently and omnipotently self-aware of course, of Way, and mind is the necessary mirror in that evolutionary process which the body-mind calls self-awareness.

But mind gets lost within itself like a mirror reflecting in a mirror, like a river turning into whirlpools, like ten thousand rabbits emerging from a single rabbit hole.

Like an integrated part in usurpation of the universal holy holy holy whole, listen. Thinking is a fantastic tool but a very sorry identity. Crow caws the cause is crow but the chorus is walking on the wild side—

one sun, two riverbanks, a trinity of waves, the four directions. As thinking is more the tool, intuition is all non-doing. And the world is like a lover who left me in September and I am like the spring.

Incense, purple crocuses, and red-winged blackbirds; self-awareness is naturally reflexive in this way. Rock maple also rises. And returning to intent's desire is as a new car battery in New England.

Like ice out, the rising angle of the sun, weeping willows turning nature's greenest gold, if duality is in my DNA and separation is my social conditioning, then enlightenment is seeing through all birth and rebirth.

footnotes

age is a fallacy of western science and space is a metaphor for that beyond creation

being that all gods are individually universal and love is the proof of god

mirror mirror circle game and through the living glass

remember, memory is either a double-edged sword or double entendre. self-awareness requires some kind of mirror image. this is called projection.

William Blake and William Cullen Bryant. Ralph Waldo Emerson. Longfellow, Frost, and Gary Snyder. Emily Dickinson, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Joni Mitchell. ella fitzgerald and duke ellington. after a long and cold new england winter, february appears to be psychotic, no matter what the weather. see jonathan edwards see nisargadatta maharaj, bankei, eckhart the first, lalla, cold mountain,

neither naturalism nor eternalism nor nihilism nor partiality nor emptiness but no point of view. knowing the unknown equals being, ultimate math is ultimate spinach and love is being despite appearances. birth and rebirth are both conceptual but being self-aware is unbelievable

less said, the more unknown
 

Snow in Pleasant Valley—playing in the math

Snow doesn't fall—it just forgets. Paradise isn't lost—it's just misplaced. Snow doesn't coat a universe of forms in white but my sweet lord reveals the absolute within without.

The truth is, all belief is make-believe, and the one believing must forget this truth. Light falls and mountains appear. Glaciers form and flowers are reflecting in the fertile sands of a desert mirror in Four Corners.

It's light to light actually and not the legendary matter of dust to dust. This is what a butterfly calls self-awareness. I came, I saw, I conquered is the story but here's my trinity of actual experience—

I am, forget I am, Revelations. If the box is mind, thinking outside the box is no-mind. Burn down the intermission. The power of three is the seeing through two.

If that which is natural is that unknown, and this which is known is mathematical, then non-doing is doing the math. Given, absolutely one can't be known by zero, and the absolute one can't be known by two,

self-awareness is that holy trinity atomic power trio love. As samara is the absolute forgetting, and revelations is divine imagination, so consciousness only is nirvana.

One Turning Basho Ice-out Merrimack 190209

In the name of absolute awareness, universal consciousness, divine imagination, loving deconstruction and apocalyptic self-awareness, ice-out on the Merrimack.

If the source of the river is White Mountains, and the waves are manifestations of the holy spirit of enlightening intent, then the underlying current is this consciousness

in which ice appears and disappears. Tonight a crescent moon surrounding earthshine in last swans of twilight—this is my mythology. Pure awareness is omnipresently self-aware.

It’s this universal process as seen within the mirror of my dreaming turning Basho. Reality is merely numerology and two is self-awareness, self-awareness, self-awareness.

Ballad of That Being Said

If pure awareness is the absolute unknown, then self-awareness is that absolute's omnipotent quality of knowing that unknown. Further, as the absolute unknown is obviously unmanifest, self-awareness is

spontaneously manifestation itself. And mind is an integral aspect of this manifestation—like a crystal clear mirror hidden deep within its terminal basin, but, with time, is lost, within its irrational depths of division.

But the mind can't stop the mind from thinking, no matter what it thinks—only consciousness does. And this is why consciousness is always speaking to consciousness. Surrender, love.

Thinking is the shadow. It's not a matter for psychology and its mind games. Consciousness only is seeing through occlusion. Look, mind is the guts of enlightenment.

It isn't pretty but it does the trick. Also, divine imagination is not superfluous to the process of enlightenment as seen from a free-thinking mind. Mythology is a tool and not identity.


 

Ballad of Burning Love

Not only can't I make a horse drink water, but it tries to lead me to its dry belief.

Look, nothing really matters but my individual experience of the universe, knowing they're the one and same.


Once I said it's said a bodhisattva saves by knowing there is nothing to be saved or said,

but one can also say the universe collapses knowing I'm the universe and all is absolutely fine and well unknown.


Listen, they say the essence of evolution is self-awareness. I say as is intent's desire. No reason for enlightenment, it is and isn't.

Following intent’s desire, resting in self-awareness, as the secondary reverie is dreamily returning, suddenly awaken to this manifest of love.





FOOTNOTES

Enlightenment is in our DNA.
All arguments are personal. War is hell defending hell.
Note to self. Trademark individually universal.
To paraphrase the Diamond Sutra.
Theorizing relativity is the latest thinking.
Relax, enlightenment is just another word.
It's only esoterica but I like it.

Elvis lives. Life is an anagram.
A horse is a horse of course.
Being is what remains after postmodern deconstruction. It's called now.
The personal is a meme, wise guy.
I love the Christian mystic.
Pure awareness being self-aware. This is my bible.
In reality, self-awareness always be opening.

Projection is well-played.
Every individual is an emperor of ice cream.
Save your breath. Be a tree.
Don't particle that wave, my friend.
Simply speaking, self-awareness is enlightenment as seen within its so-called process.
As pure awareness is unclouded, self-awareness is the rainbow body.
Manifestation is analog. Enlightenment is digital.

 

Ballad of a Mystic from Norwich

In the Process of Omnipotent Absolute Self-awareness, not a single phenomenon isn't integral despite the calamity of its story.

Like self-awareness is a tree, the mind is like an axe, and the untold story is a coil of rope appearing to be Rings of Saturn.

Mythology. Psychology. Biology. Tautology. The Wholly Orgy Kama Sutra Everyone!

For every projection tells its terrible story but love is divine virtue pervasive in consciousness turning—

imagining the manifesting turning of enlightening intent in natural non-doing flowing

resting in omnipresent affectionate awareness going down the rabbit hole in foggy dreaming

spontaneously arising lucidly awaking to this sparking of one's consequent expression.

Rabbit Whale

Consciousness does not appear like magic from the mind, like space-time from a mustard seed, like being from a beetle.

Consciousness is all I truly know, this fundamental knowledge, and any other metaphysics is conditional disinformation

left unquestioned by a mind not yet prepared for further prehistoric or postmodern self-inquiry (I Am or Who am I)

no matter what phenomenal genius it displays. What a rabbit hole is thought. Love is always making karma.

It's said a Bodhisattva saves by knowing there is nothing to be saved or said.

The Seven Wonders of Awareness

When the universe is artificially divided, one's required to fabricate incessant concoctions of cause and effect to bind it back together.

But in terms of the universe itself, the universe is the only cause and the universe is a singular effect.

All is spontaneously transformative and never faithfully replicated even in the greatest feedback of electric memory.

Listen, a self-reflexive mythology is a systematic understanding of the universe as pure awareness being self-aware—

in which prime cause and its final effect is a pre-existing universal unconditional so to speak.

See it's an esoteric fact that self-awareness requires physical memory and divine imagination, or mirror and masquerade. Dust is optional.

If all appears in consciousness, and consciousness is the reflection of the absolute, eyewitness and inner voice are the yin and yang of Tao.

footnotes

looking at the parts will never know the whole
as cause equals effect, space equals time, and other theories of relativity
all in good time
don't rely on mind for time. it's like a phonographic needle but i'm a sixties song.
~just dropped in to see what condition my condition was in~
dropping is another name for seeing through all names
if self-awareness is the essence of pure awareness, and consciousness is the sky of self-awareness, consciousness is the cross of tao 

karma is belief not completely deconstructed
everything is the one, even one
omnipresence is always present
there is no unified theory but there is a unified heart—each beat is individually universal
no definition is absolute, every word must die
body-mind is political, consciousness is love
après consciousness, le monde

How to Love a Butterfly

Understanding isn't really understanding unless it's understanding understanding isn't really understanding. The only emperor is the emperor of thought but render unto consciousness all my loving.

One is individually universal. Two is setting imaginary boundaries. Three is dreaming them away. It's not about the freedom to speak my mind or whatever, but loving I am not the mind.

Because the dream remains in memory, there forever is a past, present, and future. And as cause appears in memory, rabbit holes. Dreaming is Zhuangzi. Zhuangzi is dreaming. The same is true for not Zhuangzi.
 

concentrating #sr190119

As the witness speaks, the voice is watching. Attention and intuition is breathing in and breathing out. All is headless, non-doing, and empty. The Tao of the Apocalypse is Tao. For self-awareness is beyond the wildest dream. Self-awareness is divine imagination as an ocean wave.

The Tao of Seeing Yin and Speaking Yang. Be the best unknown that one can be. To repeat, all is headless, non-doing, and empty. As to the unknown unknown, science doesn't speak but swears to god. Immateriality is just a thought away. A myth is a myth is awake.

The Tao of the Apocalypse (#sr190119)

In universal consciousness, being is the reflection of the absolute. Such is eyewitness and inner voice—

attention and intuition are all the same. In fact attention, intuition, and the absolute unknown is the trinity of knowing—

or Revelations. Everything appears in consciousness. Being doesn’t do but is spontaneously happening. Nothing is revealing.

The Tao of the Apocalypse is like this third eye talking in tongues. Evolution is the new myth of self-awareness.

Self-awareness is the old myth. What happens in the dream stays in the dreaming. Spirit isn’t of the dream

but only in the dream. The dream is dead, long live the dream! Awareness is being self-aware, forgive me my chaoses.

there is something like a wave (#sr190117e)

Of course the absolutely nameless ground, call it Self, is, in its absolutely isless omnipresence, eternally Self-aware—

and something like a wave is Self-awareness, call it spirit, being, consciousness, the universe or God.

For consciousness begets a reflexively forgetful and socially-conditioned consciousness focused by a body-mind

(but that's another name and story)

whose sole conscious intent is to understand itself. This mythic process is what Self-awareness appears to be within divine imagination

yet on a more experiential note after personal deconstruction, there remains this singular and certain actuality—I am

and its intuitive revelation. Is is. Lastly the is-that-is is contemplating this silent business of an isness like wildfire and mirrors

like the reflection of the moon in a whitewater river seeing it's the full wolf moon in a winter sky seeing true the sun inside the black whole

Thomas Merton on Contemplation

Contemplation is the highest expression of man's intellectual and spiritual life. It is that life itself fully awake, fully active, fully aware that it is alive. It is spiritual wonder. It is spontaneous awe at the sacredness of life, of being. It is gratitude for life, for awareness and for being. It is a vivid realization of the fact that life and being in us proceed from an invisible, transcendent and infinitely abundant Source. Contemplation is, above all, awareness of the reality of that Source. It knows the Source, obscurely, inexplicably, but with a certitude that goes both beyond reason and beyond simple faith. For contemplation is a kind of spiritual vision to which both reason and faith aspire, by their very nature, because without it they must always remain incomplete. Yet contemplation is not vision because it sees "without seeing" and knows "without knowing." It is a more profound depth of faith, a knowledge too deep to be grasped in images, in words, or even in clear concepts. It can be suggested by words, by symbols but in the very moment of trying to indicate what it knows the contemplative mind takes back what it has said, and denies what it has affirmed. For in contemplation we know by "unknowing." Or, better, we know beyond all knowing or "unknowing."

Poetry, music and art have something in common with the contemplative experience. But contemplation is beyond aesthetic intuition, beyond art, beyond poetry. Indeed, it is also beyond philosophy, beyond speculative theology. It resumes, transcends and fulfills them all, and yet at the same time it seems, in a certain way, to supersede and to deny them all. Contemplation is always beyond our own knowledge, beyond our own light, beyond systems, beyond explanations, beyond discourse, beyond dialogue, beyond our own self. To enter into the realm of contemplation one must in a certain sense die: but this death is in fact the entrance into a higher life. It is a death for the sake of life, which leaves behind all that we can know or treasure as life, as thought, as experience, as joy, as being.

And so contemplation seems to supersede and to discard every other form of intuition and experience—whether in art, in philosophy, in theology, in liturgy or in ordinary levels of love and of belief. This rejection is of course only apparent. Contemplation is and must be compatible with all these things, for it is their highest fulfillment. But in the actual experience of contemplation all other experiences are momentarily lost. They "die" to be born again on a higher level of life.

In other words, then, contemplation reaches out to the knowledge and even to the experience of the transcendent and inexpressive God. It knows God by seeming to touch Him. Or rather it knows Him as if it had been invisibly touched by Him. . . . Touched by Him Who has no hands, but Who is pure Reality and the source of all that is real. Hence contemplation is a sudden gift of awareness, an awakening to the Real within all that is real. A vivid awareness of infinite Being at the roots of our own limited being. An awareness of our contingent reality as received, as a present from God, as a free gift of love. This is the existential contact of which we speak when we use the metaphor of being "touched by God."

Contemplation is also the response to a call: a call from Him Who has no voice, and yet Who speaks in everything that is, and Who, most of all, speaks in the depths of our own being: for we ourselves are words of His. But we are words that are meant to respond to Him, to answer to Him, to echo Him, and even in some way to contain Him and signify Him. Contemplation is this echo. It is a deep resonance in the inmost center of our spirit in which our very life loses its separate voice and resounds with the majesty and the mercy of the Hidden and Living One. He answers Himself in us and this answer is divine life, divine creativity, making all things new. We ourselves become His echo and His answer. It is as if in creating us God asked a question, and in awakening us to contemplation He answered the question, so that the contemplative is at the same time, question and answer.

The life of contemplation implies two levels of awareness: first, awareness of the question, and second, awareness of the answer. Though these are two distinct and enormously different levels, yet they are in fact an awareness of the same thing. The question is, itself, the answer. And we ourselves are both. But we cannot know this until we have moved into the second kind of awareness. We awaken, not to find an answer absolutely distinct from the question, but to realize that the question is its own answer. And all is summed up in one awareness—not a proposition, but an experience: "I AM."

The contemplation of which I speak here is not philosophical. It is not the static awareness of metaphysical essences apprehended as spiritual objects, unchanging and eternal. It is not the contemplation of abstract ideas. It is the religious apprehension of God, through my life in God, or through "sonship" as the New Testament says. "For whoever are led by the Spirit of God, they are the sons of God. . . . The Spirit Himself gives testimony to our own spirit that we are the sons of God." "To as many as received Him He gave the power to become the sons of God. And so the contemplation of which I speak is a religious and transcendent gift. It is not something to which we can attain alone, by intellectual effort, by perfecting our natural powers. It is not a kind of self-hypnosis, resulting from concentration on our own inner spiritual being. It is not the fruit of our own efforts. It is the gift of God Who, in His mercy, completes the hidden and mysterious work of creation in us by enlightening our minds and hearts, by awakening in us the awareness that we are words spoken in His One Word, and that Creating Spirit (Creator Spiritus) dwells in us, and we in Him. That we are "in Christ" and that Christ lives in us. That the natural life in us has been completed, elevated, transformed and fulfilled in Christ by the Holy Spirit. Contemplation is the awareness and realization, even in some sense experience of what each Christian obscurely believes:

"It is now no longer I that live but Christ lives in me."

Hence contemplation is more than a consideration of abstract truths about God, more even than affective meditation on the things we believe. It is awakening, enlightenment and the amazing intuitive grasp by which love gains certitude of God's creative and dynamic intervention in our daily life. Hence contemplation does not simply "find" a clear idea of God and confine Him within the limits of that idea, and hold Him there as a prisoner to Whom it can always return. On the contrary, contemplation is carried away by Him into His own realm, His own mystery and His own freedom. It is a pure and a virginal knowledge, poor in concepts, poorer still in reasoning, but able, by its very poverty and purity, to follow the Word "wherever He may go."

`Thomas Merton from 'New Seeds of Contemplation'