Sunday, July 24, 2016

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...

Saturday, July 23, 2016

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.

Thursday, July 21, 2016

Towel and Tool

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.

Tuesday, July 19, 2016

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.”

Sunday, July 17, 2016

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.

Wednesday, July 13, 2016

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

Tuesday, July 12, 2016

The Pendulum Swings from 0 to i


The world begins
when one believes in two.

The world will end
when one sees through this two

to no particular point of view.


Survival is the name
of the evolutionary game.

But being unborn
is the crown of creation.

Friday, July 8, 2016


all of this
is but
the sweet nothing
whispered by

i am
that says—i am

but don't be mistaking
my word for
my self

yet every summer
the word of spring
begins to eat itself

the world is only my word
being is my voice—
I am the silence

Friday, July 1, 2016

Catawba Aura Sky

Following the Black Mountains of North Carolina on the Blue Ridge Parkway,

there’s a place they call Craggy Gardens where Catawba Rhododendron bloom in June at 6000 feet above sea level.

The colors lilac-purple to magenta reddens the rugged landscape.

From out of the deep eastern valley arises this universe of phenomenal irregularity in tone and occultation.

And from out of this arises the silent watchful flowers of indigenous and everlasting Issa

saying unto all—no one comes to the source but by this peak.