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.
