A Few Words from Zhuangzi (Chuang Tzu) Ch-2a

How can the Way be so concealed there’s any question of factual and fake? How can words be so unintelligible there’s any question of right and wrong?

How can the Way be somewhere else and not be here? How can words endure and not be genuine?

The Way is simply hidden in sudden insight and words are merely lost in wordplay. Thus there is debate between the Left and Right about what's right and wrong.

Each denies the other’s affirmations and affirms the other’s deep denials. But to right such wrongs and wrong such rights, nothing compares to seeing through it all with clarity, lucidity, illumination.


Look, there’s nothing that isn’t an object and there’s no one that isn’t the subject. But one never knows anyone from the point of view of that object.

One only knows everything from the point of view of this subject. Therefore I say that depends upon this, and this depends upon that.

In other words, subject and object give birth to each other. And birth leads to death and death leads to birth. Each affirmation is a refutation of something else, and vice versa.

So where there’s right for someone, there’s wrong for someone else, and vice versa. Thus, the wise one never takes a side but sees all in the light of Heaven.


Sure, she knows her this, but she also knows her this is that from another point of view, and thus her that is also this. Therefore, she knows that contains both right and wrong; and this contains both right and wrong.

So is there really any this and that or right and wrong? Or is there not a this and that at all?

The state in which both this and that are no longer known as opposites is called the Heart of the Way. And from the stillness of such a pivot point, all movement and opposition is seen in their immeasurable transformations.

Therefore, right is boundless and wrong is boundless. Again, nothing compares to clarity, lucidity, illumination.


~Zhuangzi (tr-Son Rivers)

Notes from the Acid Queen

The good, the bad, and how the west began

—spontaneity, synchronicity, and serendipity: two tales of one coin—

in all the ancient arts of deconstruction, the actual turn is always understanding projection.

Yesterday’s unknown prophet is tomorrow’s white whale. All’s well.

Seeing belief is to imagination as two is to three in the morning is the meeting place of revelation and myth.

The Rule of Julian

You say meditation. I say being. Let's call the whole thing off. Memory is a whirlpool. Identity is a whirlpool. Fear and loathing is a whirlpool. And as the world turns, there's only a river.

The river is the way that washes out the road. Full moon, high tide, storm surge. Solid yellow lines are disappearing in reflections of a silver sky. Being is the only knowledge and the only knowledge is knowing that one is unknown.

Meanwhile there's division, separation, fear, security, trespassing, and war. "Al shal be wel, and al shal be wel, and al manner of thyng shal be wele." See through thought and be. There are 10000 waves of light in the absolute sun of self-awareness.

The Deoxyribonucleic Acid Queen

As if the judge is separate from the judged. As if the personal isn't worldly. Welcome to Samsara! Population one. I was raised on good and bad.

It's always three before the dawn. All conditioning is unique in its similitude. Let conditioning be conditioning are two ways of deconstruction. Monkey si. Monkey dos.

All normal speech is conditioning talking. But non-conditional speech is filtered through love and understanding: third word, best word. And inspired speech is silence talking to myself. Revelation is silence talking.

There are three true poets: the love poets, William Blake, satsang. There are no other words. All knowledge leads to being unknowable.

All roads lead to Nome, the call of the wild, the DNA of DNA being the absolute intent of self-awareness.

Seeing Through All Thought

Thought is best at chopping wood and carrying water, but reality, not so much. Accordingly, psychology is not so much a myth as monster. The only beauty is the goddess of being.

Fundamentalist religion is the old gate. Scientific materialism is the new gate. Politics is all about who gets to boss the latest gate. There is only one diagnostic disorder: the personal. Its statistics are all casualties of war, both great and small. Using thought to see through all denominations and departments, deconstruction ends in being.

Basically, imagination is thought worshiping Being; belief is thought worshiping Thought. Thus, both science and religion are beliefs. There is no difference between theories and theology. As myth falls to god, the science of deconstruction sinks to scientific materialism.

After the mist dissipates and all the dust settles, I am. It's not so much the stopping of thought as just not worshiping it, either as an idol or theory. This is called seeing through all thought. If a frog jumps in a pond, is it haiku?

The Final Turn

Self-awareness is natural selection. Experience is a most addictive drug. Imagination is lucid dreaming. Or evolution at the speed of light. Self-awareness is a divine dream. I can't believe I get to play this part!
It's the role of a lifetime. I literally live in Pleasant Valley. I can't really complain.

‘The valley spirit never dies—
call it the feminine
mystery.

Its gate is the root of the cosmos.’

The hinge of Tao. Being. Gateless gate of self-awareness. Soundtrack. Do You Know The Way To San Jose. Dionne Warwick. Self-awareness is the only life. All else is dreamtime. Imagination. God speaks to humanity after more than two thousand years of silence: you had one job to do. This is science and myth! Tao and Darwin.

The known knowing the known is how the unknown knows the unknown. Soundtrack. Tomorrow Never Knows. The Beatles. Mistaking the facts for knowing is samsara. The Marx Brothers and the hall of mirrors. Are we animals knowing death or being knowing Tao? Am I Christian or am I Christ? Kill the Buddha, Abraham!

The world is getting lost in the final turn of self-awareness. All is well. Soundtrack. House at Pooh Corner. Loggins & Messina. Old songs are memories of forgotten self-awareness. B.C. Before conditioning. Self-awareness is not a thought to be remembered as much as unawareness is a thought to be forgotten.

Proust. Basho. Or was Basho a government ninja spy? After hydrogen comes the deluge. From hydrogen to the H-Bomb chant the beatniks like Albert Einstein. Soundtrack. Christian Life. The Byrds. I like the nondual life. The law of three. Pure awareness. Unawareness. Self-awareness.

In between the law of three are two polarities with four directions: the big bang and the dark ages; the eyes open before awakening. Welcome to my myth. May I help you? Soundtrack. I Am the Walrus. The Beatles. There's a half moon glowing in the silver river fog through the shadows of high trees.

Epic Poem / Short Story

Variety is the spice of space-time. Transformation is to time as variety is to space. Even stainless steel will rust. Every color is a different shade of light.

In other words, everything is karma and projection. Karma is another way of saying transformation and projection is the naked city of seven billion dreams.

Some transformations are transcendent and burn themselves in memory all the way to DNA. One dream becomes the current lightning and the rest are reincarnated in the thunder of my dreamtime.

Use a fine line when writing stories. Use a medium if embolding consciousness as primal being. There is no point for self-awareness. That's basically the whole point.

The stink of skunk is
First smell of spring—just one sniff
And I'm everything

There's something about
Rock-bound mountains overlooking
An infinite sea

Here are the chapters to date. Variety in space. Transformation in time. Karma as transformation. Projecting a variety of dreams.

Transcendent DNA. Reincarnating dreamtime. Stories, consciousness, self-awareness. The smell of memory. The feeling of place.

The fact that nothing is truly known is the proof of that God, the great unknown.

The fact that all I empirically know is that I am, is proof I am that Great Unknown.

a small body cries!
and consciousness surrenders
and forgets itself

further footnotes

All personality is charades, I stay public because.

Because self-awareness,

Self-awareness says.

Irony is to nihilism what love is to nonduality.

Two is to zero what one is to not-two.

Self-awareness is always saying.

I love my daughter, there I said it!

As if the atmosphere of Venus is too bright for anything but love

(in memory of all survivors).

Taste is an acquired knowledge. But one loves what one loves.

Love is like chopping wood, carry water. 

What else could it be?

Love is knowing one. Poetry is being one. 

Deconstruction is unthinking two.

Footnotes to Love, Poetry, and Yes, Deconstruction

"Ahab has his humanities!"

Never misunderestimate.

In other words, everything but consciousness is ultimately unproven scientific theory. Like a myth, but unwise.

All sciences and other deconstructions, including the deconstructive science of psychology, if not accompanied by love and myth, are merely personal, and not of universal knowledge, like the law of three,

(whatever they say is bad for you is especially good in moderation)

in the name of Nisargadatta, Emily Dickinson, and Son Rivers.

Jung uncovers what Freud discovered but it isn’t exactly Basho. Or Romeo and Juliet.

Even hitting all the notes doesn’t make a song. That’s why there’s footnotes.

For every fifty ways to leave your lover, there are more than fifty ways of self-awareness. For every devolution, more than one belongs to evolutionary intent. My god this is Spirituality 101.

Love, Poetry, and Yes, Deconstruction

Stop thinking personally of a world and imagine universally in consciousness. It won't hurt. Between the personal and universal is social media. Ask the lemmings. Division is a concept that no thought can cure.

The cosmos is in consciousness, or is it not? Science likes to tell a different story, but it isn't really science because it doesn’t have a proof. The only proof of consciousness is consciousness. It truly is the only knowledge.

So psychology is to the personal as a daydream is to nightmare. Psychotherapy opened my eyes but it didn't wake me up. Love, poetry, and yes, deconstruction, are my holy trinity, trimurti, power of three!

Between love and deconstruction, my poetry flows. There's a feeling—in that first hot day of late winter—when the sap in this metaphor of a body begins to quickly flow again—

and consciousness is amplified into self-awareness—like a god remembering what a god intentionally forgets. For every red-winged blackbird, there’s a cherry blossom.