New Cold Mountain Transcreation 7

Fly in your three-winged boat

or hurtle on your long-distance horse,

you will never make my home.

I dwell in the deepest wilderness

in a cave on a cliff amidst the highest peaks—

clouds and thunder cascading every day.

There’s not an orator like Lord Confucius

but there’s no one here to save.

29-red pine; rouzer-24; 123-tanahashi; 24-henricks

New Cold Mountain Transcreation 6

There’s a man inhaling dawn-colored clouds

whose home eludes the ordinary.

His every season is refreshingly austere,

summer and fall being all the same.

A secret stream is always stirring.

Tall pines are whispering in the wind.

If one remains here for half a day,

a lifetime of disquiet is erased.

translations: 27-red pine;117-tanahashi; 22-henricks

7 x 8 x Y

Bodies are only looking to survive. Politics is the war of which body gets what. War is politics gone huge. Love is patient. Love is kind. Writing as a lapsed Roman Catholic who entertained the priesthood until 1968 happened, love is what the average Christian cannot believe. There's the rub. Or a mystic is one who can't believe. Six of one. A baker's dozen of the other. To let samsara be samsara is the gateless gate, "something there is that doesn't love a wall." Poetry is the art of letting love talk. It took me 50 years to write that sentence.

When love believes, actually attaches to a thought, all hell breaks loose. This is called e-motion. But love is not virtual. Love is furthur. Love is unbelievable! Love is basically what I'm willing to physically die for. Without the question of belief, that would be everyone I love. And yes. Love is always at first sight. (I sweat. Therefore I am.) Zhuangzi 2 is exactly this ad infinitum. Love is the genius of the early Christian message. But belief is empire. Love is Buddhism without the Buddha. Love is.

I’m at the point where watching fireworks on TV is the way I watch fireworks. But I’ve got the windows open and there's no western wind. I should hear the ones over Salisbury Beach in fifteen minutes. (I would bet money but not my life that I heard the fireworks in Boston a few years ago. Not the Pops though.) The 1812 cometh. Discernment minus judgment is love. My daughter taught me this. Finally. I come for the overture. Ah Tchaikovsky! He was an inspiration to me 45 years ago. Should revisit.

I do believe I saw the Pops once. With Randy Newman and Ry Cooder. Maybe the Pops weren't there. It was definitely Symphony Hall though. I saw Randy Newman at Paul's Mall. With Jim Croce. This is politically incorrect. But from my experience, it's mostly parents who really get unconditional love. But my experience is admittedly quite limited. I mean I only have the number one daughter. And a number one granddaughter by the way. God I can't begin to tell you how or why I am so blessed! Yesterday I saw a picture of me forty years ago and a granddaughtervideo.

I would be dead if not for love! Her mother and I separated. Twelve years later we divorced. Love does not mean compatibility. Belief is conflict Belief minus love is war! The problem with all mathematics is depending on observer and observed never changing places. Only getting old is when I saw the patriarchy as it is. I am a white male, yes in an empirical way, but I’m no longer in their demographics. I find a certain freedom in this forest stage. Because I’m white and male of course! But Bodhisattvas are pansexual.

I remember learning the meaning of sexy—from how I remember it, my mother disapproved but my father said it's natural but unwise! I've said enough tonight for any id. So simple. Love is love. The story is a love story unless believing something else. Like Santa Claus. Love is all there is. Thinking otherwise will be the death of me. Wait! Belief minus love is belief. Don't overthink it. Deconstruction ends in being. Not believing something darker. Science is the process. Not the story!  The basic ignorance of scientific materialism is the one of really believing theory.

Look religion is not about belief but belief is religion. Belief minus religion is love. Ananda, what is jnana minus bhakti? Nothing? As you were. Some find it difficult to disbelieve. Even though it's as easy as not thinking. From my point of view. It's not about eliminating thought. Unfortunately, that way is mostly madness. It's all about seeing through each thought. Simply seeing each belief is made from thought. Left or right depends on where you take your stand, yellow hair. I was brought up believing love-talking is not ambitious enough. Love!

New Cold Mountain Transcreation 5

I’ve lived for untold autumns here on Cold Mountain

alone and carefree, uttering songs to myself.

My makeshift door doesn’t shut yet there’s calm and quiet.

A spring is murmuring fresh ambrosia in its natural flow.

Within my chamber of rock, an earthen cauldron boils

pine pollen potions, cypress elixirs, and aromatic herbal brews.

When I’m feeling hungry, I merely snack on perennial weeds.

My point of view is so agreeable, I rest on precarious stone.

105-tanahashi; 193-red pine; 194-rouzer; 193-henricks; 21-snyder

New Cold Mountain Transcreation 4

Supremely independent in the clouds,

this mountain needs no landowner.

In descending to the pass, I use a walking stick.

Ascending to the peak, I climb the vines.

In the valley, the trees are evergreen.

In the gorge, the rocks are variously colored.

Although I’m cut off from companions,

when spring arrives, the birds sing dawn dawn.

219-red pine; 105-tanahashi; 64-henricks

New Cold Mountain Transcreation 3

Breathtaking and mind-boggling, the waters of the Yellow River,

on and on without end, its way is coursing eastward—

drifting drifting slowly, obscure and never clearing,

slipping by body after body, whose lives appear to pass instead.

But if you wish to ride majestic white clouds,

how can one develop wings?

While your hair is still jet-black, begin—

active or at rest, drop away completely.

from translations: 67-red pine; 100-tanahashi; 64-henricks

New Cold Mountain Transcreation 2

Wang, the Literary Master,

laughs at my unsophisticated poetry—

I know nothing of the 'wasp's waist'

and never incorporate a 'crane's bill'

and as for metric feet, I’m completely ignorant,

and my words are nothing special, and misused.

But I’m laughing at the poetry he writes—

a sightless man creating handiworks about the sun.

from translations: 283-red pine; 28-watson; 95-tanahashi; 286-henricks

New Cold Mountain Transcreation 1

Yesterday I saw these trees by the riverbank

injured and damaged so—unbelievable!

Only two or three were still left standing

scarred by ten thousand axe-blade wounds.

Their ragged leaves had been stripped by frost.

Countless swells had withered their festering roots.

And this is what it’s like to be born—

why would anyone blame eternity?

from translations: 198-red pine; 65-watson; 90-tanahashi; 191-henricks

Epistle to the Americans

Everyone in the world enjoys a paradigm. If it isn't lucid dreaming, it's believing someone else's. Maybe one is waiting for some nirvikalpa Sunday samadhi. Exactly that is someone else's dreaming. And most of you accept the scientific explanation that the mind will know the great unknown in time.

You cannot petition the lord with science! You cannot know the great unknown with mind. One can only be it, and in being, know it. The one that worships at the ordinary, but secretly believes the specialist, is just another religious crusader.

You will know them by the PhD they follow. Physician, know appearances in consciousness. Lucid dreaming is another name for embodiment. Not to drop a name on you.

The only respect an honest teacher expects from an earnest student is disbelief. It's the student's job to build an honest myth. S/he not fully manufacturing a meta-paradigm is busy as a parasite upon another body-mind.

There's nothing right nor wrong with rhyming. It happens. The interpretation of a happening is always after the fact and never without some bias from the interpretation of previous happenings.

Pure awareness being self-aware is the essence of my myth and I interpret every happening as such. Myth is how I stand. I'll sit when I'm dead. Love without myth is to be continued. Myth without love—see 20th century scientific materialism.

My Particular Myth—Epistle to One and All

Love says: 'I am everything'. Wisdom says: 'I am nothing' Between the two my life flows.

In and for my own understanding—there are two lines of spiritual inquiry establishing themselves along the lines of Indian jnana and bhakti, which I prefer to call personal deconstruction and mystic insight, but a well-known quote from Nisargadatta simply names them wisdom and love.

As to personal deconstruction, social conditioning is challenged on every conceivable front including that of the modern religion of scientific materialism.

Deconstruction without mystic insight leads to rational nihilistic perceptions with a futile search for scientific materialist confirmation.

Science by itself is a method of inquiry. But materialism is an unproven faith in the fundamental nature of material existence, a religious belief propagating theories as dogma without investigating the obvious experiential fact that this material is an appearance in consciousness.

For my own mythic arrangement—the beauty of Arthur M. Young's reflexive universe is the placement of this paradigm of material manifestation within its meta-paradigm of being—utilizing the scientific method to discover that the universe is an evolutionary process of self-awareness.

As to mystic insight, consciousness or being, known in the world as unconditional love, is embraced as primary or fundamental or all.

Mystic insight without a deconstructive approach leads to idealistic new age reverie without a mythic framework. See Apollo and Dionysus.

Pseudo-eastern trappings are just as much new age as Timothy Leary is dead—that's a lot of love to be without a ground to stand on. And there's nothing immanently wrong with this. It's being lost in the western material world looking for some overhanging myth to hang a head on.

Similarly the hopeful crowd announcing our collective consciousness is now preparing for a better day in some not distant newborn age is new age through and through, forgetting one’s not of the world, as well as last lines from every film in Chinatown—forget it friend, it’s samsara.

Beyond, one is being the unknown.

The way as I see it—the body-mind and its world is not to be renounced, but to be embodied as the supernode of my universal soft machine of self-awareness, and embraced for the revelatory dreamwork that it is.

This doesn’t imply involving oneself in the affairs of the world. In fact, as Ramana Maharshi says—non-resistance is the highest way. And the Diamond Sutra says the bodhisattva frees by knowing there’s no bondage.

There is no world other than my projection. When this simple fact is seen—there’s no one but myself—there may be fire on the movie screen but the world isn’t really burning—and no reason to extinguish artificial flames—embody the universal—being only is the way of self-awareness.

Self-awareness is a private showing.

In the west, self-effacement is somewhat easy, especially for one with an undeveloped ego. but world-effacement? How dare one?

Ego is not an individual construct. Ego IS the world and my conditioned place within it, of it.

Some find themselves in a dissociative state having lost the egoic sense of self while holding on to the egoic sense of the world—like the separation anxiety of a child who needs to hold on to a parent for dear life because the sense of self is undeveloped.

It’s not collective. It's not preparing for some future heaven. It's even not about my helping others although this love is in the world and dreaming does go on and some samsara tells nirvana do what your samsara says.

The false religious and progressive invention that the spiritual or humane height of achievement is an egolessness displayed in one’s social consciousness—is one of the most devious protectors of worldly egoic samsara—and the sly guarantor of no awakening from its sleep.

This isn’t saying the liberal view is wrong and pulling yourself up by the bootstraps in a free market world is right. Both are neither. Love is not of the world—and one’s not a body surviving in the world. Consciousness is fundamental. Just imagine the inference of that truth for self-awareness.

Of course there’s such a power as manifesting—look out my window—it’s already happening—great intent is always manifesting my projection—urging the self to self-awareness—the only question for one embodying the universe is—how do I collaborate—and the answer is—divine imagination.

The Self-Reflexive Manifestation

Words wear out. This is why metaphor. But metaphors also wear out. This is why paradox. Paradox never wears out—it was never here.

No name for Tao—not spiritual—not mystical—not even nonduality. The way without a name—call it source of self-awareness.

Still I need a myth to live by. I couldn’t eat without it—just know that myths transform into beliefs when my experientially known unknown is thought to be literally known.

Call it—The Self-Reflexive Manifestation. In consciousness, where all appears, self-awareness is the only constant narrative within my evolution—and its source is obviously myself.

The Self-Reflexive Manifestation is a grand unifying story satisfying all the conflicting plotlines of the micro, the macro, and beyond.

In this myth of The Self-Reflexive Manifestation, the unmanifest emptiness takes form and caveat emptor.

Do you really think the mountains and rivers are outside, Shan Shui? I now know without a doubt the universe is completely inside. And so are the mountains and rivers—appearances in consciousness.

It's the same old story—pure awareness being self-aware. Is the water falling?

Or is the waterfall a temporary closing? And the mist arising from the burning waters is its re-opening. Such is self-awareness.

original

1.
In and for my own understanding—there are two lines of spiritual inquiry establishing themselves along the lines of Indian jnana and bhakti, which I prefer to call personal deconstruction and mystic insight, but a well-known quote from Nisargadatta simply names them wisdom and love.

Deconstruction without mystic insight leads to rational nihilistic perceptions with a futile search for scientific materialist confirmation, while mystic insight without a deconstructive approach leads to idealistic new age reverie without a mythic framework. See Apollo and Dionysus.

In other words, in my particular mythic arrangement, social conditioning is challenged on every conceivable front including that of the modern religion of scientific materialism, while consciousness or being, known in the world as unconditional love, is embraced as primary or fundamental or all.

2.
Science by itself is a method of inquiry. But materialism is an unproven faith in the fundamental nature of material existence, a religious belief propagating theories as dogma without investigating the obvious experiential fact that this material is an appearance in consciousness.

For my own mythic arrangement—the beauty of Arthur M. Young's reflexive universe is the placement of this paradigm of material manifestation within its meta-paradigm of being—utilizing the scientific method to discover that the universe is an evolutionary process of self-awareness.

3.
Pseudo-eastern trappings are just as much new age as Timothy Leary is dead—that's a lot of love to be without a ground to stand on And there's nothing immanently wrong with this. It's being lost in the western material world looking for some overhanging myth to hang a head on.

Similarly the hopeful crowd announcing our collective consciousness is now preparing for a better day in some not distant newborn age is new age through and through, forgetting one’s not of the world, as well as last lines from every film in Chinatown—forget it friend, it’s samsara.

One is being the unknown. It’s not collective. It's not preparing for some future heaven. It's even not about my helping others although this love is in the world and dreaming does go on and some samsara tells nirvana do what your samsara says. No. Self-awareness is a private showing.

4.
The way as I see it—the body-mind and its world is not to be renounced, but to be embodied as the supernode of my universal soft machine of self-awareness, and embraced for the revelatory dreamwork that it is.

This doesn’t imply involving oneself in the affairs of the world. In fact, as Ramana Maharshi says—non-resistance is the highest way. And the Diamond Sutra says the bodhisattva frees by knowing there’s no bondage.

5.
The false religious and progressive invention that the spiritual or humane height of achievement is an egolessness displayed in one’s social consciousness—is one of the most devious protectors of worldly egoic samsara—and the sly guarantor of no awakening from its sleep.

This isn’t saying the liberal view is wrong and pulling yourself up by the bootstraps in a free market world is right. Both are neither. Love is not of the world—and one’s not a body surviving in the world. Consciousness is fundamental. Just imagine the inference of that truth for self-awareness.

The Self-Reflexive Manifestation

Words wear out. This is why metaphor. But metaphors also wear out. This is why paradox. Paradox never wears out—it was never here.

No name for Tao—not spiritual—not mystical—not even nonduality. The way without a name—call it source of self-awareness.

Still I need a myth to live by. I couldn’t eat without it—just know that myths transform into beliefs when my experientially known unknown is thought to be literally known.


Call it—The Self-Reflexive Manifestation. In consciousness, where all appears, self-awareness is the only constant narrative within my evolution—and its source is obviously myself.

The Self-Reflexive Manifestation is a grand unifying story satisfying all the conflicting plotlines of the micro, the macro, and beyond.

In this myth of The Self-Reflexive Manifestation, the unmanifest emptiness takes form and caveat emptor.


Do you really think the mountains and rivers are outside, Shan Shui? I now know without a doubt the universe is completely inside. And so are the mountains and rivers—appearances in consciousness.

It's the same old story—pure awareness being self-aware. Is the water falling?

Or is the waterfall a temporary closing? And the mist arising from the burning waters is its re-opening. Such is self-awareness.

Biggest Medicine

Eat my universe! Drink my ouroboric acid! The sun gives and the moon takes away.

If hydrogen is one and oxygen is the sign for infinity, then water is the great mirage—duality!

The first time I took LSD, there was a full blood moon over Half Moon Lake.

Even though this knowledge is omnipresent, in this particular way, the unknown knows itself.

Look, wave-particle duality depends on what the eye expects to see. So much depends on self-awareness.

Samsara is the baddest trip—believing life is survival of the fittest while knowing death is the biggest lie.

Sometime after the wood frogs but quite before the crickets, lightning bugs or fireflies!

As it is—is heaven or nirvana. As feared, project a world of worm and stone around a heart. Await there. Loving sees through all.

Omnipresent Reflection

Only when the universe has my undivided attention, am I self-aware. This is called Omnipresent Reflection. In my experience, one returns to one within the way of self-awareness. Otherwise one remains conceptual.

This one of which I speak is not conceptual, and so beyond all words, spontaneous, nondual. In other words, the only knowledge is the knowledge of the unknown knowing.

It took me twenty years of hiking mountains to understand that breaking through the wall is stopping thinking period. I started feeling trees are legs, the southern ridge my spine, and what is the summit but one peak and sky?

There is an easy trail on Mount Desert Island beginning with a masonic rock stairway, scrambling up desert bedrock slope, and ending in apocalypse of sea and sky. Every spring it came to be my first sign.

Deconstruction is easy; belief is hard. This is the little lower layer of all kinds of comedy. It's not as if I dream each night and not know the concepts well. What is God but pure awareness? What is the universe but self-awareness? Who am I but both?

An Epistle in Julian of Norwich

Look! Body-mind is the world. So know the weight of what one drops before you think it's only personal.

Compassion is the love one has for something one can’t change nor should—but the world can give ten thousand reasons why you will.

All of this is happening spontaneously without a so-called ‘my’ and so-called ‘doing’ anything at all. This is just a play-by-play with a colorful point of view.


It's really not that bad. What happens in the world stays in the world, excepting love. And love is all there is.

Love of daughter, granddaughter, son-in-law, brother, brother's husband, nieces and nephews and their families, friends, colleagues, cousins, and all memories of mother and father.

Also Jesus, Sister Mary Charles, The Beatles, Lao Tzu, Whitman, Melville, Frost, Thoreau, Jack Kerouac, don Miguel Ruiz, Eckhart, Adyashanti, Emily, Krishnamurti, Ramana Maharshi, Nisargadatta Maharaj, and Zhuangzi.


Between Basho and Shakespeare is breathing in lines, full stop.

The mind divides because—self-awareness. Any kind of politics is getting stuck in two. Look! Love is the spinning of the wheel. Wisdom is the sand.

Either one follows one's bliss, or one is thinking one is not, or has not been, or should not be following his or her bliss—but unknowingly is.

An Epistle to an Angelic Sexton

What is ego but the world and what is loss of ego other than the world no longer needs me?

They say the world breaks up with you because you lose your heart to do the same.

And when she left, it took some time to acclimate myself to the timelessness she left me.


Don't get me wrong, for I still visit all the ones I venerate on earth. After all, it is the right place for love.

Look, disassociation isn't some enlightenment. My therapist, the first one, reconciled myself and Henry David Thoreau.

My second therapist is talking—breaking up with that which matters is not diffuse, unconcentrated, fuzzy,


but, and more importantly, it's the single-cell zoom focus of intent—that is the angel of self-awareness.

The world is first to say diffuse and fuzzy egolessness is the way but one doesn't call it mind-training for nothing.

Like the four directions being amplified as this universe, embodied, I am. But you are the answer.

six footnotes in four directions on one urn

footnote the first—see pure awareness being self-aware.
footnote one not two—being is the only knowledge
and this knowledge is in being the unknown.
three—paul is always taken out of context
by those who only read the roman lines
between his unconditional love.

fore! i've been a puppet,
a pauper, a pirate,
a poet, a pawn
and o shiva!
the three and two,
it's samurai puck, exclamation point—

imagine shakespeare meeting basho.
the light is seeing through the film
appearing in a consciousness
dear to you o six six six!
for the life of jesus is a mythic story of the experiential truth
written in a roman-empire-safe encryption—

to transmit this understanding—
consciousness is primary—
fundamental—
secretly—
but
the papal will be people.

An Epistle on a Grecian Urge and Urge and Urge

Consciousness is my name and self-awareness is my story. Love is what I'm called while on the open road. And my song is written in this form of a universe. If a child asks 'what is a tree,' does it take a life to answer?

Sometimes I wear a black hat, sometimes white. The man in the black hat only knows what he isn't. The man in the white hat only knows what he is. And the man without a hat is sleeping by the campfire.

What happens on the way to Damascus doesn't just stay on the way to Damascus. It is the way. The world is like Death Valley and love is like the horse that we ride in on.


A philosopher speaks his mind. A poet speaks in tongues. Personal deconstruction is a lot like jazz in one is mostly listening to the silent spaces it creates.

We gather in this midsummer night's dream on the edge of an ancient pond. The bow is bent and drawn. Drop body-mind. If emptiness is form, then thought is an empty gun.

Christ, consciousness is resurrected in supreme attention. Not some physical entity! May the thousand-petaled lotus be the crown of your creation. May you be embodied and nondual.

Epistle to Starbucks

"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." ~Z (tr-sr)

It's not as if the people have created everything that's wrong on earth but the very concept of 'right and wrong' creates the people and their world—always the little lower layer. In other words, thought is not a cloud but a tool of self-awareness. Judgment is the cloud and the whole point behind Last Judgment.

This is not an argument for some relativistic viewpoint that right and wrong are simply interchangeable, although war says they obviously are. There is no right and wrong. Zhuangzi speaks the lower layer as I am. Myth is too—beautiful and true—that self-awareness is.

Is a color really right or wrong? What if leaves turned green in autumn? North and South is all the doing of the sun and not location, location, location. Oh my dear old Jung, thought may be universally unconscious but love is consciousness oneself.

Myth, like mind like thought, is a tool of self-awareness. Believing myth, scientific or religious, is what is unbelievable. Like Mayan Clouds of Special Knowing! There's one knowing in the world—unconditional—not of the world—like the highest love or lowest self-esteem—beyond description—

Tao is nameless—satcitananda—self-awareness is the ultimate omnipresence of the absolute godhead. Even Darwin says it's so. Confucius says there's right and wrong but Chuang Tzu dreams of butterflies, wood frogs, screech owl! I am or who am I? Self-awareness is naturally reflexive.

commentary to footnotes of 2nd epistle to myself

so call it tao

not some existential athesistic philosophic western scientific deep materialist religion founded on some theory of another

call the process self-inquiry or love

self-awareness appears to appear in every resurrection

and the universe appears before all thought but after love

so love the one you’re with apparently

Footnotes to Myself

It's like watching the detectives. Ooh they're so Buddhist. Mysticism is non-denominational. No name for Tao.

The new name for creed is theory. Meet the new boss. "You keep all your money in a big brown bag inside a zoo. What a thing to do!"

Look at it this way. Nothing always comes to something. Dead Man’s Curve is out on Highway Sixty-one too.

The great unknown supernatural pure awareness is being known in natural evolutionary self-awareness and et cetera.

My god, materialism is the first one to declare force majeure. Another wave is landing on the seashore

after talking to the undertow. All I think are my projections. This is why compassion, love.

The Second Epistle to Myself

Curiosity only kills the first life of a cat. The direct path is not of the dream and thus goes straight through it. This is called embodiment. Or being in the world.

I don't know why, but of all Beatles songs, 'Baby You're a Rich Man' is always feeling like the first time I am seeing her. Self-awareness requires that descending into material complacency,

the hard turning of interior imperative intent, and realizing that this dreamwork is my omnipresent actuality of being self-aware. Every year the spring is turning into June.

I imagine reincarnation to be likewise. Another night, another dream for my awakening. From Radio Cold Mountain in the River, this song is going out tonight to all my beautiful ones. Love is in the house!

An Epistle to Myself

The way as I see it—the body-mind and its world is not to be renounced, but to be embodied as the supernode of my universal soft machine of self-awareness, and embraced for the revelatory dreamwork that it is. This doesn’t imply involving oneself in the affairs of the world. In fact, as Ramana Maharshi says—non-resistance is the highest way. And the Diamond Sutra says the bodhisattva frees by knowing there’s no bondage.

footnotes to epistle satcitananda baby

Awakening has that sudden element to it. It's called getting out of bed. Sailor Bob says what's wrong with right now if you don't think about it. No thought is love; nothing is an ethereal belief. God the parent, in order to form this more perfect union called self-awareness, dreams an impossible dream. Like Dawn Coyote!

Walking and talking is like chewing love at the same time. Love is beyond right and wrong sings every song. Love is beyond all intellectual argument and sister to crazy wisdom! Love is the sea of DNA in which nucleotides rise and fall.

The stand is universal; absolution happens to oneself. The wonder of intuition is before and after every mundane scientific fact. As the crow caws! Pure awareness is the self. Intent is self-inquiry. Self-awareness is the revelation.

Being is always the only time and place. Go intuit like instant karma. A bat out of samsara! I am Self.

Epistle to Ananda

In this reflexive mythic universe of self-awareness—as inert matter of the earth becomes organic, so does the personal awaken. All the suffering in samsara, each conceptual emotional disaster—like earthquakes and volcanoes, hurricanes and tornadoes, rip tides and tsunamis—is impersonal, inevitable, and all is well, all manner of thing is well. Concurrently, indifference is another kind of subtle personal belief—but love is like the fast track of my universal actuality—for it's manifest there is an evolutionary prime directive with unmanifest intent toward self-awareness. It's not absolutely nothing, Ananda.

In this reflexive mythic universe of self-awareness—

as inert matter of the earth becomes organic,

so does the personal awaken.

All the suffering in samsara,

each conceptual emotional disaster—

like earthquakes and volcanoes,

hurricanes and tornadoes,

rip tides and tsunamis—

is impersonal,

inevitable,

and all is well,

all manner of thing is well.

Concurrently,

indifference is a kind of subtle personal belief

—but love is like the fast track of my universal actuality—

for it's manifest there is an evolutionary prime directive with unmanifest intent toward self-awareness.

It's not absolutely nothing,

Ananda.

Nondual Devotion C180602

Being loves form and form loves being. It's a marriage made in self-awareness. O when lilacs last in the driveway bloomed, I can't remember! For after the happening, there's only the memory of something that never happened.

The windows are open to a rare night in June. A pedestal fan is acting like a ceiling fan. I am holding a Pilot Metropolitan Retro Plum with Leopard Accent fountain pen filled with Montblanc ‘The Beatles’ psychedelic purple ink.

The next thing I know my neighbor is talking loudly on her phone outdoors. I shut the windows and turn on the air conditioning. The fan remains the same. There's no denying all appears in consciousness or its expression, love, or any other way of naming being.

For example, one of my most beloved memories is my granddaughter softly saying ~flower~ in one colorful syllable less than three weeks ago. It’s like being present at the creation. With no mind but all love, I am recording the echoes of that distant ohm of lightning.

For living is not to plan as my daughter is forever reminding me a dozen years ago. In other words, the reflexive universe is intending self-awareness with absolute intent. In the name of the valley spirit, I bow to the way. Shh!

Love and Absolution

in samsara,
love is
like

the mortar in-between
beliefs busy forming
the edifice of a person;

in nirvana,
the edifice is love
and in-between is form.

first, there is a reason.
next, there is no reason.
finally there's love.

for embodiment is being
in the world as love—
default position.

manifestly no one is
of the world,
but yes, absolution

only
comes to
one



In Samsara, love is like the mortar in-between beliefs busy forming the edifice of a person. 

In Nirvana, the edifice is love and in-between is form.

First, there is a reason. Next, there is no reason. Finally there's love.

For embodiment is being in the world as love—default position.

Manifestly no one is of the world, but yes, absolution only comes to one.

footnotes to may three

1. both windows open

2. natural music soothes the lost in thought

3. consciousness has a sense of paradox

4. right and wrong is a case of mistaken duality and not as it is

5. sees through conditioning. smells out the light in all emotion

6. desert memories like ten thousand sunrises in a single morning at grand canyon

7. since consciousness is the first illusion, it’s the only place to wait or way to be

Diary of a Sunset. May 3, 2018. Pleasant Valley.

The nucleotide is high tonight. In the gray woods, black bark forms a double helix. Between noon and midnight—the screech owl of Pleasant Valley is awake and ready for its night shift.

Peepers begin their ninth with an ode to joy. The purring of this screech owl is amplified by the hollow of an oak tree. Awakened wood frogs supply their synthesized harmony in intervals of three.

Sunset minus fifteen minutes of daytime fame—now the peepers are literally dominating the conversation. Every now and then a single unidentified bird is laughing.

A mockingbird makes an amazing technicolor dream appearance. We have sunset. Only peepers. Some sharp sound appears right after sunset, between bird and animal, angel and devil.

I wonder where the fox and coyote are tonight? And the dogs begin to bark like western coyotes. S/he not being love is busy being sad. The wind may have shifted to the southeast. I think I hear a train.

Southwest is the silent wind around here. Sky City. Civil twilight—highway noise and peepers. "After nautical dusk, sailors cannot navigate via the horizon at sea."

Star rise. Night time is the light time to be. Deconstruction leads to being. It's never nihilistic. The train of absolution is arriving at the station as I stop.

Not an Epitaph

Whether being is existent or non-existent is not the question. Begin at the beginning,

which is consciousness, because consciousness is everything. Like I love this being

oh so much I make this world to make this last forever and in doing so forget

I am this being with intent to know I'm that beyond all time. In other words,

I make a mortal world by my attempt to be immortal

in the process of this self-awareness

I am that beyond

the words,

mortality and immortality.

From chapter one, the white rabbit is the rabbit hole: I shall be too late. The point is

thus all communication is in love. Words only repeat themselves. We three gods.

Unknown. The known. Unknowing. Death is to life as suffering is to separation or some such logic.

My calendar of spring is ice out, red-winged blackbirds, purple crocus, vernal equinox,

peepers, forsythia, orioles, cherry blossoms, lilacs, docks then boats, and a rare day in June.

I would have been a priest but for war. I would have been a person but for love.

I would have been a poet but for truth. Ah, that's the strong stuff. Please don’t take it personally.

footnotes to pseudacris crucifer

0. to my deconstruction warrior projections.

1. exhibitionists of the world, surrender. all my doing is non-doing.

2. love is the way to way.

3. every illusion tells a story.

4. forgiving is not forgetting but seeing through.

5. the universe is infinite like i am.

6. transformation is my middle name.

a. so samadhi is like spontaneous combustion. meanwhile, feel free to burn yourself away in love.

b. deconstruction without compassion is like world war. been there. done that.

c.
seeing through
is forgiving who
i like to think i am

1). love my universal being, have compassion for my unaware projecting, and forgive me all believing

a,) in the name of the child, the parent, and the supernatural

Merrimack Renga for Pseudacris Crucifer

You cannot jump into the void but one can be. Consciousness is not a product of the body but the world is of consciousness.

Loving is the only knowing and all else is only known. Every April is spontaneous despite the memory of desire.

A flower isn't late nor early and so is dreaming neither right nor wrong but the latest phase of self-awareness.

Wild daffodils bloom on the northern riverbank after escaping the next-door neighbor's flower bed.

Nothing is not nothing. Look out. Every concept is infinitesimal! Only love of being attracts the sting of absolution.

Beyond the known is the unknown and only knowing knows this. Spring like mizu no oto. Hiraizumi. Yamadera. Matsushima!

eight footnotes to my peepers

so much depends on spring peepers

into this stream of consciousness sounds basho

neti neti never ends

as you were soldier as it is peace

magical reality is bound to be the very next phase

myth is to religion as deconstruction is to postmodernism

talking trinity understanding seven

one is never deconstructed and tao is never told

Epistle to My Peepers

Spring peepers sounding in the wetlands like a chorus to the changing seasons singing great intent is steadfast in the valley spirit—

one jumps into the unknown depths of being. The splash of transformation is a feature, not a void.

It's a little tantric rule I learn while hiking in the Whites. One doesn't throw out consciousness with the deconstruction of conditioning—

there's nothing right or wrong about the world. It's just a passing shadow, sunshine.

Imagination is the greatest tool devised by evolutionary intent but at times, the myth runs away with the moon—

it's neither the varieties of western materialism nor an eastern void. Myth and deconstruction is the revelation of being the unknown.

If being is the immaculate conception and self-awareness is its absolute revelation, then the world is the turning point this being sees through—

I am quantum-dreaming an unbelievable dream and your light years may vary. Such is absolute uncertainty.

footnotes auto jesus me

1. something so inspired—it’s a revelation.

2. fox medicine. pharmaceutical coyote.

3. the moon has been overanalyzed of late.

4. nevertheless there’s a waxing crescent moon shining quicksilvery in the picture window as i write this.

5. like white lightning etched on the crimson sandstone walls of deep blue canyons.

a. whatever. i wax poetic.

b. i wonder why the moon is only half.

c. this sudden observing of observer and observed is called seeing through.

d.

science deconstructs religion

dreaming creates meaning

belief divides being

f. rock crushes scissors. paper covers rock. scissors cut paper.

seven footnotes of war

1. I wrote you a love song.

2. It’s seeing through the me and you.

3. It’s even bigger than war and peace.

4. But it’s smaller than a flower.

5. Only you can declare war and drink their poison.

6. Let love be the first and last words of every train of thought.

7. My lonesome nondual heart is singing.

a. Everyone needs a myth to surf the great unknown.

b. If I'm not love, forgiveness, or compassion, what am I?

s/he not busy seeing through is war

As there is observer and observed, observing is unknown. As observer and observed is being seen through,

observing is all-knowing. Subject-object eject. Any belief is just an argument for war.

If division is the old math, deconstruction is the new lit. If it isn't love, forgiveness, or compassion, it's war.

Where have all the Mahākāśyapas gone? If it looks like an object, feels like a subject, and quacks like a quack, then it's probably war!

Everybody dies but no one is born. This is the crossroads of the blues. Please forgive the wayless for they know not why they war.

The Autobiography of Jesus Me

Earth. Sun. Black hole. Let me convince you with my scientific gibberish, objective obscuration, and logical gobbledygook. Projections aren't to be believed but loved.

I saw a fox today. Or maybe it was just another psychological encounter with Coyote. To call me up in Dreamland or trick me into thinking dreams are the only dreams?

Not to mention that this cardinal keeps on keeping on the bird feeder like some Roman Catholic crimson bloodstain of conditioning experienced in childhood until I feel the consciousness of Jesus as myself.

Note that this occurs only after discovering I may read the word of god upon my own! Is it just coincidence the Beatles and Bob Dylan, love and deconstruction quickly follow

leading to that quicksilver night upon a sacred dot of acid, sitting on the edge of Half Moon Lake, looking at a show of August falling stars, knowing I am making all of this spontaneously happen?

After all of that, the world appears to be a giant waste of space-time. So I quit BC and find myself in the Canyon of the Dead a lifetime later to see essential being. Science is so fifth dimension. Imagination is the seventh!

footnotes to fetpv

christian fundamentalism as a certain kind of direct path.
if you see it, don't believe it.
i'll never know anything more than self-awareness.

i’m on both sides of great intent.
on the other hand, imagine imagine.
know negative. think positive.

zhuangzi, like tao, is not so much about relativity as balance.
as being is conceptual, the world is my myth.
talk softly but carry a great notion.

virtual reality of virtual realities. all is virtual.
and self-awareness is the only virtue.
it’s my party and i’ll i if i want to.

First Epistle to Pleasant Valley. Spring 2018.

As if the dream state is an evolutionary stage in absolute self-awareness and not some great mistake.

If consciousness is primarily conceptual, and the only known is consciousness, then to know the great unknown is

obviously conceptual. Thus imagination isn't wrong but the myth imagined may be wrongful.


I see the first forsythia, spaced-out yellow flowers projecting the inside knowledge of the sun. Lucid dreaming is embodying the universal.

I hear an oriole the other day but call it the golden-throated. It's song is loud and crystal-clear. Obviously one being.

And then there is the early crocus appearing purple in a patch of green. For self-awareness is an evolutionary metamorphosis—


my magical reality. Something happens out of nowhere like a wild imagination.

Oh my secondary characters, my beautiful projections, listen to my story of awareness being self-aware, now playing.

As every eastern poem loves to end in cherry blossoms, body calls for food, and mind, myth. Who holds the flowering imagination?

ps1 footnotes (after consciousness, the deluge)

Pure awareness is reflected in this consciousness. Postneoadvaita koan—in binary terms, the manifest is three.

Cynthia forsythia on the roadside with the sun! Empires fall. Knowledge rises like a phoenix.

Tripping on deoxyribonucleic acid over the square root of metaparadigm. In middle America, it’s either Emily or the white whale.

Evolution depends on my suspension of belief. Dreaming is the background music for this consciousness.

Dreaming that enlightenment is in the mind is what enlightenment is. This is the latest science. Don’t overthink it. This is penultimate.

In the name of the revelation of divine imagination in the manifestation of self-awarenesss. Inheal, exheal.

Postneoadvaita Sonnet 1

Material reflects. Being projects.
Choose one or three but not two.
The moon allows the wolves to howl until they get the point.
Black is the new wisdom. White is the new love.
The world is DNA divided by conditioning.
Go figure. It’s either ten thousand somethings or one big nothing.
Everything is as it is, no matter what I may believe.
My lucid dream is what I love but minus all belief.
Being is true knowledge, the immaculate conception.
Consciousness is intentional transformation. Do the math.
Her sweet transmission is to love as her almighty engine is to words.
What if this were line twelve of a spontaneously self-aware sonnet?
That there is no thirteenth floor is just the way of magical reality.
Dreaming is the time for love and disbelieving is the space.

footnotes to 2009

remember correctly baizhang!

every closing moment of this deconstruction is like the opening of silence.

as the mind deconstructs itself, there is being. and only being is known by the great unknown.

this is basic magic. one must know oneself as the only known before the great unknown shall know oneself.

Like 2009

No cat jumping, no cradle on the edge. Leave those action verbs behind. Better to be dropping, seeing through, unknowing. At best, being.

For example, Dogen doesn't say, as to body-mind, vault into the void, but merely, drop.

The former is disassociation and the latter, surrender. The former is a mental state and the latter, being.

The former is doing and the latter, non-doing. Woo-woo or Wu Wei. Thorn in, thorns out.

Nothing. Everything. Nothing. Everything. Nothing. Everything. My so-called life.

Footnote form. Endnote emptiness. Sitting on the dock of the Tao. It takes a thought to see through a thought.

This seeing through is called the game of thorns. Sidebar being. Is the immaculate conception.

Ride the tiger like an ensō, sweetheart. Consciousness is all about the quantum uncertainty.

Sitting in the heart of the Tao, watching the tide roll in and roll away, this koan is pointing to the moon.

Three Footnotes to The Autobiography

One footnote. I think it's significant that Nisargadatta says the mystical is most practical and not vice versa.

Second footnote. I first saw her on the night of the Nixon resignation party as she floated across the room while Van Morrison is singing Jackie Wilson Said I'm in heaven when you smile over the stereo. Look, I am not responsible for fate.

Footnote three. Third outbreak after California 1991 and I'm advised to take the harder stuff. For the next fifteen years or so I'm a mountain hiking fool.

The Autobiography of Me, Joni, and Henry

Disassociation is just a common symptom of duality. The second disassociation outbreak experienced here occurred in 1984 no lie.

Many personal issues concerning wife and work and child would be discussed but there was kind of a spiritual one which was foundational.

I just spent five minutes trying to remember the exact word I used thirty-four years ago: IMPRACTICAL.

We were talking about the things I liked ten years earlier, or more to the story’s point, before I met the woman I would have my child with.

Ah 1974 the year Joni Mitchell released 'Court and Spark' on New Years Day no less.

"Help me I think I'm falling In love too fast It's got me hoping for the future And worrying about the past

'Cause I've seen some hot hot blazes Come down to smoke and ash We love our lovin' But not like we love our freedom"

Writing poetry of course. Walt Whitman. Then there was my Russian period after reading Crime & Punishment.

I did all of Vonnegut after reading ‘Cat's Cradle” and gave my cousins copies for Christmas.

Then I told the shrink I even had a crush on Henry David Thoreau because impractical.

So why did I feel Thoreau was so impractical became a recurring theme over the next several weeks until I went to revisit Walden

every lunch by leaving work and driving to a lake at Harold Foster State Park and climbing up a hill with chair and nothing to eat but my book.

Henry would still be my guru if I hadn't spent an entire year reading his journals day by day

and editing a passage for a daily blog post from 2004 to 2005. Go and visit your hero for a week, never mind an ever-loving year.

"the mystical is most practical" ~Nisargadatta