The Gospel of Being

One’s world is a construction of thought 

requiring continuous habitation 

and constant maintenance 

or the entire fantasy all falls down. 

It’s worker bees and their queen belief! 

But self-awareness is the honey of evolution. 

So be and enjoy.

1 Apocryphon with 11 Ways of Looking at Intent

The veil between illusion and intent is 

thin tonight.

Dividing intent, 

suffering is the push 

and desire is the pull.

Effort is ego.

Surrender to intent.

Trying to sleep is insomnia;

going to sleep is absolute intent.

In the divided human hands of misguided Shakti,

a nuclear bomb is just intent playing with itself.

Neither intelligent design nor natural selection

but realizational intent of self.

These are the four directions:

parent, intent, process, child.

Name them gods.

Reflexively,

intent closes the I

opening two eyes

to see with a third eye

that I am.

After seeing through the world

and aligning with intent,

one’s insight enters warp speed.

Resting in the realizational intent of being.

Shiva Shakti Krishna.

I-am.

Warm November sun in Pleasant Valley—

cereal smell of fallen leaves—

half moon northern sky—

great blue heron falls to shore—

pure intent sparkles in the river.

Shiva's Song of Self-Realization

I am. 

These words are timeless 

yet appear to take approximately 

fourteen billion years to say them—

but the world is just the words gone lost 

within their saying. Stop this moment,

listen to yourself and know the universe for what you are,

this sudden silent knowing that I am.

Mapping Genesis to Revelations with Commentary

In an unknown Vishnu

is the zero Shiva

and the infinite reflexive Shakti

     of a Kali ying

     and Annapurna yang

creating one resplendent Krishna

and his chorus of ten-thousand inspirational devoted Gods.

Then empire kills the bhakta—

science kills the jnana—

kalifornication kills all tantra—

soon monsanto kills the soma—

light is always killing light—

this is the deep black hole of pure awareness

or enlightenment.

Maya is like western medicine—her side effects are endless. The light of consciousness is filtered by the color of a thought and so we cry. Illusion and realization are the two faces of the holy spirit. Direct path is realizing all intelligence is artificial except I-am. Evolution is prologue to the twenty-first century. One way or another, A.I. sees through itself, whether fiction or science fiction. Scientific materialism is just a way of finding more gods to name than the original ten-thousand. To practice is human. To be, divine. Last words? Deconstruct the known—be the unknown. For we are the holy quaternity of Shiva, Shakti, Christ, Picasso.

Canticle of the Heavenly Fall

As the tree is dropping leaves, 

the tree prepares new leaves. 

Yellow, orange, red and green! 

O goddess you are not unseen—

your central point is always present.

The universe is just your name 

while being is my manifestation 

in all your glorious transformation. 

Sea of green and sky of blue! 

I know myself through me and you.

Third Eye Talk

She dawned on me while watching CBS, 'The Big Bang Theory' I believe.

"Third eye is the first eye and two eyes are my ten-thousand things."

I take a little melatonin just to saturate this desert vision in the natural tears of her affectionate awareness.

Thus she comes to me in that rare quality of some hallucination in its final stages,

or its first—my love appears to be a pineapple whose outer layer is dissolving in sweet nothings

which she whispers in the rhyme and rhythm of my dreamtime.

That is what she says.

The Psalm of Sleep

Deep sleep is calling to me every night

and every night I follow her to bed—

she gathers me lightly in her arms,

a crescent moon embracing earth itself,

and like the sea we undulate in love

until I spill into her goddess depths

and disappear within that soft unknown.

But in the morning she has left me there

alone, awake, and waiting for the world

to slowly tick this daydream day away.

O Jesus, she will be the death of me!

Third Eye Song

Oh god and goddess of the third eye, Ardhanarishvara, half male, half female, Shiva Shakti,

do our actions manifest, is manifesting moving action, is it all the synchronicity of a timeless one?

Are there seven poets just because I gathered seven books? Did I gather seven books because of seven poets?

Is the number seven just coincidence of one—this universe is both the cause and its result, the mind divides the indivisible,

crow caws the causelessness of crow, and you, Ardhanarishvara, are manifesting only that I know.

The Oracle of I

I of I that sees through me and knows I am and has the mind of me say this

deconstruction isn't nihilistic but a revelation of this timeless being, spirit, Christ you know it isn't easy but surrender is the only way,

while Janabai, this humble household servant knowing Vithal holds the broom, is saying void is not devoid of God.

So Son is singing from the core:

that unknown lover

come to me

with crystal

flowers of awareness

and accepting

their known fragrances

with all my heart

I am at once

my self—

and when the clay container in the sea dissolves, there isn't simply nothing—there's the sea.

Letter from the Goddess of the River

O Goddess of the River, I had built a boat of personality and thought it was my everything.

Yet in my heart of hearts I knew it really wasn't but I didn't know exactly what was what.

And so I built an unknown hell from dark disheartening conceptual deep nothings and my boat turned out to be the only thing between those hellish depths and me.

O every minute I was struggling to defend its frail integrity!

But you kept floating me your notes and I kept reading them in wonderment.

Until one day I finally declared my love for you and lifted up a floorboard and saw instead of death and blazes—yes! a river underneath. And river talked to river and I knew I was the river and the boat was just another concept built from flotsam and from jetsam floating madly on these living waters.

Here the river glints and shimmers, Goddess of the River, and I know there is no great divide of black and blue between this tidal being and that unknown sea of you.

The Gospel of the Great Blue Heron

Ever since I was a little boy I loved the golden light. I looked for maps in yellowing books searching for its source. O it was causing me to carve strange words in fits of lines and chaos!

I found myself within the great gorge of the dead when it dawned on me the source was in myself. And then my love approached in prehistoric visions of a great blue heron.

I embraced her ancient song of crystal evolution and she embraced my life of being here and in a sudden golden flash we disappeared like western pathfinders returning to their sea.

Eleven Notes Playing One on One

no

one

wants

to hear it

but nobody

wants to listen

truth isn't personal

until one

makes it so—

then

it isn't truth

you are david

and the world is goliath—

give it your best

shot

hey superman

basically everyone

else is you talking

to me about how you

remind me of me

in some bizarro way

although there's only i

here now

the empire

scares

me

but I know

that’s only the empire speaking

there are no

definitions

other

than the ones

which define

me

there's nothing wrong

with duality—

it just hurts

if you believe

it

you can drop

the world

and

still play

but you can't double-

dribble

the great

thing about words—

you can say

two things

with each

one

I stare the

wordless

in the face and

blink

every time

the best one

can do

is be—

after that,

it’s not about one

A Little Day Night Sutra

1. On Two and an Epigraph

Compassion is loving one being that believes in two. In this fugue of being.

How do i know myself? Let's make a universe and count the ways. The loves are many but the way is one. I am.

The way is always present in a love, but love, like any act involving two, is tricky and may lead to an attachment, hate, or damned belief.

“Ask my heart about the pain of love and it will tell you / The half-drawn bow’s the assassin, not the arrow that pierces through.”  ~Ghalib

2. One Introduction

A person thinks one is divided from the one. Yes, it is as absurd as it sounds. Yet that is the world and why it is as it is.

The world can’t be cured. It’s only a symptom of the personal. One treatment is to stop taking things personally.

By definition, a person is broken—therapy therefore must be transpersonal—unconditional love, personal deconstruction, resting in awareness.

Politics is as destructive as any war. Religion is as addictive as any drug. Science is as misleading as any superstition.

What passes as knowledge in the world is an ability to manipulate the past most efficiently. True knowledge is being.

Form follows memory. Being follows emptiness. Form is emptiness and emptiness is form. But memory isn’t being. Is it?

Think with all one's heart. Love with all one being. Be with all that unknown. Do all that other stuff on your own time. For now, be.

3. Photos of Reality

mountain way

hiking

in the dense fog I

spot any further cairn spot on-

ly in the present

one

catch 11

the catch about taking

pictures

of the moment is

there is no

moment

when

taking pictures

flash

if the price of undertanding

the wordless

is

to give up each, every, and all your words,

would you?

anything less is believable.

4. Reconciliations

Experience is the great compromise between nothing and something. Creation is the great compromise between silence and noise.

Being is the great compromise between not knowing and disbelief. Between dreaming and and being is making a living.

The greatest love is between noun and verb. The greatest verb is between noun and object.

Every straight line deserves god.

5. Three Endings and an Epitaph

on koans

plural

of koan

is koan

the circle be

the buzz of energy

is being

and

any metaphor is like a bee

buzzing

satisfaction

can't get no

i without

i am

the epitaph

“I Am is the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Absolute Parent except through the Child of Being.” ~Jesus transcreated

Sea Change; A Divination

My first time on a cruise ship and the captain says we're in for wind and rain and waves and sets the Beaufort scale to eight.

We're staying in the bow and night is like a wicked rocking and the waves are banging on the forward deck and sleep is something hard and passing shallow.

In the morning such conditions haven't changed, although by noon we've settled in a leather chair up in the bar room called the Crow’s Nest

looking out at seas of twenty-foot high waves and white cap waves upon those waves and plowing bow splash reaching to the windows of our twelfth floor observation deck.

This ain't the Sixteenth-century though and I'm enjoying all the brave new worlds of nautical experience this tempest brings to play.

For I appear as well to be a similar chaotic dream of waves surrounded by unknown deep seas that I, at best, may call deep sleep and be.

A Pastoral of Leaves

The leaves begin to turn their colors from the green we think is natural, although another month reveals space is what they always are,

to reds and oranges and yellows. As a side note, notice none of them are blue. I am looking at their clear reflection in the high slack river.

In the middle of this mesmerizing symmetry there floats a bright red navigation buoy. Call it what we like.

The river of our universal being always sends a sign to pay attention to its underlying current.

The Map of the Gods

I

intending

to know

I Am

is sudden,

nondual and obvious,

although,

within the process

itself,

or mind,

it appears to be

all space-time.

A Map of Truth

Love 

is truth 

from the view of illusion.

Wisdom 

is illusion 

from the view of truth.

Truth 

is 

no view.

Prayer. 

Myth. 

Silence.

Signs of the Apocalypse

It's not so much that everything exists because of consciousness but nothing other is existing but this consciousness.

And so I dream at night to see straight through the dream of daytime. Psychological manipulation is the way the dream is manifested—

understanding and compassion is the way the dream is apprehended and unveiled. So-called external signs will further this direction by the way.

Undoubtedly, if science points to evolution, evolution points to self-awareness. Anyhow, that's all folks.

A Pastoral Told in Time

Seagulls are sitting on slack tide. A fish is jumping out of nowhere. The sky is deepest blue; the sun is radiantly unobservable.

Leaves are floating like a constellation. Another leaf is falling from the heavens. A single wisp of cloud is playing like a dolphin.

Pleasure boats secured to docks are currently approaching nowhere. A cormorant is diving in reflections of its sky.

A breeze is picking up and diamonds start to sparkle on the river. A pure white moth is fluttering in reverence nearby.

A Pastoral Told in Spirit

While contemplating boats upon the river being put away like little toy things at the end of summer play,

I see a falling leaf fall on my folded hands and feel its weather-beaten revelations.

Universal consciousness is like a tree and every insect-riddled sunburnt leaf is just another apparatus cast away in time

making way for its replacement, next spring's gold device continuing the amplifying of awareness in the ground of Buddha nature.

I Am is what I truly am; this body-mind is just another leaf that obsoletes with time, no need imagining some narrative device like death

to tell its story. Trees themselves are speaking truth and beauty in a shimmering October morning glory.

Letters to the Revelations

Without this being, what is love? Without the known, what is that great unknown?

You can try to build a better mousetrap or know you're not a mouse. But seeing through this something is not the same as seeing nothing.

The world has tried affirming its own unaffirmable and nihilism will deny the undeniable. Deconstruction is the dark beginning—

many will get lost within that wood. The world is what it's not but I am what it is.

Division is division only when it’s seen within division. Beyond division, division is intent for that unknown to know this one is that unknown.

Awareness in this consciousness is suddenly aware awareness is but what it is and this phenomenon is nothing.

Thus, the world is your reflection; think but nothing of it. This illusion, even though inherited, is utterly self-generating.

You are all the power and the glory, love. Be this universal. Speak that absolutely.

An Epistle to Death

The universe is called the universe because it’s one holistic entity but yet we cling to superstitious magical beliefs

of separate body parts that live untouched by universal interactions, are endowed with free volition, and are born, survive, and die—

like me—although, as me, I never actually experienced my birth and only know about my future death by some conceptual conjecture.

In truth, there’s only self-aware existence, name it God the Child, and that unknown unmanifest foundation, name it God the Parent,

and its Immaculate Intent to know itself, which seems to take a universe to execute, evolve, and do.

First Epistle to the Meaning of Life

Please listen, love. You’re in the middle of a process which when viewed within that process will appear absurd at best

and downright scary at its worst. So join me for a moment, step away from all the world, and let's consider myth and metaphysics.

Let's talk about this God the Father, call it God the Parent, Absolute Reality, instead.

Such a God would have to be that one without another. In other words, that absolute reality would be the pure subjective subject.

In our experience, there’s no perception of this state, except the one of deepest sleep.

The closest metaphor there is to this subjective subject is a mirror without reflection.

And the closest experiential terminology we have for such a state is pure awareness.

Now, let's take another view of God the Parent, Absolute Reality, Pure Awareness.

That god could never be a god and never know itself. The pure subjective subject thus intends to know itself, and this intention

sets in motion what we call the universe, an evolutionary process by which pure awareness is aware of pure awareness.

The process is reflexive, first creating something other than the pure subjective subject, then intending

this universal object of reflection to evolve as such awareness permeating being, seeing it’s no object but that pure awareness.

Let's call this being God the Child. Let's see that's what existence is. Let's know that all the world is just an object’s alienated view of this intention.

And with that understanding, let's return within the middle of this process and look again with open, clear, and natural eyes.

With my Daughter at the China Blossom

Enjoying such a lotus world

of lineage and love,

knowing there’s not anything

other than this spontaneity,

for the past is purely anecdotal

and the future nonexistent—

I open up my fortune cookie

and there’s open space within it.

Seventh Day Moon

Last evening i was suddenly contacted

by a crescent moon with mystic earthshine—

"peace-loving aliens tried to save america from nuclear war"

—earthlight on the dark side of the lunar landscape

saying awareness is native, belief is the only alien.

There’s Nobody Born Every Minute

Which came first, the hermit or the cracking of the world's illusion? Never mind, it doesn't matter.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss it though. But in the inhalation following such a mournful sigh arrives this further insight:

no longer does it hold undying interest. The world is just a sideshow thought to be the main attraction, but it's not—I am.

Listen, the wind is whispering through mid-September branches that the sun is going nowhere.

An Epistle to a Dream

Every person is a psychological dysfunction of this universal being. Whether the person is a functioning component of society is all that matters to the world. It doesn't want to cure

because it doesn't know the cure. It's all about alarm clocks, peak efficiency, and credit scores. The fact that personal existence is absurd is not a product sold at stores or sermonized on Sundays.

And the further fact that love is proof the personal is not sustainable is usually kept within the family unit if it's kept at all. Possessions are another thing.

Self-inquiry seems to be an esoteric practice even though it would appear to be the question being asked by every two-year-old. Why is just another way of asking who am I.

To answer I am that which is aware of this absurdity of personal existence may not be most appropriate to tell a two-year-old, or sixty-two-year-old for that matter, but loving wisely is.

Yet on another theme, the leaves are turning yellow on the butternuts.

The Gospel of the Great Blue Heron

Self-awareness is an evolutionary height the mind is turning the matter of all being toward.

The universe is functioning with all its processes and heart to make this happen.

Everything in space and time is how reality appears when viewed within the great divide—

although reality is not divided. Inside the process of an absolutist subjectivity aware

of absolute existence is the paradox of relative objective functioning, in which the crucial turn

appears to be to that which turns, volitional, although it's absolutely not. And with that said,

the blue September river sparkles with an afternoon abundance while a great blue heron turns into an eagle.

A Reflexive Triptych

*

The world is where the mind is turning back to what it is. Recluses are Arjunas too.

I want to say more in less. Or less in something. Unthinking, consciousness gets to know a mind and thinks that's all there is.

A metaphor is the dream language of all communication between deep sleep and sleep-walking. Neither traditional, nondualist, or free.

**

Awareness is the primal absolute—intent to know myself—being is the universal name for big bang—mind suffering the turning—

Silence is the mind reflecting—realizing is seeing I am the mirror—self-awareness is the primal absolute.

Billions of so-called years happening in no time. That's my story and I'm wearing it. Pure awareness and self-awareness are not two.

***

Running is meditation for type A. And vice versa. My heroes have always been type zero.

Being is more than enough practice. Thinking is a way too hard. The reflection of a room inside the picture window.

Basho walking through quicksilver woods. Ninja kanji hanging in the silence. Ryokan studies the branch of a cherry tree outside his window.

The Letter of Intent

One false in the equation means all is false. Receive and surrender. Now trumps memory. Beauty is happening.

Statistics are merely how one divides things. What's more important than the divided knowing it's holistic? More pieces?

I am the mirror. The world is just reflection. Identity plus action equals intent. Transformation is love.

Personal deconstruction is the ultimate revolution. Either one deconstructs oneself or one dies trying.

The razor's edge is nothing but seeing nothing while not believing in nothing. Beyond all marketing, I am.

Right now, one is being doing the best one knows how being is done. Please continue. Love, Intent.

Duty Calling Back to Sun

Our first September heat wave since nineteen eighty-two but I’m conditioned to want cooler weather

ever since this Wednesday indicated back-to-school. Of course, my calendar is empty on this day as most

and weather isn't necessarily a factor in my schedule. No school, no work, or no vacation interrupt my planned existence.

For America, I'm not exactly wealthy, but today I feel I have it made in the shade—while most are busy struggling

in the sun of their survival. How could I not stop to see the sun that shines from these eyes is the same sun

shining through that picture window. Yes, I owe such self-awareness to our social contract.

Between the Two

On Labor Day the lake is suddenly abandoned but my father likes to leave on early Tuesday crack of dawn instead.

Monday evening I walk the shore and sit on docks and rafts now stacked on land and look out on an empty lake.

It feels like winter melting summer into nothing but a blank reflection of a vacant sky.

On this cusp, I rise. Between the love of summer and void of winter stands I.

The Unknown’s Creed

Feel the happening. Accept the transformation. Surf the sea’s intent. Unknowing is the turning.

The teacher explains the wave; the sage is pointing to the sea. Revelation is not deconstruction like space is not the building.

There's no reason to change the world. It works for what it's worth. Oh physicist, know first thyself.

Between boredom and the great unknown is the dream. Between the plan and self-inquiry is coyote.

Not of the world equals no-mind. In the world equals chop wood carry water. One is always irradiating

Certain Silence

Fourteen months of reading

writing speaking poetry

self-publishing a book and now

I wait to see the final proof.

I find a certain silence setting in

but I'm so focused in those ways

I even write a poem about

this certain silence setting in.

There's nothing else to say.

Exegesis of Self-Awareness and Prayer of Oneself

Being truly fucked-up is not knowing you're fucked-up. Many have had this deconstructive experience.

Being truly fucked-up is in direct proportion to lack of self-awareness. Everyone is aware; self-awareness sees through everyone.

Oneself transforming oneself sees through oneself. One seeing through itself is absolutely it!

Warning. You are probably emotionally damaged if you need to see through yourself. So think about it if you can.

Self-deconstruction is founded on forgiveness, insight, and devotion. The golden rule: don't pass on your shit.

One equals forgiveness plus compassion plus love times the unknown. If one is the unknown, one is.

If one is other than the unknown, one is divided and separate and alone. As long as you're playing, don't leave any love on the table.

Ourselves—forgive oneself forgetfulness—see with clarity oneself—and devote oneself to that oneself as one does—realize oneself—love, no one.

In the name of pure awareness, enlightening intent, universal being, and the turn of deconstructing mind.

The Precipice of Emptiness

Half-way up the Precipice, I stopped to summarize the situation. This hike had been my nemesis since I had started hiking in Acadia.

In summer it was closed because of nesting falcons and in autumn it was blocked by my own fear of hiking something almost vertical and sheer.

In winter ice prevented even thinking anything about it and in spring I had to ramp things up on Connor’s Nubble or that simple trail

up Gorham Mountain with an ocean view to kill such obvious egoic thoughts or two.

But here it was September, and my hands were on the iron rungs sunk deep into the granite ready to ascend my apprehensions

toward the peak of no return. That's when I heard the runners breathing down my neck.

I stepped aside and watched two high school students jogging up the trail between the end of classes and their evening homework.

They passed me in a flash of adolescent joy. And absolutely I was humbled but it didn't really matter.

I was such a one now with that mountain nothing personal could destroy, even those same harbingers later laser-streaking by

while I was somewhere only near three-quarters to the summit. A quarter later there was nothing left to say.

The beginning of the end of days spent hiking in Acadia was under way.

Nondual Tractate on Poetry

No words describe the truth and yet I am the truth. Even pointing to the truth is much too brazen of an act

and maybe dangerous to another who mistakes it for a thought and then believes it going on to form a new religion resulting in empirical destruction, inquisitions, holy wars, and waiting for the end of times which may require their personal intervention on authority of voices in their head or paragraphs they read inside their venerated book.

But poetry may be more subtle. Lines are written in a way where nothing solid is ever said—

because it's in-between the lines that's really talking. Here between the lines the spirit of the poet speaks

and here between the lines the spirit of an audience is listening. And spirit equals spirit.

There’s no difference. There’s no two. There's just an open clarity of knowing, being, loving space. No hat is hanging there.

Instant Apocalypse

The world is like a training ground in which the matter of illusion learns to see right through itself, or not.

It may not seem our lives are filled with quiet desperation but that Facebook face is neither truthful nor original.

Something truly broken can't be fixed by all the empire's holy bishops or its countless soldiers.

Neither will the revolution never be the status quo. A picture only tells ten-thousand words because it stops

the transformation in a freeze frame. Never try to do the same at home. When ice is melting, melted water helps

to melt the ice some more and not attempt to change the ice's shape to something moderately nice.

Daydreams in the mirror are much closer when they disappear. This rhymes with neither now nor here.

The Book of Reflexive Happening

Is self-awareness something deeper then the scientific method? What role does love play in my experiment?

When the false sees through the false, what is truth? Knowing? Being? Loving?

Awareness aware of awareness is the instantaneous manifestation. This is satcitananda!

Matter is the closing; mind is the turning; knowing-being-loving is the grand opening.

The closing makes a big bang. The turning hurts. I am the grand opening.

The Apocryphon of Memory

Memories are yesterday translated by tomorrow, neither of which exists of course. Or as god is my witness I'll never remember again. Yes, the real use of remembering is self-remembering.

Memories appear to be sacred because they're not real. If your identity relies on memory and your memory is unreliable, who am I? If memory is false, only existence remains.

One falsehood makes all false. There is a fine line between the concept of existence and existence itself. This is why silence precedes embodiment. All beliefs must pass.

One precedes three without two. I have to believe in something before I’m self-aware. Always look at the big picture and not some idol. Always remember 'I am' is not a memory.

I only know existence. If you want to speak to the absolute, stay on the line. True Tantra emphasizes the world to make it more obvious to see through. Seeing through yourself is being oneself.

Being oneself is the absolute direction. You will be tested for your own evaluation; there's no final grade. Between existence and the concept of existence is all the tea in China.

At first it's difficult to remember there's nothing to remember. Then the latest and greatest impediment to knowing who I am is indoor plumbing. And when I discovered writing was another business, I filed chapter 11.

Treatise on Quality of Understanding

"For realization, understanding is essential. Action is only incidental" ~Nisargadatta Maharaj

“A man of steady understanding will not refrain from action. Action is the test of truth.” ~Nisargadatta Maharaj

Is this concept of merit, then, the appraisal of one’s action in the test of truth, and not an individual’s doing but the understanding?

In observing one’s actions in mindfulness—one sees negative emotions—then the test of truth reveals an uncertain understanding—without merit.

One doesn’t accumulate merit through virtuous action—such merit is acquired only in furthering understanding—with earnestness—love in action.

The further one understands—what one is not—the more what one is—acts.

The quality of understanding is primary—the merit of action is simply the test of that quality.

One explanation for furthering understanding is just to know what I'm not and be what i am.

The satguru is one’s teacher and the world is one’s testing ground. I prefer my river hut and distant village to whatever. 

The Apocalypse of Beginning

How does one start when there's no beginning? For example, I've heard white rabbits are well-read.

My birth is quite the story and the rumors of my death are completely unsubstantiated. This leaves here, now and change for all my thoughts.

I haven't yet begun but still I'm in the middle of this story somehow, somewhere, sometime.

It's true the world is in the mind; awareness is reflected in this being and that has nearly brought us to the end.

All mysteries require the one who pulls the trigger. The name in this one is Intent although for purposes of truthfulness, it continues nameless.

If there were a god, just how could it begin to know itself? Just where would this subjective absolute begin?

The Book of Ancient Math

Deconstruction becomes compassion or gets stuck in deconstruction; this is cynicism. Love becomes compassion or gets stuck in love; this is romance. Compassion becomes truth or consequences.

Romance is fiction. Cynicism is non-fiction. Truth is not either. Consequences are neither here nor now. Belief is the beginning of all nervous breakdowns. Self-awareness is the cure.

The hero studies beyond this world but practices in this one. The student studies beyond this world and doesn't practice. The master is beyond this world and is the practice. Do not mistake the master for your practice.

Deconstruction is the greatest martial art. Guardianship is the greatest love. Knowing oneself is all. All things seen by the eye is karma. All things seen-through by the eye is I.

Less than one nanosecond of being is worth ten thousand seconds of thinking. Ten thousand seconds of thinking equals believing. No mind equals x.

When does practice, be it loving or deconstructive, turn real? Yes, compassion. Yes, seeing through. A better word for seeing-through is understanding. Thus, compassion equals understanding.

If compassion is less than understanding, comedy. If understanding is less than compassion, tragedy. If comedy equals tragedy you're history. When does practice equal karma?

Between change and disbelief is what's happening. Your confusion turns to intent when you understand your hesitation. Reflection is your vector. Deflection is your fear. No math is an island.

The Apocalypse at the Movies

Startled out of bed while in the deep abyss of natural awareness, I dream. Daylight is the pigment of imagination.

Beliefs are filtering the light of this existence manufacturing the spectrum of emotions. God, they’re really colorful and mesmerizing!

Inertia is the world's one law and love its only outlaw. None of this is what it seems to be but all of it is what it is.

Awareness only sees itself in seeing through reflections in itself. Because there really isn't any object, no one talks about that subject.

Knowledge is experiential only. Words can only point to what one is. That's why we cry at the movies.

The Book of Santa Yana Yada Yada

Behold the universe I am. From starting with the stars to interning with insects, what a piece of change it is. Awareness is the only constant.

Watching rain descend as mercury behind a picture window, I reflect upon myself. There's a certain Sunday samadhi in the air today.

Two cups of green iced tea was followed by a mug of coffee. That supplied the bang I needed.

Zhuangzi loves to tell a joke but Jesus loves himself some love. Addicted to caffeine and sugar, I prefer to write for prophecy. Or two.

What would nothing do?

Division is original beginning of the one unborn. When young, my peas were separated from my mashed potatoes.

While in high school, I subscribed to Time to contemplate the weekly covers of the latest war or neoteric politician.

College boy, I marched on Washington opposing Nixon's opposition to another people's opposition to… and so on goes the game of drones.

This world has always been about the lowest commonplace denomination. Stop the presses! Love is one way, deconstruction is the other.

She takes the high road and he takes the low road and I'll be home in no time.

Epistle to the Reflexive Eye

What isn't in consciousness?

Since time is in consciousness, consciousness knows all time. So if space-time is in consciousness, what is science really observing?

If self-inquiry is in consciousness, who is really observing consciousness? Thus the highest science is awareness absolutely aware of awareness.

Revelation appears to skip a step between mental observations. Revelation is the skip.

Read between the lines. The mirror does not reflect upon itself. Reflecting on my wondrous reflection—I am That.

Mind is the conditioning. Being is the healing. Awareness is awareness. Just be until you aren't being aware. Absolutely.

PS. The Absolute is aware of itself through the Big Being. Evolution is deconstruction of the material. Love is kryptonite.