The Map of Empire

The original and only sin is selling one's empirical experience to the empire of belief. See through the fear! There's one western empire; truth is mathematically eliminated. There are several eastern empires; truth lives in-between the lines. 

Most Buddhism etc is as much a tool of empire as Christianity. There's just more empires in the east for truth to hide. Most westerners get lost in the empires of the east. If it isn't experiential, it's still the empire. The west doesn't know the east is playing and the east doesn't know the west means business. 

Western fear is death as eastern fear is rebirth. Undying and unborn is the universal light of truth. It's just a part of the conspiracy until proven otherwise. If it isn't confirmed by scientific observation of one's own experience, it's just more hearsay. If the empire of social conditioning is untrustworthy, who can you trust but your unconditioned self? Being. Krishna. Christ. I am! 

The Song of Burning Driftwood

Breathing on kindling does nothing 

until there’s a spark—

and when the flames are rising, 

breathing is nothing but the fire’s own intake.

Consequently, mistaking effect for cause

is the prime mover of ignorance

and the essential stuff of paradox.

Around & around & around

the driftwood circles in the reedy shallows—

until the current of intent transports the flotsam unerringly to sea.

An Epistle to All Performers

The world is the nightmare of not understanding

it’s all just a dream

—deconstruction is the only Olympic competition

—self-realization is the ultimate scientific mythology

—absolute reality is otherwise thought to be unknown

where love is our great intergalactic pastime.

Play!

The New Book of Revelations: 2. Being

The world is neither symptom nor disease and its divisions can't be cured nor be investigated by any worldly means,

be they scientific, philosophical, political, religious–ritual, or humanistic. No egoic effort will succeed.

For the world is just a fragment of the process by which intent to know myself has come into this Being,

first descending to a dark objective universe of matter and developing a mind identifying solely with one separate object

and in space and time with no effort of the mind or any other object see myself within this great reflexive mirror of intent.

This is the grand heroic story of the individual in seeing through the world of matter and the mind

by following the permeating pure intent of self-awareness, not primordial memory of body or the ego.

Light is always light although to see itself there is this matter of reflection.

The New Book of Revelations: 1. First I

In an unknown vision there is I, like the space of open sky. That I is absolutely all in all subjective, not an object of a great blue heron in the clarity of I.

But almost fourteen-billion years ago in time of mind but nonexistent in that empty sky of I, there is intent to know myself, the pure awareness of the noumenal-only noumenon,

without phenomena of any mindstuff galaxies and constellations like andromeda or sagittarius, or spirit animals and other totem owls and foxes, or the superstring of all symphonic musical dualities,

that I which I name Shiva here. Within an unknown Vishnu, Shiva has spontaneous Shakti of intent to know this Shiva. And this Shakti in a sudden revelation comes to Krishna

being which the mind hears as a bang in echoing of nonexistent space and time for I know I, and nothing else, this self-awareness of an I, an eagle’s eye within a sky without an eagle flying by.

There’s only I aware of I. So Shiva says one word—let Shakti say the words to bring your story into being, all the interstates and manufacturing the empire of illusion, me and you for two in Krishna.

The Divination of I Am

O God save me from religion. O Buddha protect me from all philosophy. O Universe deliver me from scientific theories. O I Am is the only emperor of all ice cream.

Words run deep. Believing in their surface meaning is shallow. Poetry swims in the deep end. Prophecy dives. It has nothing to do with an imagined future. The prophet uses each word to point to the source of all words—now. And the first word is—I am.

Poet or prophet? Matter or consciousness? Science believes in its myth. Prophecy mythologizes all belief. The scientist is the new priest. Shiva is the only prophet. In the beginning was the Word and the Word was I-am.

Shakti is the way to Shiva and Shiva is the way to Vishnu. The prophet must live in a virtual reality, the hermitage of one's doing. All bad habits began as the best Way thinkable. The world is the primal habit. Seeing through the world is self-realization, not stopping it.

One second of self-realization is worth fourteen billion years of evolution—don't undersell your self to Maya. But if you must undersell yourself for you and yours, keep your self alive. Keep dancing in some way. It's either dance or die. Transformation or belief. Jesus doesn't live in a photograph—or shroud.

If poetry swims and prophecy dives, revelation breathes water. Postmodernism is this world's prophecy but Shakti is always the revelator. The transformer. Experience. Nature. Now. I am... That. There is nothing like it. After revelation is silence. I am speechless. That.

Forgiveness first. It's neither heaven nor hell. It's just one side of the river that has no sides. After the necessities, further. Everything on earth is sunlight looking for itself. All religions believe in a way. And will die for the idea of it. Being is the way. Unborn.

Scientifically. Do i have experiential proof of being born? Has death been proved experientially? No, birth and death have not been proved experientially. Using the scientific method itself, all I really know is I am. Case closed. Being open clear free.

So be until otherwise. Being is easy. Try imagining not being. Like science fiction. If a tree falls, does the earth hear it? I am is the only scientific knowledge. Everything else is just an unproven theory. Truth may not be practical but it is experiential.

Deep sleep is I before me. Good night.

Rivers Prayer

O goddess of the rivers

your home is of the sea,

but Son still walks within

this shady pleasant valley

beneath this clear and perfect

liberating open sky—

O Shiva please protect

me with the light of I.

The Book of Citizen Shiva

The world is just the natural result of living

in the dividing mechanism of the mind.

So trying to fix the world is like

yelling at the theater screen

urging some citizen Cain

to see it’s all about the rosebud.

O Shiva,

how many times do I have to tell you

turn that damned projector off!

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.