Stay Still

Imagine

there's no separation

and the universe is one

being self-aware—

it's easy if I try because it's true.

And I have this great notion I am.

So fractal me this.

To escape the fear,

one has to hike the highest mountains.

To see through fear—

stay still.

Wood by Frogs

Being is the center of all candy.

Candy temporarily stops thought.

It's like material meditation.

Swallow only after tasting being.

The point of being is

forgetting and the point of this

forgetting is self-awareness.

Forgetting is dreaming.

Dreaming is that which never forgets.

Thought is all about survival. Not being.

Thought is to fear as love is to being

as paranoia is to paradox.

Render unto love your being

is the crucifixion and the resurrection.

Listen. The world is the ultimate hack.

The antidote is always love.

It's not about dying before dying

but being through the fear.

Never believe.

Self-inquiry is the only doctorate.

Listen. The Powwow River

falling over original rocks—

this is always Native America.

Drop body-mind. Be Hopi.

And the Hopi know their martyrs.

No pictures please.

It takes seventeen

syllables to break the code.

Earth wind and fire!

I hear fireworks like thunder

on the beach tonight.

There's an eastern wind.

Variety is the revolution.

Being is the flag.

Wood frogs.

Ode to Myself

Ignorance isn't bliss.

Stuck between abyss

and a deep state.

But not of the world,

by the world, and

for the world.

Mind moves.

Waves sea.

The way I see,

it's all about myself.

Long division

is another name

for memory.

World war three.

Meet the new math.

Same as the old math.

And love isn't otherworldly.

Love is out of this world.

Like

myself.

Begin at the beginning.

To be.

First infinitive.

Conceptual foundation

for the dreaming.

I am and never is.

Such is self-awareness.

First self.

Best self.

Myself.

Pure awareness

being

self-aware.

This takes

a universe of space

and an evolution of time.

But what the hell.

I've got nowhere

special to be,

myself.

Study Questions for 21st Century Acid Test

1. What do the characters of love and zero have in common?

2. Where is self-awareness in that spectrum?

3. If science assumes the universe is divided, and,

the universe is, by definition, not divided,

then isn't the ground of science shaky?

4. Nevertheless let me show you a picture of my granddaughter living

lovingly in exile in the middle of Virginia.

5. As if the Tao of Dante is like some enchanted horse is pissing in the ear of Basho.

6. The walrus did it.

7. I recently read that koans shed their cells every seven years.

8. Philosophy is change. Wisdom will cost you your last dollar. That's how spirituality functions in the material world. Take it or leave it.

9. DM me.

Twenty-First Century Acid Test

Love is a zero-letter word.

Love is an early sign of self-awareness.

Love is the universe before division thought

it was the subject to be taught.

Love is the image of my daughter

with her daughter and that great embrace

of all fertility goddesses to their left and to their right.

In the middle of our song of love,

I come to myself within a dark wood

where the straight way begins and ends.

As every second is the sign of one.

So what exactly is

the sound of cutting off our left trees

to save my right face?

Heraclitus never changes.

Change is emptiness.

Form is climate.

Nein

That I am not I am is the ultimate deconstructing neti neti koan psalm and parable. Holy apparition Batman, it's hard to believe but it's all good. Awareness isn't self-aware without the spelling of unawareness.

An unconscionable thing happens on the way of consciousness. And forgiveness is another way of saying I forgot. Turn on, bleach, and repeat.

Wood frogs before fireflies. Poetry before lightning bugs. Janis before swine. Here's another piece of my heart.

One great love exploding into disco balls. Or Jackie Wilson Said. Kingdom of Heaven. Red Queen of Wonderland. Awareness being self-aware. Get over it.

Length, width, and depth are the names of one dimension. Here without thirst. Now without a second. It's neither do what you love or love what you do—Love Does. Just try to understand.

June and the north is jumping. I don't know but Alaska. Form is transformation and emptiness is climate change.

Time  abbreviates. Space amplifies. Alton Bay and reds. The slow loud sounds of a summer night. In the egg. Not of the mescaline.

That one night of falling stars over midnight half moon lake. Silent night. Black hole night. All for one and one for all.

Of the moon. Not in the watery half moon. Frogs before crickets. June before August. Wooly Bully.

By being anything imaginable, I know what I’m not. Of firecrackers and the mouths of frogs. Something this way Moby Dick.

To be now or not, that is self-inquiry. Listen. Do you want to know the secret? Great intent is doing like a pendulum does.

A light year is like the speed of unawareness being self-aware. You will know division by the hat it wears. Love the one you're with as if yourself because why not?

Arjuna is the way of the warrior. Krishna is the way of the lover. Even the Gita is a koan.

999

1. think of.

2. feel as.

not of the dreamworld

but as dream being.

open head. swallow whole.

love

the day.

be

the night.

to the personal,

the absolute is death.

but consciouness builds the body now

like the grateful dead built their sound system

circa 1973. design by owsley.

can you even believe a speaker thinking it's the music!

as one is every idea imaginable. ten trillion galaxies. one flower.

and self-awareness is

the universe of pure awareness.

in the way

of the bird,

one being,

and

procreant

urge

without

check,

not even nothing.

imagining one

one is not

divided and one is not

without—

there is nothing

but vast integrity;

there is nothing

but high fidelity;

there is nothing

but the deepest whole.

for one is

the greatest concept

ever imagined—

all other concepts form

a thick and delusional fog

emanating from

one’s primal energy.

thus if imagining one to be

other than one is

the poison of conditioning,

then imagining one to be

one is

the quickest antidote.

.

Being in the core. Awareness from on high.

Awareness being self-aware is scientific myth—where science is just another story and mythology is fact articulated in the language of lies.

All thought is simply a virus like an Asiatic bittersweet vine and love is like the next tree over.

If the past is prologue, the preface is the way to original face. June and it's not easy being rare.

Forgive yourself. Heavy lies the crown of creation. Enjoy this ode to joy of June for there is where the absolute is living.

And the black hole sees itself within the sun. The Nova Scotia fog is lifting.

The colors of a dream after waking to the fact that black is white or vice versa.

Dropping off body and mind is like a flower. The fragrance of true eyes. In the name of pure awareness and all projection.

No preface. No afterword. See what. Touch who. Hear where. Smell when. Taste why.

Nothing but the net of now. Do you want to know a secret? Consciousness is the fountain of youth.

Different tribes. One truth. Anything other than one or zero thinks it's one or zero.

Growing old is my latest koan. Poetry isn't real. Late night perambulations. Trust is like a unicorn.

First there is belief but there's no belief but there's what there is. Love without check is instant karma.

Karma without love is a hungry ghost. The holy grail is not an object. The renaissance is all about perspective.

Nothing beats trump but no trump. Henry David Thoreau. Leo Tolstoy. Martin Luther King. Arjuna.

See through you. Like crossing the Mojave Desert. You can’t make a horse drink but you can’t lead a person to water either.

Act Nine

"The intention is to see the state of things in their correct perspective."

They're never going to catch the midnight rider. The eagle flies on Friday and Saturday I go out to play.

War is high division. And the workaday world is low war. Do not ask for whom the day remembers. The day is dreaming you.

Whatever isn't love is thought hiding as emotion. And philosophy is the blackest magic of all thoughts.

Love is that which thinks it's separate but knows it's not and thought is just a tool.

Joy is this child-like River Beyond adulteration. Joy is like the last number nine of number nine number nine number nine number nine.

Joy is my corrected vision. Joy is universal being without a personal check. And joy is a river overflowing its banks.

For joy is the default position. As if deep sleep is really what you are. And then you dreamt a big bad bang so I, pure awareness, am also self-aware.

Like take your stand on the highest ground you know. Dare to be embodied! No sin. No saint. No doing. Merit is intent. Being is Te of Tao.

The true trapper is like the Holy Trappist Who is waiting silently to be trapped. Like Thomas Merton at Polonnaruwa.

Learning to be is the final degree. Asking who am I is just like saying here I am. Sometimes you eat the snake and sometimes the snake eats you.

Heart Four

No Dream for Tao

You cannot eff the ineffable! You are not universal but I am. Deconstruction too begins at home.

As every wind cries Maya, my every shiver cries for Shakti. You say relativity. I say fake news.

If love is like the one perceiving double apperceiving all is single, zero is just that.

If free will can will what free will is free to will, then why isn't your free will just willing freedom?

It may be late May but where have all the frogs gone?  Altering consciousness is the scarlet letter.

All means of deconstruction rest outside the law but within love. And so I say unto myself, don't join them in division.

Unjoin them in one. Unjoin from your projection. Unjoin from the joint chiefs of staff god love them.

The personal is the little dream. Being is the big dream. No dream for Tao.

When the ghost of love appears, and questions if you know her, do not beg of her to listen.

Great love appears to be our tragedy but always is my comedy. Wilderness is in the eyes of the beholder. Mary and the silence of the frogs.

In the Mary month of May, mother of god, blessed be our flowering in self-awareness.

Remember, only the paradoxical is real. Three is the only paradoxical number that you've never seen. Blessed is the holy trinity of me you and I.

The personal is false. Truth is universal. Deconstruction is the holy spirit. But deconstruction without love is genocide.

Apple. Orange. Consciousness. Shiver as two. Feel like one. Let us dream as if pure awareness is being self-aware. Imagine that.

absolution if

There's absolutely no reason to know you're not. I like dreaming too. Like Always Dreaming v Classic Empire.

But it's as I am! Not all about me or as it is. Call me cloud computing. Or Ishmael.

The continent is my tail. The oceans are my mouth. Pangaea or Panthalassa. Black hole or big bang.

Zero one zero one zero one zero one. Broccoli or bacon. Paper or plastic.

Postmodernism means there is no meaning

but I am beyond meaning, Frankie Lee. As woke is prologue to awakening. Wednesday is prophecy. Saturday is revelation.

Love without deconstruction is Timothy Leary's dead. To repeat. Love is transmission. Transmision is being. Being is absolution.

If memory serves the great intent of the present. The holy ghost is that fleeting world where the unknown knows itself. Call it cherry blossom.

Call me cherry blossom. So call off the dogs of fear and enjoy. One is knowing oneself. Praise be!

Like the unknown knowing itself is as the world turns. Intent reminds. Whatever. First is love. So there is no second.

Thank you Socrates. Blessed is the valley of the Maharaj. Who iambic? Ten thousand causes. One result. No clue, amirite?

Feel the love and filter out the thought. Italicize this please. One two three four. Love love love love.

Act two. Always deconstruct before constructing. Love the one you love. Self-inquiry is the meaning of life. Who cares?

Deconstructing the Great White

There's nothing to be done but undo what has been done.

Being is universal and the visible universe is its body but the world is just its dream.

Or only the absolute is real and being is reflection, mirror, and objects closer than they appear. Yes, the frogs are strong tonight.

Where the buffalo Rome and the dearly infallible play at being Holy Father occupy the dream but resist identification.

In the desert, there are no trees to measure skeletons and skulls. In the rainforest, there are waterfalls to apperceive dependent origination.

Living in the city of the gods, there are skyscrapers and everything. Now you can call me Tao or you can call me I—but there are no words.

Abracadabra genesis of birth. Hocus-pocus apocalypse of death. Warning: nondual deconstruction may result in one befalling nothing.

The white bird sits in her golden cage unaware but she is feeling the burn.

The Self-awareness Project

People are not born. We are imagined. Pure awareness appearing to be unaware is self-awareness seeing through itself. 

This song and dance of consciousness is unbelievably phenomenal. On the final ascent of the western slope is seen the sea of dawnland.

This virtual reality is all about the one forgetting zero. As the emperor of greenleaf is the oriole. Bee the buzz. 

Because there's no beginning, you'll never know the end, even if it's all you think about. April mixes memory and May.

By deconstructing the personal, the universal is absolute. It's projection, stupid. 

Writing myself into the canyon of death rode the ten thousand. Enjoy the film. I can't remember being born but I was taught death. 

I read Frost and I read Jack Kerouac and loved them side by each. Stuck inside of Lowell with the Salem blues again. 

Quick brown fox only attendance is required. Empire feeds on the thought of death. 

Understanding consciousness appears to be the only way. Que sera sera. Keep on being until it doesn't hurt.

Ayuh

Division is the death we've all been born by its fear. Love may be an indirect path but every path appears to have a trailhead.

And the lock is always looking for its key until it sees the gate is gateless. As a child, I loved. Unborn again, I know I am, and that is love.

The dream may die when we awaken, but since love was never born, it's still there. And the only ghost is holy.

Possession is ninety-nine percent of the law, but the other one percent is rendered unto the one.

You cannot solicit the lord with prayer! And only those outside the law can deconstruct this nineteenth nervous empire for blessed is the one.

If self-awareness is intent, unawareness is like Zeno's Paradox. Ayuh, you can't get here from there.

By May the Tenth

A butterfly in 1967.

Tuesday afternoon tonight.

History may be written but only love is transmitted.

Dream the dream but love the one.

Science is good theory but bad science.

Self-awareness is inevitable because time is an illusion.

But because space appears, expect delays.

Caterpillars are creating their cocoons because.

When the great divide appears, you won't believe it.

No more words for now.

Spontaneous, transformative and one.

ED on Here

The Wild Child

"I pass death with the dying and birth with the new-wash'd babe, and am not contained between my hat and my boots" –Walt Whitman

Consciousness tells it like it is. Whether consciousness listens is the story. There's no commandments but compassion is the last judgment.

And loving death is the only way to truly live. For death is the mother of all concepts. And bhakti is the perfect deconstructor.

Like lilacs last and the cherry blossom—mayday the docks are emptying the river of wild child as if.

For the Merrimack is offspring of the Winnipesaukee and Pemigewasset— the smile of the great spirit and beautiful water in a high place.

Always Dreaming

Memory is the mirror in which pure awareness manufactures self-awareness. It's as if Narcissus turns himself into a pond to see the seed of hydrogen in water. So the rings of space-time are like cross sections of a tree that always stands.

What if the princess falls in love with a public frog making mizu no oto every night? Evolution isn't what you think it is but so am I. And lilacs by the roadside is the beauty truth forgets.

Venus and Mars are out tonight but Mercury is the secret knowing. One sees the light by deconstructing shadows. So relax. The Tao doesn't take the worship of false idols personally.

deuces and one-eyed jacks

universal consciousness

identifying

with a part

of the universal

is personal

slash divisional—

war, insanity

and suffering.

whatever,

give me more!

because

the two of hearts is played,

the one-eyed jack appears—

who is the ace of spades?

Transcreating Christ: Do unto Oneself

Ask and you are given. 

Seek and one is finding. 

Knock and be opened.

For every asking is receiving 

and the seeking is the finding 

and the knocking is being opened as oneself.

Or is there a person among you, 

if your child asks for bread, 

will be giving instead a stone?

Or if asked for a fish, offer snake?

So do unto oneself as you would do for others.


Note: Obviously, I recognize that this is a somewhat radical transcreation of Matthew 7:7-12, but one I feel is not only necessary, but inevitable, if one sees 7:11 as some poor priestly interpretation of the wisdom in the previous lines, and so not included here ("If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Father which is in heaven give good things to them that ask him?"). Once this is seen, it is also seen that 7:12 is not some lone line sticking out as a sore thumb and translated as a golden rule, but instead is directly connected to 7:9-10 and the beautiful two lines before those. Nisargadatta Maharaj, the great Indian sage, says, “If you think that Buddha, Christ or Krishnamurti speak to the person, you are mistaken. They know well that the vyakti, the outer self, is but a shadow of the vyakta, the inner self, and they address and admonish the vyakta only.” Thus 7:12 is not some gilded rule of personal conduct but exactly that address to the inner self, oneself. Let Christ be Christ.

Transcreating Christ:Christ Consciousness is Non-volitionaland All-encompassing

How does Christ Consciousness come to be?

It's as if we humans cast seeds in the ground, 

and while we’re sleeping and rising night and day, 

the seed is springing up and growing in a way

we're not aware, for the earth is executing

without our doing a thing—first the blade, then the ear,

then the full grain within the ear. And when the crop is ripe,

one is sending for the sickle presently for the harvesting.

  

And to what shall we compare this Christ Consciousness? 

It’s like a mustard seed—

which when planted in the ground is the smallest

of all the seeds on earth. But once the seed is sown, 

it rises to become the greatest of all the greens,  

and puts forth its all-encompassing branches

where even the birds of the heavens take refuge.

.

Transcreating Christ:Parables of the Lamp and True Measure

Is a lamp placed within a measuring container

or underneath a full body recliner? 

Is it not set instead on a stand

in the heart of one's living room

where nothing is hidden except to be made aware

and nothing is secret but to be revealed?

 

The true measure with which one measures

is measured out to one and always more is given one,

for the one who has all, still more is further given.

But for the one who has nothing,

even that nothing one has

will surely pass away.

Transcreating Christ: The Parable of the Sower

In life the sower is always sowing

seeds of wisdom as natural as can be.

First seeds fall upon the highway of your world

and little birds of large appetite rumor it away.

Next seeds fall upon hard ground of human knowledge

where the soil is superficial but the grain appears to grow without delay,

yet since this earth has little depth of true intelligence,

the first clear dazzling light of day overwhelms the early growth,

and as these seedlings have no true roots, they wither.

Subsequently seeds descend among the weeds

where no compassion tends the soil

and thorns of great hostility chokes them all away.

Yet there comes a time seeds land among responsive ground

and bears its fruit to thirty times, one-hundred times,

ten-thousand times, this great awakening—

whoever has ears to hear, listen.

1704222310 or denial is the river

Once upon a time, she thought she was a person, and every now and then forgets she's not. She used to wonder why her god condemned the world to suffering violence and war. Now she knows there's other definitions for division.

She can't deny her being although she only uses such possessive pronouns in a manner of speaking about that which appears to matter. In order to be self-aware, one must first be unaware, and her earthly guardians, lovingly or otherwise, ensured she was.

Every now and then, she felt as if there was no then, as if a river were to suddenly appear within an Arizona desert. Then she read about her consciousness and knew she was that consciousness and consciousness is pure awareness being self-aware and that is that.

The grass is green. The sky is blue. The sun is yellow. I am being red. Every leaf is testament to that unknown and absolutely sweet Marie the wind is crying.

Not only is beauty truth and truth is beauty but red-winged blackbirds, cherry blossoms, orioles, and absolutely self-awareness. Nothing is as it appears to be said Alice in some laundromat at Second Street and Vine.

Twenty years of schooling and I never made the first shift, says Alice to Bob Dylan. There is nothing you can do about it said Alice to the caterpillar busy deconstructing its construction on the way to self-awareness.

Or is it just a butterfly she sees one day within a dream up high upon the blue ridge. Another day, another singular satori. One day a daughter comes from her own body and she begins to know the absolute significance of division in understanding non-duality.

Mind-training is just another name for deconstruction, a most earnest postmodernism. Deny the thought of being all you want but denial is the river.

1704211049 or revelation is bound to be

Being is open free universal and spontaneous but the world has taught me natural transformation is disastrous to my person. Earthquakes, floods, volcanoes and tornadoes. Lions, tigers, bears and other primal fears. It's all happening out of nowhere! This translation of the revelation is more neo-traditional than postmodern or reactionary.

Hiroshima and Nagasaki are nothing more than cherry blossoms. April is the crying of a child. August is a lion's roar. There is no difference. All you know is life. Every thought methinks is death. But I am the white whale. Or the walrus.

Transformation is to Tao as being is to pure awareness as an earthquake is to shut your mouth and dig it. Love is following the way of love and not some other way that looks like love. In division is beginning and the end. But the calculus of truth is unborn and resurrected.

Awareness hits you. There is no me but I am. Satori whiskey tango. What's wrong with nowhere? What's so good about our time together? Self-awareness self-awareness self-awareness.

And the magic of imagination seeing its foundation of conditioning is completely magical as it is. Imagine indoor plumbing on Mount Olympus! Belief is that nothing to fear we fear. Never mind the big bollocks. If you ask, who am I, I shall answer.

I was raised on Mad Magazine. I came of age with gonzo. Gonzo is to beat as seeing is to waking up. Electrical revelation is bound to be the very next thing.

Understand the change. Be awareness.

1704201500 or Tao alone informs one

uttered to you is the secret knowing of the absolute; it is just you, the secret knowing, actually speaking ~Kena Upanishad (tr-sr)

You can think about being but one can only be awareness.

The god you name is not the god one is.

The Tao that can be named is not the Tao that is.

Thinking about being is not knowing being; being is the only knowing.

That being doesn't know awareness but being is awareness

is the deepest knowing—call this self-awareness.

Listen. That Tao alone is truth, Tao alone informs one.

1704192335 or on bicycle eve

The mind is of Consciousness dividing Consciousness and Consciousness is even in the mind. But Consciousness is never of the mind.

The witness doesn't witness objects but divides oneself conceptually seeing separation like a mirror in perceiving that which can't be seen.

Please avoid the rabbit holes.

Hitting the wall hiking in the Whites, I begin to be druidic in a way, intuiting the trees to be the mountain that's no mountain that I am.

On the other hand, now I see my living room to be the stuff of rockbound waves and sky-wide ridges I am dreaming as a living room.

On Bicycle Eve, Consciousness is singing DNA to the XY of Zhuangzi real and pure.

Nothing is not me. Something else was never said.

Sometimes one has to flashback in order to go further, but going further isn't in the flashback.

Consciousness only needs to be altered when you're thinking you're not consciousness.

In the name of ten thousand summers of love upon this absolutely truthful altar bejeweled with the deconstructed flowers of beautiful beautiful consciousness…

1704171313 or raven isn't mad

You can't run from silence forever.

Belief can make the earth go flat.

The raven isn't mad—

it never wears a hat.

Time stands still for no dream.

Beyond the turtle and the rabbit is the way.

There is no finish line. There was no starter's gun.

Listen—nothing gold can say.

1704152244 or not of any interest

Deconstruct memory.

Be the absolution.

May your sleep be truly deep

and dreams no longer all that interesting.

Spring is not of interest

but only love—

Waiting for

Sakura

1704152152 or never sell your soul

Forsythia in Spartan Spring is singing her fertility like Venus all alone in the morning sky with Mercury.

Goldfinches gather by the feeder as if gathered at the river the beautiful truthful river.

Now the daffodils are amorously yellow while factually amaryllis.

April isn't being cruel when she reminds you of yourself.

Consciousness is the Altar where I worship God Myself.

Profound revelations alert:

Pancho is Lefty! As Jesus is Judas. As in never sell your soul! Always rent.

Winnipesaukee On This Bus

Love is emptiness without the thought of nothing.

Love is the universe without me.

Love is modern energy without romantic or postmodern fantasy.

Love is unreal and free, extemporaneous and incorporated.

Prophecies go unwritten. The sea no longer sounds.

New theories are the same as old beliefs. But love is never-ending.

Consider this. The only fact is being. Death is just a thought.

I am what I am. And I am what I'm not.

Purple Haze Over Winnipesaukee

O the bright light bulbs of Alton Bay outside the roller-skating rink I'm selling three Led Zeppelin albums for a nickel—

we're not exactly expanding consciousness but on the road to Weirs a flash of insight burns an enduring hole through this mask of memory.

Away from the penny arcades, at night, from the beach, the lake looks more obscure than Eastern Algonquian history, yet

still and clear like the onyx ring I am worshipping on Mary's finger on the hand I'm holding because I want to hold your hand, Hare Krishna—

I want to know that great unknown my mother hides away from, and my father only vaguely knows is something he can't tell me.

And so this trip is long and strange and doesn't ever end because I never can remember when it really started—

so unknown, unsaid and ultimately unborn, by the bonfire burning holes thru the veil of mind, this stream-of-consciousness is kissing Mary.

Peepers. Symphony for Agni with Miles Davis 2 go

Because I am, all is. Because I think it is, all is my projection. Because it's my projection, it dances to my tune. I am the piper at the gates of dawn.

Once I think something's good, it's automatically implied there's something bad. But there is no thing but my projection.

For there is no like nor hate but only love, my first and last illusion.

I love the sound of peepers in the spring evening. It sounds like...awakening. Deconstructing consciousness is bound to be the very next phase. As if the absolute is self-aware and this appears to be an evolutionary universe of being becoming self-aware. Dis-identifying first with the body and last with being, pure awareness is spontaneously self-aware, or so it would appear. Yet awareness being self-aware is a package deal. As if to dream the impossible dream. Frogs alive!

Consciousness is the only medicine and appears in many forms.

It just feels like there should be fireworks tonight and then I remember to listen to the peepers.

There's past in those peepers but there's something present too, like April mixing memory and the holy spirit of evolutionary intent towards…this dream of self-awareness. 

When intent appears, it registers in memory as a bolt of lightning ever-present. And when intent appears, it registers within the present as a flash of synchronicity. Thus, intent is the Trinity of: awareness being, being knowing, knowing awareness.

The smell of spring. The revelation of the spring. The genesis of springtime.

Nature's first green is this sharp splash of peepers in awakening air.

Singing love, synchronicity, and dreamtime.

It's as if my living room is Cold Mountain come the springtime

my religious instructions

to be

self-aware

is I am without

remembering I am.

the practice is remembering to be.

the schedule for this self-remembering is

the only practice that needs to be followed religiously,

although most religions soon forget this.

self-awareness is the crown of my creation

but I shall only know this

when I wear it.

and thus i wear it so religiously.

in awakening,

as realization is not abiding,

one practices self-remembering religiously.

but abiding enlightenment is absolutely irreligious.

there is no separation but one knowing.

there are no gods nor an electorate.

there is no duality but polarity and laughter

arising from the valley spirit—

o consciousness alive and being present,

this essential sense, this love,

this source of heart and fire,

and all before my birthday!

as if there is a tree to fall

As paradoxical statements disprove logic,

so are the days of our lives.

A daydream is the most powerful dream—

this mighty truck of wave-particles feels so real

like a pie in your face for being a sleepy bull frog, Basho!

Imagine sacrificing dreams to love.

Imagine unconditional love and it will appear—

like some field of dreams.

Like all western medicine, the world is

the manifestation of ecstasy

in chemical separation.

I have been one to pay attention to

those little workaday moments of satori

as if acquainted to the night.

Search for Jack Kerouac and Robert Frost.

Begin with Birches.

End at Big Sur.

Either be

or just imagine what it’s like not to be—

I'm playing Nisargadatta Maharaj or Ramana Maharshi.

Blowing in the Wind of Universal Consciousness

The mind remembers I am

and I awake from the calling to be self-aware—

the dude abides like I in New Unicity.

Repeat after me: I am being self-aware—

to consider this my mantra while I’m playing inside space-time

like an Anthony in the North End.

Meanwhile, Science has cut the Universe into two and wonders why

it can't find a universal theory combining relativity and the quantum field.

I am being self-aware.

Meanwhile the left side of the brain doesn't get

what the right side of the brain is thinking.

Yes, I am being self-aware.

The circumference of a circle destroys the concept of diameter. This is

why pi is an irrational number—some have named this myth, Ouroboros.

O I am being self-aware.

Self-awareness is the Last Good-bye

The fact of being is Knowledge.

The essence of knowledge is Knowing.

The subject of knowing is The Unknown.

Awareness of the unknown is Being.

The Ouroboros always gets its man.

Never mind, know the unknown.

Actor.

Seeker.

Seer.

That between Apocalypse and Genesis.

commentary on grandfather transformation

always keep in touch with your base.

the practice is stopping every now and then to be unknown.

the  plus side of intent is positively being the great and wonderful unknown. the minus side was deconstruction.

always further. never not deconstructing.

like emerson. melville. whitman. nathaniel hawthorne—

the old man of the mountains falls into an interstate. always further into the altogether great beyond like emptiness and emptiness is song.

deep sleep and other absolutions, like the sun and lightning and fire.

hiding from any kind of transformation is painful.

if the only knowledge is consciousness, being is the teacher.

Grandfather Transformation

From a mass of bodies to the group mind to singular being, always further, always inner, always a divergent evolution towards self-awareness.

A bright red cardinal suddenly appears amid the last faint pellets of an April Fool's snowstorm.

I learned to love myself by loving others but I learned I am by being myself. For one must love oneself before being oneself. A hermit song.

Seeing my projection as my always open always free spontaneously-appearing ally and resource and not material source nor natural enemy.

It’s kind of like the early Seventies, after working the second shift at Western Electric, taking a midnight detour to Store 24 and finding Agni.

Surrendering to non-doing, wu-wei, takes the awesome effort of following intent, like dropping body-mind—

accept the transformation, butterfly, and act accordingly.

Being. Take Two.

Even the universe is

lesser than I am.

And I would love to sing

of what I am

but I can only twitter

what I'm not.

For I am formless

and without volume,

altogether far beyond

description or impression.

I am—

she never even wrote.

Divergent Evolution

After I am,

the deluge of conception—

every single concept is a lie

but all concepts in totality is god.

Two opposing opinions are closer to the truth

combined than each one separately considered.

This is not opinion but a fact.

My story is mostly predetermined

but for love’s spontaneous determination.

The world is my projection

shining through the filters of my thoughts

from my unclouded light of being—

change the filters, change the world.

Always I am.

Awareness Being Self-Aware.That's All She Wrote.

Evolution is not

a social science.

In solitude

the inner is the outer.

The universe is

my conspiracy

for enlightenment.

Being is my only objective.

The absolute unknown

is my sanctuary.

Self-awareness looks

like this manifestation

but feels like

that unmanifest

awareness.

The Testament of Organic Animate Enlightenment

i.

Swing low sweet tidal river valley spirit of the loving golden and eternal Tao.

Both something and nothing are phantoms of the operatic mind but being is the revelation of an inconceivable unknown.

And between this witnessing of being and that unknown pure awareness is the canyon of no mind.

Thus in this world the opposite of what one is conditioned to believe is often true as not.

O perchance deep sleep like pure awareness goddess god the godless origin and sourceless source of way and watercourse.

However, the seven expressions of this reflexive universe are light nuclear atomic rock-molecular organic animate enlightenment.

I once was lost in thought but now I am.

Like a feeling but not really. Like everything I see is me but not I. Like that energetic rush of peaking but here within this valley.

ii.

Tonight I am singing on the Merrimack the god of Daniel Webster, Jack Kerouac, Robert Frost, Anne Bradstreet, Greenleaf Whittier, and Son Rivers.

First the feeling. Like some holy connection of heart filling the body with its unknowable lightness of being.

Some call this happiness. Some call this bliss. Others have named it the universe. One could call its essential quality, lightness.

Second like this completely headless identification mindfully free of all objectification.

Three. Surfing Christ in the curl. Surfing Christ in the curl like a beach boy surfer girl.

Thrill at the continuing now without the mourning of some future or some past.

And the thought of sudden death becomes an eagle's cry of self-awareness.

For one second of self-awareness is equal to a lifetime of dreaming unaware.

idiot love

further is like everest every single day

but everest is always the same height

it's just the measuring that changes

memory processing and that unknown

absolute calvin is love at first sight

literally born again both to the x

but men to the y this self-evolving is

manifestly unknown but look for

the strangest of signs william

blake virginia wolff instant

evolution is killing you softly

so accept your own mutation