2011-12-31
the unborn be four sutra
words are cheep.
true believers are always searching for an argument.
a murder of crows will find their caws.
truth has no fx.
enlightenment is nothing
more than seeing unenlightenment as unenlightenment.
seeing enlightenment as enlightenment is
more unenlightenment.
mirror mirror
on no wall.
who’s this adam;
did eve fall?
no thinking,
no doing,
no no-ing.
the yes is unaccented.
2011-12-30
the unborn third times the sutra
It is called Being to negate the belief that Reality is non-existent.
It is called Consciousness to negate the belief that Reality is insentient.
It is called Bliss to negate the belief that Reality is suffering.
thus, satcitananda, being—consciousness—bliss, is not yet another belief, but a means to eradicate what appears to be common sense.
thus, do not hold onto the concepts of being—consciousness—bliss as some new super-sense to replace that common sense.
drop it
free fall
thusless
2011-12-29
the unborn again sutra
slowly the vector of your life is coming into immanent realization
and you don't know what it is, mr. buddha.
the cure is almost always just a new beautiful disease.
teaching removes conditioned belief; believing a teaching is conditioning.
the most scenic view is no view.
not only emptiness, but the emptiness of emptiness.
2011-12-27
an unborn sutra
the world is a memory in the mind of the unknown.
been nowhere and undone that.
all i know is i don't know.
the only answer is neither yes nor no.
i am that i am, unborn, unceasing.
the rest is spacetime stories.
2011-12-22
2011-12-19
the superego sutra
truth is some scary shit.
if truth doesn't scare a person, it ain't the truth.
if truth makes a person all warm and fuzzy, it's a lie.
truth is out to kill the person!
but alas, truth is most often co-opted by the super-person.
super-person in the psychological alphabet is spelled s-u-p-e-r-e-g-o.
superego is the foundation of all religious fundamentalism and most sarcastic pseudo-wisdom of the ordinary kind.
you weren't expecting the ego to give up without a fight, were you?
don't worry; surrender.
the superego loves a constant fight.
surrender is the kryptonite of spirituality.
surrender all conceptual thought and its identification.
the superego loves words; there are no words in this surrender.
over and out.
if truth doesn't scare a person, it ain't the truth.
if truth makes a person all warm and fuzzy, it's a lie.
truth is out to kill the person!
but alas, truth is most often co-opted by the super-person.
super-person in the psychological alphabet is spelled s-u-p-e-r-e-g-o.
superego is the foundation of all religious fundamentalism and most sarcastic pseudo-wisdom of the ordinary kind.
you weren't expecting the ego to give up without a fight, were you?
don't worry; surrender.
the superego loves a constant fight.
surrender is the kryptonite of spirituality.
surrender all conceptual thought and its identification.
the superego loves words; there are no words in this surrender.
over and out.
2011-12-16
the river 11
low tide and crows patrol this mucky shore
a seal is swimming passably far upriver
across the slack water, tall banks reveal deep roots
a white horse is passing through that unearthly forest
a seal is swimming passably far upriver
across the slack water, tall banks reveal deep roots
a white horse is passing through that unearthly forest
2011-12-15
the river 10
across the river appear eastern white pines of great solitude and silence.
in that darkness rests a sleeping crow—
it sounds no caws, no caws.
below, the grass remains ungrown.
above, there is no space.
in the middle is a spot of neither following nor face.
in that darkness rests a sleeping crow—
it sounds no caws, no caws.
below, the grass remains ungrown.
above, there is no space.
in the middle is a spot of neither following nor face.
2011-12-14
unsettled words (the river 9)
the sky will fill with words when words arise from out of what expansive sea of words?
to see there are no words and yet to speak a sea of words is seeing.
thus the scene is set for these unsettled words:
all words are like the hydrologic cycle
neither logical nor psychic.
rain is falling on the mindful northern mountains.
streams are flowing through the tongues of western ridges.
rivers run through tender arms of southern valleys.
oceans rise to form the heart of eastern storm clouds.
lightning listens to the thunder that is silence.
to see there are no words and yet to speak a sea of words is seeing.
thus the scene is set for these unsettled words:
all words are like the hydrologic cycle
neither logical nor psychic.
rain is falling on the mindful northern mountains.
streams are flowing through the tongues of western ridges.
rivers run through tender arms of southern valleys.
oceans rise to form the heart of eastern storm clouds.
lightning listens to the thunder that is silence.
2011-12-12
the river 8
blue silk sky, blue corduroy river
winter sun is shot through one
spilling flood lights on the other
unraveling that which seems undone
winter sun is shot through one
spilling flood lights on the other
unraveling that which seems undone
2011-12-10
the river 7
across the current comes an eagle
no, a sizeable seagull, lands
a great blue heron, pterodactyl-
like a krishna yawps arise!
no, a sizeable seagull, lands
a great blue heron, pterodactyl-
like a krishna yawps arise!
2011-12-09
the river 6
the wind is forming waves and waves
arising in white caps as if unaware
that within its confusion of space and of water
a wave is not a wave—one’s river
arising in white caps as if unaware
that within its confusion of space and of water
a wave is not a wave—one’s river
2011-12-08
the river 5
a sharp clear shower falls on the water
every drop is a point of light
the sky the rain the river—one
the sun in all as being none
every drop is a point of light
the sky the rain the river—one
the sun in all as being none
2011-12-07
the river 4
cloud cover begins to break and blue
divisions of sky appear as birds
take wing above a bridge across
the water flowing always flowing
divisions of sky appear as birds
take wing above a bridge across
the water flowing always flowing
2011-12-06
the river 3
december water wilderness
with docks surrendered to the shore
and not a boat to wake the flow—
a graceful place reflecting space
with docks surrendered to the shore
and not a boat to wake the flow—
a graceful place reflecting space
2011-12-05
the one unknown sutra
Zero Flood Slot Hat, Seventy-eight Shout Tosser, Check Substance, Check Principle, Hut One, Hut Two, Go Deep!
all the world is conditioned; nothing one says is ever original. just assume quotation marks when there's none.
it takes one to know one.
everything in the world is a repeat.
there is no one way; one saying so is not the one.
little big mind.
how can one be born again when one was never born?
doubt it.
ten thousand pulpits of one.
at best, the mind can only marvel.
the more one sees, the less one says.
waist deep in the big doubt.
one is neither cause nor effect but essentially indeterminate.
to the mind, the answer is necessarily the question.
one is light of light from light in light to light.
what would the unknown do?
one is breathless.
all the world is conditioned; nothing one says is ever original. just assume quotation marks when there's none.
it takes one to know one.
everything in the world is a repeat.
there is no one way; one saying so is not the one.
little big mind.
how can one be born again when one was never born?
doubt it.
ten thousand pulpits of one.
at best, the mind can only marvel.
the more one sees, the less one says.
waist deep in the big doubt.
one is neither cause nor effect but essentially indeterminate.
to the mind, the answer is necessarily the question.
one is light of light from light in light to light.
what would the unknown do?
one is breathless.
2011-12-03
the river 2
slack tide, no sun, enfolding clouds
the river reflecting every detail
spontaneously a breeze, bird, boat
ah the fun house mirroring begun
the river reflecting every detail
spontaneously a breeze, bird, boat
ah the fun house mirroring begun
2011-11-29
the river 1
i’ve lived by the river several years;
it rises with the tide, then lowers.
emotions laugh or cry, live and die,
this current flowing always within.
it rises with the tide, then lowers.
emotions laugh or cry, live and die,
this current flowing always within.
2011-11-26
the babel sutra
out of the mouth of babel.
synchronicity blows the mind.
are you for real?
satguru trumps antiguru.
silence is.
don't think about it.
i am thanking.
be wordless.
ego is hard; truth is easy.
bliss is love without a second.
and the mind ran away with the moon.
once one sees
that one is not
the thought
with which once
one identified,
one no longer
traffics in
this thought;
one rests
within the way.
the mind is remarkable but only consciousness is intelligent.
leave it and love.
what happens to 3D if one uses the third eye?
seven billion stories high.
i am devoted to devotion in i am.
check, please.
in awareness being is unborn.
beware the knowledgeable.
one is the river before reflection.
positive is just as false as negative.
synchronicity blows the mind.
are you for real?
satguru trumps antiguru.
silence is.
don't think about it.
i am thanking.
be wordless.
ego is hard; truth is easy.
bliss is love without a second.
and the mind ran away with the moon.
once one sees
that one is not
the thought
with which once
one identified,
one no longer
traffics in
this thought;
one rests
within the way.
the mind is remarkable but only consciousness is intelligent.
leave it and love.
what happens to 3D if one uses the third eye?
seven billion stories high.
i am devoted to devotion in i am.
check, please.
in awareness being is unborn.
beware the knowledgeable.
one is the river before reflection.
positive is just as false as negative.
2011-11-25
2011-11-24
2011-11-22
2011-11-18
the antimetaphysics of baizhang (pai-chang)
If you cling to some fundamental purity or liberation…
the false idea of naturalism.
If you cling to the idea of self or things existence…
the false idea of eternalism.
If you cling to the self or things non-existence…
the false idea of nihilism.
If you cling to the twin concepts of existence and non-existence…
the false idea of partiality.
If you cling to a concept that things do not exist and also do not not exist…
the false idea of emptiness.
One should only practice in the present…without views about views,
which is called the correct view.
the false idea of naturalism.
If you cling to the idea of self or things existence…
the false idea of eternalism.
If you cling to the self or things non-existence…
the false idea of nihilism.
If you cling to the twin concepts of existence and non-existence…
the false idea of partiality.
If you cling to a concept that things do not exist and also do not not exist…
the false idea of emptiness.
One should only practice in the present…without views about views,
which is called the correct view.
2011-11-11
philosophy sutra
philosophy uses words as a means to know the truth;
wisdom uses words as pointers to unknowable truth.
philosophy is the hobgoblin of mind.
philosophy vs. foolosophy.
philosophers know. foolosophers no!
philosophers believe. foolosophers be!
philosophy minds; foolosophy loves.
wisdom uses words as pointers to unknowable truth.
philosophy is the hobgoblin of mind.
philosophy vs. foolosophy.
philosophers know. foolosophers no!
philosophers believe. foolosophers be!
philosophy minds; foolosophy loves.
2011-11-09
the not conceptual thought but unconditional love in nothing but awareness sutra
All great men have abandoned learning and have come to rest in spontaneity. ~Huang Po
conceptual thought is not spontaneous; a person is just a replay of the past is just a replay of the past is just...
unconditional love is not conditioned, is spontaneous, is creative, is an expression of being nothing now.
body-mind is real but not body-mind; it can be pointed to as a node of the one consciousness becoming self-aware it’s nothing—but awareness.
conceptual thought is not spontaneous; a person is just a replay of the past is just a replay of the past is just...
unconditional love is not conditioned, is spontaneous, is creative, is an expression of being nothing now.
body-mind is real but not body-mind; it can be pointed to as a node of the one consciousness becoming self-aware it’s nothing—but awareness.
2011-11-08
dreamverse 4
in my dragonfly november field
wings of my overturning earth
anatomy of my lessening trees
mind of my cloud non-existent sky
embracing spacetime with my empty space
sweetly dissolving in my universe
aware i am all of this being aware
there’s nothing but my full awareness
wings of my overturning earth
anatomy of my lessening trees
mind of my cloud non-existent sky
embracing spacetime with my empty space
sweetly dissolving in my universe
aware i am all of this being aware
there’s nothing but my full awareness
2011-11-07
dreamverse 3
walking on the clear november path,
pines in the north, snow in shadows,
trees with little leaves arising
through this intuition we are one
in self-reflection there is nothing
but this open meadow in the sun
of pathless wordless pure awareness.
pines in the north, snow in shadows,
trees with little leaves arising
through this intuition we are one
in self-reflection there is nothing
but this open meadow in the sun
of pathless wordless pure awareness.
2011-11-02
the thus sutra
who grows accustomed to one's original face?
dream is spelled dna.
adoration is the guru.
you're inconceivable.
one could refute samuel johnson's thus, but where is he?
stale peanuts.
in Truth, the best science will ever do is find a different metaphor.
i have measured out my life in empty toilet paper rolls.
there is but one true belief: deconstruct all belief.
the make-believe was never made.
cynicism is mind love.
intuify intuify intuify.
being is the buzz
just because it's sanskrit doesn't mean it's not a metaphor.
no positive statement (assertion) can ever be True; negate negate.
only the experience of existence is undeniable; the assertion of one's existence isn't.
it's obvious there's no one here.
methinks thought out-thinks itself.
got my nojo workin'.
heads or tails?
let the silence call it.
dream is spelled dna.
adoration is the guru.
you're inconceivable.
one could refute samuel johnson's thus, but where is he?
stale peanuts.
in Truth, the best science will ever do is find a different metaphor.
i have measured out my life in empty toilet paper rolls.
there is but one true belief: deconstruct all belief.
the make-believe was never made.
cynicism is mind love.
intuify intuify intuify.
being is the buzz
just because it's sanskrit doesn't mean it's not a metaphor.
no positive statement (assertion) can ever be True; negate negate.
only the experience of existence is undeniable; the assertion of one's existence isn't.
it's obvious there's no one here.
methinks thought out-thinks itself.
got my nojo workin'.
heads or tails?
let the silence call it.
2011-11-01
the identification sutra
thought is inherently divisional;
identification with thought
creates a divisional
(i.e. violent)
identity.
but that
which is identified with thought
is not divisional,
and never completely identifies
with thought; that is the rub.
the two alternatives
to remove the rub:
completely identify with thought
and embrace its violence,
or be That which one is, empty of thought.
the view from this:
madman or the fool.
the view from that:
no damn madman,
no damn fool.
identification with thought
creates a divisional
(i.e. violent)
identity.
but that
which is identified with thought
is not divisional,
and never completely identifies
with thought; that is the rub.
the two alternatives
to remove the rub:
completely identify with thought
and embrace its violence,
or be That which one is, empty of thought.
the view from this:
madman or the fool.
the view from that:
no damn madman,
no damn fool.
2011-10-26
the meditation sutra
sitting
in meditation is
not sitting
in meditation.
sitting is resting in the orientation
the world is not the world and
you are not a person without
the act of thinking that it's so.
meditation is seeing the truth
of oneself as pure existence,
being, i am, spirit, Self,
nature without check with original energy.
sitting in meditation is not a religious
ritual that's lost touch with
wisdom from which it descended;
it's, in truth, just not-thinking being.
sitting in meditation may as well
be standing in action;
get up arjuna:
don’t think about it; apperceive!
in meditation is
not sitting
in meditation.
sitting is resting in the orientation
the world is not the world and
you are not a person without
the act of thinking that it's so.
meditation is seeing the truth
of oneself as pure existence,
being, i am, spirit, Self,
nature without check with original energy.
sitting in meditation is not a religious
ritual that's lost touch with
wisdom from which it descended;
it's, in truth, just not-thinking being.
sitting in meditation may as well
be standing in action;
get up arjuna:
don’t think about it; apperceive!
2011-10-24
the waking sutra
before time & space is awareness,
& in the beginning was light of consciousness
evolving through good & bad
until all is clear in awareness.
one doesn't wake up in the world.
the world becomes clear in one.
embrace your pawn.
it's your only move.
check and mate.
the taste of bliss and then
shit happens; rinse and repeat.
“unscrew the locks from the doors!
unscrew the doors themselves from their jambs!”
disattach, disattach, disattach.
unscrew, unscrew, unscrew.
unscrew you!
unscrew me!
“i speak the password primeval”
who?
what is called the mind can only lead
to the knowledge one is not the mind.
only pure existence itself is intuit.
going back to the deep sleep pure awareness
to where one always inevitably goes
because one is always there in actuality.
& in the beginning was light of consciousness
evolving through good & bad
until all is clear in awareness.
one doesn't wake up in the world.
the world becomes clear in one.
embrace your pawn.
it's your only move.
check and mate.
the taste of bliss and then
shit happens; rinse and repeat.
“unscrew the locks from the doors!
unscrew the doors themselves from their jambs!”
disattach, disattach, disattach.
unscrew, unscrew, unscrew.
unscrew you!
unscrew me!
“i speak the password primeval”
who?
what is called the mind can only lead
to the knowledge one is not the mind.
only pure existence itself is intuit.
going back to the deep sleep pure awareness
to where one always inevitably goes
because one is always there in actuality.
2011-10-23
IDEOGRAMS3 - actualization
—driving—east—sky—dusky—clouds—
—sunlit—hill—golden—leaves—glowing—
—side-view—mirror—sun—blinding—totality—
—sunlit—hill—golden—leaves—glowing—
—side-view—mirror—sun—blinding—totality—
just saying sutra
that is nothing to this.
dead man living.
reality is a greased pig.
feel your Self.
nullus mentis.
it's all bloopers.
14 billion years on the day shift.
achtung unborn!
you can't think no thoughts; you is a thought.
peace love and unknowing.
thought is self generating.
look mu no hands!
krishna to arjuna: do your job and shut up!
call me is.
a middle class buddha is something to be.
i of the hurricane.
the age of civilization is an error.
nothing is something real.
forget everything remembered.
a light year to light is no time at all.
noise will be noise.
return to never, address unknown
in the weeds but not of the weeds.
locks are the final attachments.
occupy your Self.
the universe is looking through "your" eyes.
the mystic sings; the sage is silent.
intoit.
dead man living.
reality is a greased pig.
feel your Self.
nullus mentis.
it's all bloopers.
14 billion years on the day shift.
achtung unborn!
you can't think no thoughts; you is a thought.
peace love and unknowing.
thought is self generating.
look mu no hands!
krishna to arjuna: do your job and shut up!
call me is.
a middle class buddha is something to be.
i of the hurricane.
the age of civilization is an error.
nothing is something real.
forget everything remembered.
a light year to light is no time at all.
noise will be noise.
return to never, address unknown
in the weeds but not of the weeds.
locks are the final attachments.
occupy your Self.
the universe is looking through "your" eyes.
the mystic sings; the sage is silent.
intoit.
2011-10-22
the illusion sutra
it's the illusion, stupid.
illusion is biological,
but one is not the bio.
the only work is disillusionment;
the rest is rest.
society is mass illusion;
work on one.
if one thinks one is without illusion,
welcome to the illusion!
the illusion is uncontrollable;
enjoy the ride!
and in the end, thus it was said:
even illusion is illusion.
illusion is biological,
but one is not the bio.
the only work is disillusionment;
the rest is rest.
society is mass illusion;
work on one.
if one thinks one is without illusion,
welcome to the illusion!
the illusion is uncontrollable;
enjoy the ride!
and in the end, thus it was said:
even illusion is illusion.
IDEOGRAMS2
—ground—brown—floor—green—braided—
—mother—life—dream—death—kindred—
—sky—blue—ceiling—white—seamless—
—mother—life—dream—death—kindred—
—sky—blue—ceiling—white—seamless—
2011-10-21
IDEOGRAMS1
—window—nothing—reflection—living-room—light—
—wall—painting—forest—highway—traveller—
—shadow—glass—moonlight—woods—apparition—
—wall—painting—forest—highway—traveller—
—shadow—glass—moonlight—woods—apparition—
2011-10-20
the metaphor sutra
silence is the shadow of the truth.
good morning, beautiful multi-colored pet snake of the sensible world!
the magician of consciousness that believes its own trick.
one could say it took almost 14 billion years to pull the rabbit out of its hat but the 14 billion years is part of the trick!
who's the rabbit?
the world of ten thousand mixed metaphors!
going out to play in the falling metaphors...
in the sun and of the sun.
sight itself is the greatest occlusion.
space: the final metaphor.
the autumn falling believes!
believe no words, no matter how lightly they wear their metaphor. no word is naked. one is not even 'awareness.'
without metaphor, there's nothing to say and that's the truth.
truth is only witnessed on an experiential intuitive level;
words are for fools! ~a fool
good morning, beautiful multi-colored pet snake of the sensible world!
the magician of consciousness that believes its own trick.
one could say it took almost 14 billion years to pull the rabbit out of its hat but the 14 billion years is part of the trick!
who's the rabbit?
the world of ten thousand mixed metaphors!
going out to play in the falling metaphors...
in the sun and of the sun.
sight itself is the greatest occlusion.
space: the final metaphor.
the autumn falling believes!
believe no words, no matter how lightly they wear their metaphor. no word is naked. one is not even 'awareness.'
without metaphor, there's nothing to say and that's the truth.
truth is only witnessed on an experiential intuitive level;
words are for fools! ~a fool
2011-10-19
2011-10-18
Nisargadatta - work on
Work on, and the universe will work with you. After all the very idea of doing the right thing comes to you from the unknown. Leave it to the unknown as far as the results go, just go through the necessary movements. You are merely one of the links in the long chain of causation.
Fundamentally, all happens in the mind only. When you work for something whole-heartedly and steadily, it happens, for it is the function of the mind to make things happen. In reality nothing is lacking and nothing is needed, all work is on the surface only. In the depths there is perfect peace.
All your problems arise because you have defined and therefore limited yourself. When you do not think yourself to be this or that, all conflict ceases. Any attempt to do something about your problems is bound to fail, for what is caused by desire can be undone only in freedom from desire.
You have enclosed yourself in time and space, squeezed yourself into the span of a lifetime and the volume of a body and thus created the innumerable conflicts of life and death, pleasure and pain, hope and fear. You cannot be rid of problems without abandoning illusions.
Fundamentally, all happens in the mind only. When you work for something whole-heartedly and steadily, it happens, for it is the function of the mind to make things happen. In reality nothing is lacking and nothing is needed, all work is on the surface only. In the depths there is perfect peace.
All your problems arise because you have defined and therefore limited yourself. When you do not think yourself to be this or that, all conflict ceases. Any attempt to do something about your problems is bound to fail, for what is caused by desire can be undone only in freedom from desire.
You have enclosed yourself in time and space, squeezed yourself into the span of a lifetime and the volume of a body and thus created the innumerable conflicts of life and death, pleasure and pain, hope and fear. You cannot be rid of problems without abandoning illusions.
K. on Truth & Civilization
What is civilization, what is culture as we know it now? It is the result of the collective will, is it not? The culture we know is the expression of many desires unified through religion, through a traditional moral code, through various forms of sanction. The civilization in which we live is the result of the collective will, of many acquisitive desires, and therefore we have a culture, a civilization which is also acquisitive. That is fairly clear.
Now, within this acquisitive society, which is the result of the collective will, we can have many reformations, and we do occasionally bring about a bloody revolution, but it is always within the pattern because our response to any challenge, which is always new, is limited by the culture in which we have been brought up. The culture of India is obviously imitative, traditional; it is made up of innumerable superstitions, of belief and dogma, the repetition of words, the worship of images made by the hand and by the mind. That is our culture, that is our society, broken up into various classes, all based on acquisitiveness; and if we do become nonacquisitive in this world, we are acquisitive in some other world, we want to acquire God, and so on. So our culture is essentially based on acquisitiveness, worldly and spiritual; and when occasionally there is an individual who breaks away from all acquisitiveness and knows what it is to be creative, we immediately idolize him, make him into our spiritual leader or teacher, thereby stifling ourselves.
As long as we belong to the collective culture, collective civilization, there can be no creativeness. It is the man who understands this whole process of the collective, with all its sanctions and beliefs, and who ceases to be either positively or negatively acquisitive - it is only such a man who knows the meaning of creativeness, not the sannyasi who renounces the world and pursues God, which is merely his particular form of acquisitiveness. The man who realizes the whole significance of the collective and who breaks away from it because he knows what is true religion, is a creative individual, and it is such action that brings about a new culture. Surely, that is always the way it happens, is it not?
The truly religious man is not the one who practices so-called religion, who holds to certain dogmas and beliefs, who performs certain rituals or pursues knowledge, for he is merely seeking another form of gratification. The man who is truly religious is completely free from society, he has no responsibility towards society; he may establish a relationship with society, but society has no relationship with him. Society is organized religion, the economic and social structure, the whole environment in which we have been brought up, and does that society help man to find God, truth - it matters little what name you give it - or does the individual who is seeking God create a new society? That is, must not the individual break away from the existing society, culture, or civilization? Surely, in the very breaking away he discovers what is truth, and it is that truth which creates the new society, the new culture. I think this is an important question to ponder over. Can the man who belongs to society - it does not matter what society - ever find truth, God? Can society help the individual in that discovery, or must the individual, you and I, break away from society? Surely, it is in the very process of breaking away from society that there is the understanding of what is truth, and that truth then creates the ripples which become a new society, a new culture. The sannyasi, the monk, the hermit renounces the world, renounces society, but his whole pattern of thinking is still conditioned by society; he is still a Christian or a Hindu, pursuing the ideal of Christianity or of Hinduism. His meditations, his sacrifices, his practices are all essentially conditioned, and therefore what he discovers as truth, as God, as the absolute, is really his own conditioned reaction. Hence society cannot help man to find out what is truth. Society's function is to limit the individual, to hold him within the boundary of respectability. Only the man who understands this whole process, whose action is not a reaction, can find out what is truth, and it is the truth that creates a new culture, not the man who pursues truth.
~J. Krishnamurti
Now, within this acquisitive society, which is the result of the collective will, we can have many reformations, and we do occasionally bring about a bloody revolution, but it is always within the pattern because our response to any challenge, which is always new, is limited by the culture in which we have been brought up. The culture of India is obviously imitative, traditional; it is made up of innumerable superstitions, of belief and dogma, the repetition of words, the worship of images made by the hand and by the mind. That is our culture, that is our society, broken up into various classes, all based on acquisitiveness; and if we do become nonacquisitive in this world, we are acquisitive in some other world, we want to acquire God, and so on. So our culture is essentially based on acquisitiveness, worldly and spiritual; and when occasionally there is an individual who breaks away from all acquisitiveness and knows what it is to be creative, we immediately idolize him, make him into our spiritual leader or teacher, thereby stifling ourselves.
As long as we belong to the collective culture, collective civilization, there can be no creativeness. It is the man who understands this whole process of the collective, with all its sanctions and beliefs, and who ceases to be either positively or negatively acquisitive - it is only such a man who knows the meaning of creativeness, not the sannyasi who renounces the world and pursues God, which is merely his particular form of acquisitiveness. The man who realizes the whole significance of the collective and who breaks away from it because he knows what is true religion, is a creative individual, and it is such action that brings about a new culture. Surely, that is always the way it happens, is it not?
The truly religious man is not the one who practices so-called religion, who holds to certain dogmas and beliefs, who performs certain rituals or pursues knowledge, for he is merely seeking another form of gratification. The man who is truly religious is completely free from society, he has no responsibility towards society; he may establish a relationship with society, but society has no relationship with him. Society is organized religion, the economic and social structure, the whole environment in which we have been brought up, and does that society help man to find God, truth - it matters little what name you give it - or does the individual who is seeking God create a new society? That is, must not the individual break away from the existing society, culture, or civilization? Surely, in the very breaking away he discovers what is truth, and it is that truth which creates the new society, the new culture. I think this is an important question to ponder over. Can the man who belongs to society - it does not matter what society - ever find truth, God? Can society help the individual in that discovery, or must the individual, you and I, break away from society? Surely, it is in the very process of breaking away from society that there is the understanding of what is truth, and that truth then creates the ripples which become a new society, a new culture. The sannyasi, the monk, the hermit renounces the world, renounces society, but his whole pattern of thinking is still conditioned by society; he is still a Christian or a Hindu, pursuing the ideal of Christianity or of Hinduism. His meditations, his sacrifices, his practices are all essentially conditioned, and therefore what he discovers as truth, as God, as the absolute, is really his own conditioned reaction. Hence society cannot help man to find out what is truth. Society's function is to limit the individual, to hold him within the boundary of respectability. Only the man who understands this whole process, whose action is not a reaction, can find out what is truth, and it is the truth that creates a new culture, not the man who pursues truth.
~J. Krishnamurti
2011-10-15
2011-10-13
1. the material
as long as one believes that consciousness arises from the material, one will be lost in the material.
spiritual inquiry is all about investigating what one really is; am i material? if not, what am i?
when considered, it becomes obvious that what i think i am is obviously a thought. and i am not a thought. what am i?
the best answer the mind can give to the question ‘what am i?” is ‘i am.’ only pure existence is immediately undeniable.
but i am not the mind’s ‘i am.’
some indefinable pointers to what i am: being, consciousness, energy. all in awareness! feel them; don't think them.
when resting in what i am, it is intuitively experienced that the material arises in what i am, a dream of subject & objects defined by mind.
spiritual inquiry is all about investigating what one really is; am i material? if not, what am i?
when considered, it becomes obvious that what i think i am is obviously a thought. and i am not a thought. what am i?
the best answer the mind can give to the question ‘what am i?” is ‘i am.’ only pure existence is immediately undeniable.
but i am not the mind’s ‘i am.’
some indefinable pointers to what i am: being, consciousness, energy. all in awareness! feel them; don't think them.
when resting in what i am, it is intuitively experienced that the material arises in what i am, a dream of subject & objects defined by mind.
2011-10-12
2011-10-11
2011-10-10
Nisargadatta - pure light
Primary is the infinite expanse of consciousness, the eternal possibility, the immeasurable potential of all that was, is, and will be. When you look at anything, it is the ultimate you see, but you imagine that you see a cloud or a tree.
Learn to look without imagination, to listen without distortion: that is all. Stop attributing names and shapes to the essentially nameless and formless, realize that every mode of perception is subjective, that what is seen or heard, touched or smelt, felt or thought, expected or imagined, is in the mind and not in reality, and you will experience peace and freedom from fear.
Even the sense of 'I am' is composed of the pure light and the sense of being. The 'I' is there even without the 'am'. So is the pure light there whether you say 'I' or not. Become aware of that pure light and you will never lose it. The beingness in being, the awareness in consciousness, the interest in every experience—that is not describable, yet perfectly accessible, for there is nothing else.
~Nisargadatta
Learn to look without imagination, to listen without distortion: that is all. Stop attributing names and shapes to the essentially nameless and formless, realize that every mode of perception is subjective, that what is seen or heard, touched or smelt, felt or thought, expected or imagined, is in the mind and not in reality, and you will experience peace and freedom from fear.
Even the sense of 'I am' is composed of the pure light and the sense of being. The 'I' is there even without the 'am'. So is the pure light there whether you say 'I' or not. Become aware of that pure light and you will never lose it. The beingness in being, the awareness in consciousness, the interest in every experience—that is not describable, yet perfectly accessible, for there is nothing else.
~Nisargadatta
2011-10-09
2011-10-08
Nisargadatta - see the imaginary
Assert your independence in thought and action. After all, all hangs on your faith in yourself, on the conviction that what you see and hear, think and feel is real. Why not question your faith?
No doubt, this world is painted by you on the screen of consciousness and is entirely your own private world. Only your sense 'I am', though in the world, is not of the world. By no effort of logic or imagination can you change the 'I am' into 'I am not'. In the very denial of your being you assert it.
Once you realize that the world is your own projection, you are free of it. You need not free yourself of a world that does not exist, except in your own imagination!
However is the picture, beautiful or ugly, you are painting it and you are not bound by it. Realize that there is nobody to force it on you, that it is due to the habit of taking the imaginary to be real.
See the Imaginary as imaginary and be free of fear.
~Nisargadatta Maharaj
No doubt, this world is painted by you on the screen of consciousness and is entirely your own private world. Only your sense 'I am', though in the world, is not of the world. By no effort of logic or imagination can you change the 'I am' into 'I am not'. In the very denial of your being you assert it.
Once you realize that the world is your own projection, you are free of it. You need not free yourself of a world that does not exist, except in your own imagination!
However is the picture, beautiful or ugly, you are painting it and you are not bound by it. Realize that there is nobody to force it on you, that it is due to the habit of taking the imaginary to be real.
See the Imaginary as imaginary and be free of fear.
~Nisargadatta Maharaj
2011-10-07
dreamverse 2 - deconstructive
sayonara socrates
in namaste pajamas
salivating deconstructive
photosynthesis
of rice and then
in namaste pajamas
salivating deconstructive
photosynthesis
of rice and then
2011-10-05
2011-10-03
rekoan 13
one doesn't see with the mind;
one doesn't see the mind;
one is not blind to the mind;
this is seeing
one doesn't see the mind;
one is not blind to the mind;
this is seeing
2011-09-29
an encounter dialogue
Professor Enlightenment was silent and said nothing.
Conditionality then arose suddenly and asked Professor Enlightenment: "What is the mind? What is it to pacify the mind?"
[The master] answered: "You should not posit a mind, nor should you attempt to pacify it—this is called 'pacified.'"
Question: "If there is no mind, how can one cultivate enlightenment?"
Answer: "Enlightenment is not a thought of the mind, so how could it occur in the mind?"
Question: "If it is not thought of by the mind, how should it be thought of?"
Answer: "If there are thoughts then there is mind, and for there to be mind is contrary to enlightenment. If there is no thought, then there is no mind, and for there to be no mind is true enlightenment."
Question: "What 'things' are there in no-mind?"
Answer: "No-mind is without 'things.' The absence of things is the Naturally True. The Naturally True is the Great Enlightenment."
Question: "What should I do?"
Answer: "You should do nothing."
Question: "I understand this teaching now even less than before."
Answer: "There truly is no understanding of the Dharma. Do not seek to understand it."
Question: "Who teaches these words?"
Answer: "It is as I have been asked."
Question: "What does it mean to say that it is as you have been asked?"
Answer: "If you contemplate [your own] questions, the answers will be understood [thereby] as well."
At this Conditionality was silent and he thought everything through once again.
Professor Enlightenment asked: "Why do you not say anything?"
Conditionality answered: "I do not perceive even the most minute bit of anything that can be explained."
At this point Professor Enlightenment said to Conditionality: "You would appear to have now perceived the True Principle."
Conditionality asked: "Why [do you say] 'would appear to have perceived' and not that I 'correctly perceived' [the True Principle]?"
Enlightenment answered: "What you have now perceived is the nonexistence of all dharmas. This is like the non-Buddhists who study how to make themselves invisible, but cannot destroy their shadow and footprints."
Conditionality asked: "How can one destroy both form and shadow?"
Enlightenment answered: "Being fundamentally without mind and its sensory realms, you must not willfully generate the ascriptive view (or, "perception") of impermanence."
from ‘Treatise on the Transcendence of Cognition’
Conditionality then arose suddenly and asked Professor Enlightenment: "What is the mind? What is it to pacify the mind?"
[The master] answered: "You should not posit a mind, nor should you attempt to pacify it—this is called 'pacified.'"
Question: "If there is no mind, how can one cultivate enlightenment?"
Answer: "Enlightenment is not a thought of the mind, so how could it occur in the mind?"
Question: "If it is not thought of by the mind, how should it be thought of?"
Answer: "If there are thoughts then there is mind, and for there to be mind is contrary to enlightenment. If there is no thought, then there is no mind, and for there to be no mind is true enlightenment."
Question: "What 'things' are there in no-mind?"
Answer: "No-mind is without 'things.' The absence of things is the Naturally True. The Naturally True is the Great Enlightenment."
Question: "What should I do?"
Answer: "You should do nothing."
Question: "I understand this teaching now even less than before."
Answer: "There truly is no understanding of the Dharma. Do not seek to understand it."
Question: "Who teaches these words?"
Answer: "It is as I have been asked."
Question: "What does it mean to say that it is as you have been asked?"
Answer: "If you contemplate [your own] questions, the answers will be understood [thereby] as well."
At this Conditionality was silent and he thought everything through once again.
Professor Enlightenment asked: "Why do you not say anything?"
Conditionality answered: "I do not perceive even the most minute bit of anything that can be explained."
At this point Professor Enlightenment said to Conditionality: "You would appear to have now perceived the True Principle."
Conditionality asked: "Why [do you say] 'would appear to have perceived' and not that I 'correctly perceived' [the True Principle]?"
Enlightenment answered: "What you have now perceived is the nonexistence of all dharmas. This is like the non-Buddhists who study how to make themselves invisible, but cannot destroy their shadow and footprints."
Conditionality asked: "How can one destroy both form and shadow?"
Enlightenment answered: "Being fundamentally without mind and its sensory realms, you must not willfully generate the ascriptive view (or, "perception") of impermanence."
from ‘Treatise on the Transcendence of Cognition’
rekoan 12 - naturally
Costello asked the Abbott, “What are the teachings of a whole lifetime?”
The Abbott said, “Naturally.”
The Abbott said, “Naturally.”
2011-09-28
dreamverse 1 - singing
o glorious illusion
late september
sapphire river
flowing through
the jade-inspired
mystery
of everything
i am to thee
my sun is singing
late september
sapphire river
flowing through
the jade-inspired
mystery
of everything
i am to thee
my sun is singing
2011-09-27
rekoan 10 - hemp
A monk asked Walt Whitman, “What is Truth?”
Walt Whitman said, “Cipher and show me some hemp, exactly the contents of one or three pounds, and which is ahead.”
Walt Whitman said, “Cipher and show me some hemp, exactly the contents of one or three pounds, and which is ahead.”
2011-09-26
rekoan 9 - guides
The Big Chief, instructing the passengers, said, “You’re all guzzling scum; if you go on traveling around this way, where will you have Now? Do you know there are no guides for Reality in all the USA?”
At that time Ken Kesey came forward and said, “Then what about those on various roads who Drive the Experience and Steer those On the Bus?”
The Big Chief said, “I do not say that there is no Reality, it's just that there are no guides.”
At that time Ken Kesey came forward and said, “Then what about those on various roads who Drive the Experience and Steer those On the Bus?”
The Big Chief said, “I do not say that there is no Reality, it's just that there are no guides.”
2011-09-24
rekoan 8 - quarterdeck
Ahab hadn’t ascended the quarterdeck for a long time. Ishmael said to him, “My shipmates have been wanting instruction for a long time—please, Captain, give the crew a sermon.”
Ahab had him sound the ship’s bell. When the congregation had gathered, Ahab ascended his pulpit. After a while he descended and returned to his cabin.
Ishmael followed after him and asked, “You agreed to expound upon the sea of truth for the crew; why didn’t you utter a single word?”
Ahab said, “For the peaks of scriptures there are teachers of scriptures, for the fertile valleys of theology there are teachers of theology. Who are you to question this old sea dog?”
Ahab had him sound the ship’s bell. When the congregation had gathered, Ahab ascended his pulpit. After a while he descended and returned to his cabin.
Ishmael followed after him and asked, “You agreed to expound upon the sea of truth for the crew; why didn’t you utter a single word?”
Ahab said, “For the peaks of scriptures there are teachers of scriptures, for the fertile valleys of theology there are teachers of theology. Who are you to question this old sea dog?”
2011-09-23
rekoan 7 - pure
A follower asked Jesus, “Apart from existence, nonexistence, both, or neither, what is the meaning of the living Christ?”
Jesus replied, “My body aches. I can’t explain it to you. Go ask one of my disciples.”
The follower went to Peter and asked him the same question.
“You should ask Jesus,” Peter replied.
“I did, and he told me to ask you,” the follower answered.
“My head hurts. I can’t explain it to you. Go ask Mary Magdalene.”
The follower asked Mary Magdalene the same question.
She replied, “When I arrive at this point, I don't understand.”
The follower related this to Jesus. Jesus said, “Peter is complete; Mary is pure.”
Jesus replied, “My body aches. I can’t explain it to you. Go ask one of my disciples.”
The follower went to Peter and asked him the same question.
“You should ask Jesus,” Peter replied.
“I did, and he told me to ask you,” the follower answered.
“My head hurts. I can’t explain it to you. Go ask Mary Magdalene.”
The follower asked Mary Magdalene the same question.
She replied, “When I arrive at this point, I don't understand.”
The follower related this to Jesus. Jesus said, “Peter is complete; Mary is pure.”
2011-09-20
rekoan 6 - corn
The newly-arrived hobo asked Woody Guthrie, "What is the great meaning of being?"
Woody Guthrie said, "What is the price of corn in Nebraska?"
Woody Guthrie said, "What is the price of corn in Nebraska?"
2011-09-19
workoan 14: Knock Knock
Sonny was now in Bill’s office alone; Lois had left. Bill turned to Sonny and asked, “When I put that help wanted ad in the paper a year ago, what did you do?”
Sonny didn’t hesitate in responding, “I asked for the job.”
Bill nodded. “When I was ready to fire you from that job after catching you smoking marijuana in the parking lot, what did you do?”
“I asked for the job,” Sonny replied.
“So, Sonny, after you’ve asked me for the job, say three of four times, what will you finally do?”
Sonny thought about it but had nothing to say.
“If I were the Pope, I’d fire your ass right now!” Bill shouted. “But, come in Monday, I’ll find something else for you to do.”
Sonny knew he had said the wrong thing. You only knock once.
Sonny didn’t hesitate in responding, “I asked for the job.”
Bill nodded. “When I was ready to fire you from that job after catching you smoking marijuana in the parking lot, what did you do?”
“I asked for the job,” Sonny replied.
“So, Sonny, after you’ve asked me for the job, say three of four times, what will you finally do?”
Sonny thought about it but had nothing to say.
“If I were the Pope, I’d fire your ass right now!” Bill shouted. “But, come in Monday, I’ll find something else for you to do.”
Sonny knew he had said the wrong thing. You only knock once.
rekoan 5 - interior
The Chief Executive said, “This is a good place to build a Department of the Interior.”
L’Enfant stood up, spread his arms, and said, “Interior has been built.”
The Chief Executive smiled.
L’Enfant stood up, spread his arms, and said, “Interior has been built.”
The Chief Executive smiled.
2011-09-16
rekoan 4 - hub
A scribe asked the mayor, "What is the hub mayor?"
The mayor said "The Airport, Back Bay, North End, Southie"
The mayor said "The Airport, Back Bay, North End, Southie"
2011-09-15
rekoan 3 - breathing
Bob Dylan invited Aum Dada to his 108th dream.
Dylan asked, "Why don't you recite any mind-blowing lyrics?"
Aum Dada said, “He not busy breathing is busy learning how to breathe.”
Dylan asked, "Why don't you recite any mind-blowing lyrics?"
Aum Dada said, “He not busy breathing is busy learning how to breathe.”
2011-09-14
rekoan 2 - cloud
Aum Dada said “I’ve been tweeting about these spiritual things so long, is my head in the cloud?”
X said, “This hacker has no memory!”
Y said, “It’s Facebook!”
Z said, “404!”
X said, “This hacker has no memory!”
Y said, “It’s Facebook!”
Z said, “404!”
2011-09-13
rekoan 1 - reality
Aum Dada asked the Guru, "I, Aum Dada, ask, what is Reality?" The Guru said, "You are Aum Dada."
2011-09-09
every day is a good day
once the moon is seen full, when is the moon not full?
words are all about before now; what can you say after now?
serendipity doo dah serendipity ay,
my oh my what a wonderful day!
words are all about before now; what can you say after now?
serendipity doo dah serendipity ay,
my oh my what a wonderful day!
2011-09-08
workoan 13: Picking It Up
Sonny picked it up through the grapevine. Who told him first? It might have been Vince or Dusty over cards at lunch. Maybe it was Drew who’d been told it by his girlfriend who had heard it as a piece of gossip shared one afternoon in the ladies room. Whomever! Nevertheless, he knew Lois was sleeping with Bill, and that changed everything.
Now he saw it all in a different light. Was Lois really more responsible at her job? It didn’t dawn on him that Bill may have been manipulating Lois with some kind of threat disguised as a promise. No, she had slept her way to power. That was as clear as day. From that moment on, there would be nothing she could do or say which didn’t ring with that fact in his ears.
He couldn’t put it down.
Now he saw it all in a different light. Was Lois really more responsible at her job? It didn’t dawn on him that Bill may have been manipulating Lois with some kind of threat disguised as a promise. No, she had slept her way to power. That was as clear as day. From that moment on, there would be nothing she could do or say which didn’t ring with that fact in his ears.
He couldn’t put it down.
2011-09-07
a grass dream in a deep peak
achtung unborn!
being is the door before there was a door;
i am aware in awareness i am not;
being beauty dreaming through its love to wake the sleeping beauty.
such is the grass hut on a solitary peak...
being is the door before there was a door;
i am aware in awareness i am not;
being beauty dreaming through its love to wake the sleeping beauty.
such is the grass hut on a solitary peak...
2011-09-05
workoan 12: Sun Sonny
Now during the day, Sonny worked. At night, he went to college. He had to change schools though when he had reversed his life to this new dichotomy, as well as change his major. Instead of American Studies, he was now enrolled in Liberal Arts, with a concentration in English. That meant literature, and this semester he was taking a class in Shakespeare. The professor didn’t wait long before jumping right into things, beginning with King Lear.
At work, he was adjusting to the recent changes in management structure. Manufacturing had been divided into two departments, sub-assembly and final assembly, each with a supervisor. Bill was now the Director of Manufacturing, and the foreman of the tweeter department had been named Sub-Assembly Supervisor. Sonny now reported directly to her.
Lois was the same age as Sonny. They had become passing friends in the old building when he had worked nights and she days, sharing the same working space. She was the sun shift and he was that of the moon, they had joked. But they cooperated well with each other, ensuring their mutual space was kept clean and orderly for both woofer and tweeter concerns.
As Sonny began working days, they had become even closer partners, each filling in for the other when sick or on vacation. But when Lois became supervisor, that changed within a few days. Lois let Sonny know quickly there was no longer sun and moon; there was only the space of her own world.
And that was fine with Sonny. Yes, he'd have to adjust, but no, there wasn't any real envy on his behalf. He recognized that Lois was more responsible than himself in these matters. And things would have remained fine if Bill would have played his part with equal responsibility. But then again, that would not have been the way of this particular world.
At work, he was adjusting to the recent changes in management structure. Manufacturing had been divided into two departments, sub-assembly and final assembly, each with a supervisor. Bill was now the Director of Manufacturing, and the foreman of the tweeter department had been named Sub-Assembly Supervisor. Sonny now reported directly to her.
Lois was the same age as Sonny. They had become passing friends in the old building when he had worked nights and she days, sharing the same working space. She was the sun shift and he was that of the moon, they had joked. But they cooperated well with each other, ensuring their mutual space was kept clean and orderly for both woofer and tweeter concerns.
As Sonny began working days, they had become even closer partners, each filling in for the other when sick or on vacation. But when Lois became supervisor, that changed within a few days. Lois let Sonny know quickly there was no longer sun and moon; there was only the space of her own world.
And that was fine with Sonny. Yes, he'd have to adjust, but no, there wasn't any real envy on his behalf. He recognized that Lois was more responsible than himself in these matters. And things would have remained fine if Bill would have played his part with equal responsibility. But then again, that would not have been the way of this particular world.
2011-09-02
worKoan 11: Not Without Difficulties
Bill hired three women to work the new woofer line in early February. Sonny was given the opportunity to talk to candidates during the interviewing process, but really had no say in picking the final few. He was unsure who were the best anyways and was glad not to choose.
It turned out that Maureen, Joanne, and Cynthia were excellent choices. They were older women who were clearly responsible, and the relationship between Sonny and them was good from the beginning. It was almost maternal on their behalf, and definitely respectful from his.
There was a lot to learn and new procedures to perfect. Engineers were constantly on the floor, adjusting epoxy mixes, turning oven temperatures up and down, and tweaking the overall assembly process. No one was completely sure how to make large voice coils stay on big woofer cones while withstanding the tremendous heat of amplification and violent waves of sound.
In those early days, nothing was etched in stone. There was no time without difficulties. Procedures and practices could change from hour to hour. It was necessary to stay alert to all facets of the operation and sometimes it was just enough to ask a question. Sonny loved it.
It turned out that Maureen, Joanne, and Cynthia were excellent choices. They were older women who were clearly responsible, and the relationship between Sonny and them was good from the beginning. It was almost maternal on their behalf, and definitely respectful from his.
There was a lot to learn and new procedures to perfect. Engineers were constantly on the floor, adjusting epoxy mixes, turning oven temperatures up and down, and tweaking the overall assembly process. No one was completely sure how to make large voice coils stay on big woofer cones while withstanding the tremendous heat of amplification and violent waves of sound.
In those early days, nothing was etched in stone. There was no time without difficulties. Procedures and practices could change from hour to hour. It was necessary to stay alert to all facets of the operation and sometimes it was just enough to ask a question. Sonny loved it.
2011-09-01
worKoan 10: Minding the Move
And so it came to pass in January of the new year, before the second semester of school started for Sonny that winter, Dualtone finally outgrew its small environs and moved to a bigger building across the street and up the hill. The move to larger quarters made a second shift no longer necessary. Sonny had to choose between quitting school or quitting work. It left him in an almost endless internal dialogue about which should be the prime mover in his life.
Bill wasn’t making the decision any easier. Before the move even transpired, he began telling Sonny what it meant for the woofer department. Instead of assembling only smaller drivers for automotive speakers, they would begin to build the bigger drivers for home speakers as well. He would become the foreman of a new and larger department. They would need to hire at least three people immediately, with another five added by mid-year. “Your responsibilities in the company will grow—as well as your salary,” Bill added potentiality to promise.
But Sonny’s American Studies classes were promising as well. Last semester he had taken one in Melville & Whitman in which the dualities of American culture were discussed as represented in the authors' individual works, Melville being the novelist of the negative and Whitman the poet of the positive. His professor had made it a point to congratulate him on his understanding after Sonny had written a paper on Moby Dick entitled “The Song of Not Myself.”
But it was Simon who had finally helped break the logjam in Sonny’s brain. “It seems like such a simple decision to me,” he said one day after Sonny had finished explaining the quandary he was facing. It had come to this, Simon thought: sharing my problems with a fool. He knew Simon wouldn’t have a clue, but it just made him feel better to talk to somebody about it. He was tired of keeping everything inside.
“Oh, really, Simon, and what exactly would that be?”
Simon grinned. He loved the fact that Sonny had come to him for help. “Don’t quit school. Don’t quit work. Just quit quitting.” Sonny rolled his eyes. Simon continued anyways: “I can’t believe you haven’t thought of this already. You could go to school somewhere else at nights.”
Sonny was awestruck! Sure, it wasn't exactly an original thought; in fact, it had occurred to him earlier, but he had dismissed it out of hand, becoming stuck instead between this rock and hard place. But now, hearing it from Simon, it made all the sense in the world.
Bill wasn’t making the decision any easier. Before the move even transpired, he began telling Sonny what it meant for the woofer department. Instead of assembling only smaller drivers for automotive speakers, they would begin to build the bigger drivers for home speakers as well. He would become the foreman of a new and larger department. They would need to hire at least three people immediately, with another five added by mid-year. “Your responsibilities in the company will grow—as well as your salary,” Bill added potentiality to promise.
But Sonny’s American Studies classes were promising as well. Last semester he had taken one in Melville & Whitman in which the dualities of American culture were discussed as represented in the authors' individual works, Melville being the novelist of the negative and Whitman the poet of the positive. His professor had made it a point to congratulate him on his understanding after Sonny had written a paper on Moby Dick entitled “The Song of Not Myself.”
But it was Simon who had finally helped break the logjam in Sonny’s brain. “It seems like such a simple decision to me,” he said one day after Sonny had finished explaining the quandary he was facing. It had come to this, Simon thought: sharing my problems with a fool. He knew Simon wouldn’t have a clue, but it just made him feel better to talk to somebody about it. He was tired of keeping everything inside.
“Oh, really, Simon, and what exactly would that be?”
Simon grinned. He loved the fact that Sonny had come to him for help. “Don’t quit school. Don’t quit work. Just quit quitting.” Sonny rolled his eyes. Simon continued anyways: “I can’t believe you haven’t thought of this already. You could go to school somewhere else at nights.”
Sonny was awestruck! Sure, it wasn't exactly an original thought; in fact, it had occurred to him earlier, but he had dismissed it out of hand, becoming stuck instead between this rock and hard place. But now, hearing it from Simon, it made all the sense in the world.
2011-08-31
workoan 9: Bodie and the Other
His first week at Dualtone, Sonny worked on the large speaker line in tandem with Bodie, learning the simple process of assembling a stereo loudspeaker, or as Bill put it, stuffing junk in a box. Bodie was a philosophy student at Harvard, spending the summer making some spending money, as Bodie put it. Sonny was quiet, taking everything in, trying to remember just what junk went exactly where, as he would later put it.
After the third day of Sonny’s essential silence, Bodie asked him point blank, “Why do you think you’re so shy?” Sonny was a little taken aback by the direct nature of Bodie’s question, but attempted an answer nevertheless: “I don’t know. I guess I’m just not sure how to talk to others.” They were slowly walking down the speaker line, Sonny attaching woofers and tweeters to crossover wires and Bodie screwing the drivers onto the speaker box. “Now that’s a beginning,” Bodie chuckled.
"I don’t know what you mean,” Sonny replied, wishing the conversation would just end. “Exactly,” Bodie responded. Sonny didn’t continue, hoping that would be that. “OK, it’s like this,” Bodie continued. “There’s nothing to know about how to talk to others. Just talk to them as if you’re talking to yourself.” They finished the first line and crossed over to start the second.
“Well, I wouldn't know about that,” Sonny answered, hoping that would put an end to this. “You’re doing it already,” Bodie laughed loudly as he left the line at the sound of the bell. Bill walked by just then and spoke to nobody in general. “Harvard foolhardy hippy! You think he could finish screwing down these damned drivers before taking off. And there’s no use calling him back. To be honest with you,” Bill said looking over at Simon finishing up things on the small speaker line, “I don’t think Bodie’s quite all there either.” But Sonny said nothing in reply.
After the third day of Sonny’s essential silence, Bodie asked him point blank, “Why do you think you’re so shy?” Sonny was a little taken aback by the direct nature of Bodie’s question, but attempted an answer nevertheless: “I don’t know. I guess I’m just not sure how to talk to others.” They were slowly walking down the speaker line, Sonny attaching woofers and tweeters to crossover wires and Bodie screwing the drivers onto the speaker box. “Now that’s a beginning,” Bodie chuckled.
"I don’t know what you mean,” Sonny replied, wishing the conversation would just end. “Exactly,” Bodie responded. Sonny didn’t continue, hoping that would be that. “OK, it’s like this,” Bodie continued. “There’s nothing to know about how to talk to others. Just talk to them as if you’re talking to yourself.” They finished the first line and crossed over to start the second.
“Well, I wouldn't know about that,” Sonny answered, hoping that would put an end to this. “You’re doing it already,” Bodie laughed loudly as he left the line at the sound of the bell. Bill walked by just then and spoke to nobody in general. “Harvard foolhardy hippy! You think he could finish screwing down these damned drivers before taking off. And there’s no use calling him back. To be honest with you,” Bill said looking over at Simon finishing up things on the small speaker line, “I don’t think Bodie’s quite all there either.” But Sonny said nothing in reply.
2011-08-30
workoan 8: everything else illuminated
Bill had worked at Western Lighting Inc. before joining Dualtone. Sonny had worked there for two years before getting laid off and deciding to go back to school. His father had also worked there. His brother had worked there. His uncle had worked there. Even his mother had worked there after his father had died. He knew the main reason Bill had hired him was just this fact he was steeped in that Western way.
It was the way Bill was introducing to this start-up company, and to that end, Bill knew Sonny was trainable. Moreover, Bill recognized a glimmer of aspiration in Sonny as well. That was why it didn’t surprise him at all when Sonny had asked for more responsibility.
“Bill, I feel I’m wasting away here,” Sonny said one November night.
Bill took a minute and then looked up from his paperwork, smiling. “But I thought your main concern was your classes. Isn’t that why you wanted to work nights?” He returned to his paperwork; this week’s schedule was especially difficult, what with shortages, back orders, and capacity issues.
“True,” Sonny replied. “But if I’m going to be here eight hours a day, shouldn’t I try for something better?”
Of course you should, Bill thought. That was exactly the Western way; everyone’s motivated by a desire for something. Whether an assembler, material handler, inspector, shipper, supervisor, or engineer, everyone aspires to be something else. As if everything else is illuminated with something they don’t have! And it was his job to utilize that energy for the company’s benefit and profit.
“Sure, damn straight that’s a good thing.” Bill finally replied. “It can't compare to nothing!"
It was the way Bill was introducing to this start-up company, and to that end, Bill knew Sonny was trainable. Moreover, Bill recognized a glimmer of aspiration in Sonny as well. That was why it didn’t surprise him at all when Sonny had asked for more responsibility.
“Bill, I feel I’m wasting away here,” Sonny said one November night.
Bill took a minute and then looked up from his paperwork, smiling. “But I thought your main concern was your classes. Isn’t that why you wanted to work nights?” He returned to his paperwork; this week’s schedule was especially difficult, what with shortages, back orders, and capacity issues.
“True,” Sonny replied. “But if I’m going to be here eight hours a day, shouldn’t I try for something better?”
Of course you should, Bill thought. That was exactly the Western way; everyone’s motivated by a desire for something. Whether an assembler, material handler, inspector, shipper, supervisor, or engineer, everyone aspires to be something else. As if everything else is illuminated with something they don’t have! And it was his job to utilize that energy for the company’s benefit and profit.
“Sure, damn straight that’s a good thing.” Bill finally replied. “It can't compare to nothing!"
2011-08-29
workoan 7: letting go
At the afternoon break, Sonny went out with Bob, the assembly line foreman, to smoke a joint in Bob’s van. Sonny had never done anything like that at work before. It felt so liberating to let go like that.
They were listening to the radio when the door opened and Bill popped his head in, took a whiff of the sweet smoke, and began shouting about irresponsibility and illegal behavior and calling the cops and losing their jobs. Then, Bill changed his tone and spoke slowly and deliberately, telling Sonny to wait for him in the cafeteria. He wanted to talk to Bob alone.
While in the cafeteria, Sonny started thinking. He’d lose his job. He wouldn’t be able to afford his car. He’d have to quit school. And he’d definitely lose his girlfriend; she’d kick him out of the apartment as well. Half the reason he took the job was her insistence he have one. He had always got by in the past. He knew he could learn to live without it. Material possessions were the bane of existence, after all. Who needed them?
Just at that moment Bill walked in, and Sonny immediately got up and began apologizing and expressing regret and begging Bill to let him keep his job. “I really need it,” Sonny implored. “Without it, I’ll lose everything. I promise I’ll never let it happen again.”
Bill was quiet for several seconds. “Well, Sonny, to be perfectly honest, I was coming in here to let you go,” he spoke forcefully. “But your attitude has impressed me and given me pause.” Bill stopped for effect and then continued, “So I’ll let go your letting go. For now.”
They were listening to the radio when the door opened and Bill popped his head in, took a whiff of the sweet smoke, and began shouting about irresponsibility and illegal behavior and calling the cops and losing their jobs. Then, Bill changed his tone and spoke slowly and deliberately, telling Sonny to wait for him in the cafeteria. He wanted to talk to Bob alone.
While in the cafeteria, Sonny started thinking. He’d lose his job. He wouldn’t be able to afford his car. He’d have to quit school. And he’d definitely lose his girlfriend; she’d kick him out of the apartment as well. Half the reason he took the job was her insistence he have one. He had always got by in the past. He knew he could learn to live without it. Material possessions were the bane of existence, after all. Who needed them?
Just at that moment Bill walked in, and Sonny immediately got up and began apologizing and expressing regret and begging Bill to let him keep his job. “I really need it,” Sonny implored. “Without it, I’ll lose everything. I promise I’ll never let it happen again.”
Bill was quiet for several seconds. “Well, Sonny, to be perfectly honest, I was coming in here to let you go,” he spoke forcefully. “But your attitude has impressed me and given me pause.” Bill stopped for effect and then continued, “So I’ll let go your letting go. For now.”
2011-08-26
workoan 6: exploring another department
“May the force be with you.”
They were waiting for a shipment of woofer cones delayed from Germany and so Sonny was helping out in electronics that night. John, the tech, was working on dead amplifier boards and marking them appropriately for repair. This one board appeared beyond his abilities and so he was invoking this new old adage from Star Wars.
He was a fanatic and had already seen the film several times. Sonny was planning on seeing it for the first and only time that coming weekend, more because it had become a cultural phenomenon rather than the appeal of the movie itself. He was not a fan of science fiction. That summer he had devoured the entire Sherlock Holmes oeuvre and so had become a devotee to deductive reasoning.
John, though, loved every aspect of the movie, and especially the force. He tried to explain it to Sonny. “Like it’s all electricity, and you and I are just amplifier boards. One might blow, but the force is always there.”
Sonny paused. “Very Zenny, John, but why are the damned amps even here in the first place?”
John laughed. “Who knows? I’m just a tech.” He picked up the problem amplifier board and attached it to the scope again. “Maybe so this damned electricity can see itself,” he said in frustration.
They were waiting for a shipment of woofer cones delayed from Germany and so Sonny was helping out in electronics that night. John, the tech, was working on dead amplifier boards and marking them appropriately for repair. This one board appeared beyond his abilities and so he was invoking this new old adage from Star Wars.
He was a fanatic and had already seen the film several times. Sonny was planning on seeing it for the first and only time that coming weekend, more because it had become a cultural phenomenon rather than the appeal of the movie itself. He was not a fan of science fiction. That summer he had devoured the entire Sherlock Holmes oeuvre and so had become a devotee to deductive reasoning.
John, though, loved every aspect of the movie, and especially the force. He tried to explain it to Sonny. “Like it’s all electricity, and you and I are just amplifier boards. One might blow, but the force is always there.”
Sonny paused. “Very Zenny, John, but why are the damned amps even here in the first place?”
John laughed. “Who knows? I’m just a tech.” He picked up the problem amplifier board and attached it to the scope again. “Maybe so this damned electricity can see itself,” he said in frustration.
workoan 5: how to greet a man of innocence
Sonny liked Simon, although he could become overbearing at times. They had worked together on the small speaker line in August. Josh had talked Bill into giving Simon a chance at the job; Simon would have never succeeded on the strength of his interview. He was not all there, as Josh had explained it.
It was a sad story. When he was a young child, his parents were driving to the beach for the day. Simon was in the backseat, his mind occupied on whatever children occupy their minds with on such long trips. A truck hit them head-on, killing both his parents, and seriously injuring Simon. Whether it was the physical brain damage or the psychological trauma that caused Simon’s ultimate condition, Josh just didn’t know.
Sonny wondered at Simon’s state. He was the most innocent person he had ever known, yet extremely intelligent—about certain things. He knew everything there was to know about the Beatles, and could literally recite any song verse at a moment’s notice, and often he would spontaneously begin declaiming a lyric out of the clear blue sky. There was no social conditioning there; what you saw is what you got. This often resulted in moments of brutal honesty or awkward confession, but Sonny never felt as if he was being manipulated in any direction.
In September, when Sonny began to work the second shift assembling woofers, he would walk past the small speaker line every day on his way to his station. Simon was always there smiling with his usual greeting.
“Here comes the Sun King!”
Sonny was always unsure just how to react to that welcome. So some days he was silent, and others, he’d just echo Simon’s words.
Either way, Simon would respond joyfully, as if speaking to himself, “Quando paramucho mi amore de felice carathon.” Then, he’d just go back to work.
It was a sad story. When he was a young child, his parents were driving to the beach for the day. Simon was in the backseat, his mind occupied on whatever children occupy their minds with on such long trips. A truck hit them head-on, killing both his parents, and seriously injuring Simon. Whether it was the physical brain damage or the psychological trauma that caused Simon’s ultimate condition, Josh just didn’t know.
Sonny wondered at Simon’s state. He was the most innocent person he had ever known, yet extremely intelligent—about certain things. He knew everything there was to know about the Beatles, and could literally recite any song verse at a moment’s notice, and often he would spontaneously begin declaiming a lyric out of the clear blue sky. There was no social conditioning there; what you saw is what you got. This often resulted in moments of brutal honesty or awkward confession, but Sonny never felt as if he was being manipulated in any direction.
In September, when Sonny began to work the second shift assembling woofers, he would walk past the small speaker line every day on his way to his station. Simon was always there smiling with his usual greeting.
“Here comes the Sun King!”
Sonny was always unsure just how to react to that welcome. So some days he was silent, and others, he’d just echo Simon’s words.
Either way, Simon would respond joyfully, as if speaking to himself, “Quando paramucho mi amore de felice carathon.” Then, he’d just go back to work.
2011-08-25
workoan 4: after jumpin' jack flash
The summer Sonny began working at Dualtone Stereo Systems, he worked the day shift. School was out and the living was easy. So by the second week, he had given up the idea of spending his lunchtimes inside listening to the Rolling Stones blaring dangerously loud on the large speaker line stereo and went out to the parking lot where everyone was playing for that half-hour under the sun. Anyways, they had blown the speakers at break-time.
There was tag football, a game of catch, and even horseshoes. But it was the juggling that caught his eyes. Josh Inmon was one of the testers. He was going to school for audio engineering and was spending his summer there on work study. For the most part he kept to himself, unless there was a testing issue. But Sonny had once asked him for a little more technical information about loudspeakers than Bill had given him, which was basically which screws to use for what purposes. And Josh had gladly obliged. Now he wondered about the technicalities of juggling three tennis balls in the air.
“Hey Josh, can you tell me the secret of juggling?” he asked one noontime.
“Space-time.” Josh replied while staring at the balls going ever higher.
Sonny laughed. “No, really.”
“Oh you want me to explain it to you,” Josh chuckled. “Fried tweeter!”
There was tag football, a game of catch, and even horseshoes. But it was the juggling that caught his eyes. Josh Inmon was one of the testers. He was going to school for audio engineering and was spending his summer there on work study. For the most part he kept to himself, unless there was a testing issue. But Sonny had once asked him for a little more technical information about loudspeakers than Bill had given him, which was basically which screws to use for what purposes. And Josh had gladly obliged. Now he wondered about the technicalities of juggling three tennis balls in the air.
“Hey Josh, can you tell me the secret of juggling?” he asked one noontime.
“Space-time.” Josh replied while staring at the balls going ever higher.
Sonny laughed. “No, really.”
“Oh you want me to explain it to you,” Josh chuckled. “Fried tweeter!”
workoan 3: sonny's no
At night Sonny built woofers; during the day he attended classes in American Studies. It wasn’t the best of times nor was it the worst of times. Richard Nixon was no longer in office, so things weren’t as interesting, but work was like a form of Zen meditation.
The woman he worked with was a faster assembler than him but he prided himself on his quality. This was why he calculatingly sharpened the angles of the crooked twos he marked on the bottom of every magnet indicating the woofer was a two-ohm driver. Irene looped hers. But she almost doubled his output every night and so Irene had been chosen to head up the two-person department—which was slated soon to be three.
Recently, though, there had been an excess of customer service returns, mostly speakers with two-ohm drivers, and mostly woofers marked with twos quickly looped. Bill, the supervisor, knew Irene had built these woofers. So he let her know Sonny was going to be appointed foreman instead now. She didn’t take the news well, and quit on the spot.
Just before she left, she came by to say her goodbyes to Sonny. “I know you marked your twos deliberately different for a reason,” she said with just a trace of accusation in her voice. “Are you proud of yourself?”
“No,” Sonny replied while chewing gum and working diligently on a two-ohm woofer.
“Well, that might be the correct answer,” she said. “But double-mint boy, I got some news for you. Your shit stinks and your college days are numbered. Woof!”
The woman he worked with was a faster assembler than him but he prided himself on his quality. This was why he calculatingly sharpened the angles of the crooked twos he marked on the bottom of every magnet indicating the woofer was a two-ohm driver. Irene looped hers. But she almost doubled his output every night and so Irene had been chosen to head up the two-person department—which was slated soon to be three.
Recently, though, there had been an excess of customer service returns, mostly speakers with two-ohm drivers, and mostly woofers marked with twos quickly looped. Bill, the supervisor, knew Irene had built these woofers. So he let her know Sonny was going to be appointed foreman instead now. She didn’t take the news well, and quit on the spot.
Just before she left, she came by to say her goodbyes to Sonny. “I know you marked your twos deliberately different for a reason,” she said with just a trace of accusation in her voice. “Are you proud of yourself?”
“No,” Sonny replied while chewing gum and working diligently on a two-ohm woofer.
“Well, that might be the correct answer,” she said. “But double-mint boy, I got some news for you. Your shit stinks and your college days are numbered. Woof!”
2011-08-24
the workoans: 2. listening to an assembly line
They are assembling speakers on the small line today. First, Maria glues a crossover into the aluminum casing and fills the cavity with fiberglass. Then Manuel attaches a woofer and tweeter to the crossover wires. Finally, Ned screws them down onto the plastic baffle. Lastly they are tested, packed, and shipped to fill the backorder ASAP.
Maria and Manuel went back and forth all day with their swearing and name-calling. Ned was surly but quiet.
When the day was coming to an end, and they were preparing to go home, Maria began to look everywhere for something. “Where’s my eyeglasses?” she cried out. “I left them right there on the shelf!”
Manuel began to laugh softly at first, and then uncontrollably. Finally, he stopped long enough to let everyone in on the story: he had stuffed the eyeglasses into one of the loudspeakers, and Ned had completed the job without noticing them or anything else concerning quality, for that matter.
“At least they’ll be singing somewhere in this dreary fool America with Spanish eyes tonight, Maria!” Manuel shouted.
Maria and Manuel went back and forth all day with their swearing and name-calling. Ned was surly but quiet.
When the day was coming to an end, and they were preparing to go home, Maria began to look everywhere for something. “Where’s my eyeglasses?” she cried out. “I left them right there on the shelf!”
Manuel began to laugh softly at first, and then uncontrollably. Finally, he stopped long enough to let everyone in on the story: he had stuffed the eyeglasses into one of the loudspeakers, and Ned had completed the job without noticing them or anything else concerning quality, for that matter.
“At least they’ll be singing somewhere in this dreary fool America with Spanish eyes tonight, Maria!” Manuel shouted.
the workoans: 1. the foreman's sermon
Assemblers were gluing cones on baskets and thus were made the woofers for the speakers which reproduced the sounds of all the universe.
When the foreman expressed some doubt about the amount of adhesive they were using, an assembler asked the foreman how much glue they should be applying. “Not the amount the supervisor told you,” he responded.
“But that’s the amount we are using,” the assembler replied in alarm!
“Of course it is,” the foreman answered.
When the woofers fell apart in testing, the supervisor advised the manager that the foreman had told the assemblers to use the wrong amount of glue. When asked if this was true, the foreman pointed to the woofers in question and said, “Listen…”
When the foreman expressed some doubt about the amount of adhesive they were using, an assembler asked the foreman how much glue they should be applying. “Not the amount the supervisor told you,” he responded.
“But that’s the amount we are using,” the assembler replied in alarm!
“Of course it is,” the foreman answered.
When the woofers fell apart in testing, the supervisor advised the manager that the foreman had told the assemblers to use the wrong amount of glue. When asked if this was true, the foreman pointed to the woofers in question and said, “Listen…”
2011-08-23
the apocryphon of four directions
welcome to the land of dreams.
the first land is the land of mind.
the second land is the land of mindful.
the third land is the land of being.
the fourth land is the land of no land.
the first land is the land in which one thinks one is born.
the second land is the land in which one understands the first land isn't a land.
the third land is the land in which one is the land.
the fourth land is the land in which one is always unborn.
the first land is the person.
the second land is the understanding there isn't a person.
the third land is the land of i am that i am.
the fourth land is the land gone gone beyond.
the first land is the land of knowledge.
the second land is the land of understanding.
the third land is the land of love.
the fourth land is the land of wisdom.
welcome to land of no direction.
the first land is the land of mind.
the second land is the land of mindful.
the third land is the land of being.
the fourth land is the land of no land.
the first land is the land in which one thinks one is born.
the second land is the land in which one understands the first land isn't a land.
the third land is the land in which one is the land.
the fourth land is the land in which one is always unborn.
the first land is the person.
the second land is the understanding there isn't a person.
the third land is the land of i am that i am.
the fourth land is the land gone gone beyond.
the first land is the land of knowledge.
the second land is the land of understanding.
the third land is the land of love.
the fourth land is the land of wisdom.
welcome to land of no direction.
2011-08-19
the apocryphon of wisdom
every impossible word you speak, think, or write is
yet another thread in this universal sutra.
wisdom that i've read is most useful
when after experiencing some new unknown,
that wisdom is remembered and finally
understood within this new context.
when wisdom is read as non-fiction,
it is easily misunderstood and believed,
forming a new stronger layer of illusion
needing seeing through.
when wisdom is read as some possibly
prophetic science fiction,
it can be there to help explain
the future unexplainable NOW experiencing.
(although there is something that intuitively
understands wisdom when it sees it.)
only to unitive consciousness does awareness present itself.
yet another thread in this universal sutra.
wisdom that i've read is most useful
when after experiencing some new unknown,
that wisdom is remembered and finally
understood within this new context.
when wisdom is read as non-fiction,
it is easily misunderstood and believed,
forming a new stronger layer of illusion
needing seeing through.
when wisdom is read as some possibly
prophetic science fiction,
it can be there to help explain
the future unexplainable NOW experiencing.
(although there is something that intuitively
understands wisdom when it sees it.)
only to unitive consciousness does awareness present itself.
2011-08-18
the apocryphon of the universe
without memories and desires
you're nothing but the universe.
the universe is your body.
what you have taken to be your body is a node
which has taken you 14 billion years to develop.
it's become aware.
this node has become aware of awareness,
and that awareness itself is all there is,
and the universe is not the universe—
it is awareness itself.
awareness the unmanifest
became the manifest universe
whose awareness was consciousness
evolving itself
in more aware ways toward awareness.
call me lila.
you're nothing but the universe.
the universe is your body.
what you have taken to be your body is a node
which has taken you 14 billion years to develop.
it's become aware.
this node has become aware of awareness,
and that awareness itself is all there is,
and the universe is not the universe—
it is awareness itself.
awareness the unmanifest
became the manifest universe
whose awareness was consciousness
evolving itself
in more aware ways toward awareness.
call me lila.
2011-08-17
the indescribable sutra
a sentence that makes sense is not a sensible sentence.
using words to communicate truth is like digging a hole to see the sky.
my irresistable urge to describe is meeting an immovable void that's indescribable.
taking a breather until there's another breath...
when awareness inside becomes aware of awareness outside,
that field creating inside and outside is seen to not be
and to have never been.
consciousness is awareness made manifestly unaware
becoming aware it's awareness by the pull of awareness
until awareness is again aware.
and it's seen awareness was never unaware
but that which was unaware was never.
and so that even after such deep sleep there still remains:
no words for awareness.
using words to communicate truth is like digging a hole to see the sky.
my irresistable urge to describe is meeting an immovable void that's indescribable.
taking a breather until there's another breath...
when awareness inside becomes aware of awareness outside,
that field creating inside and outside is seen to not be
and to have never been.
consciousness is awareness made manifestly unaware
becoming aware it's awareness by the pull of awareness
until awareness is again aware.
and it's seen awareness was never unaware
but that which was unaware was never.
and so that even after such deep sleep there still remains:
no words for awareness.
2011-08-16
the shoreless sutra
and god said 'let there be brushing of teeth' and there were teeth to be brushed.
three things. first thing, you’re not a thing. second thing, you’re everything. third thing, nothing will fill you in on all the rest.
fear is the light of real love filtered by the unreal thought of self; no thought of self, no fear; love is always all there is. be real.
desire is the face of fear; belief is its defense; opinion is its little voice and violence, its inevitable over-reaction. love, be real.
light exhales waves exhale atoms exhale molecules/earth exhales vegetation exhales animals exhale mind exhales light
light inhales mind inhales animals inhales vegetation inhales earth/molecules inhales atoms inhales waves inhales light
light exhales/inhales light
if you can read this, you're close enough to see.
DISIDENTIFICATION with mind and EXPERIENCING what one is—that is all. but to one identified with mind, that appears impossibly illogical!
the sound the mind hears is the sound the mind makes.
a momentary wave of sound within an infinite sea of silence.
the cormorant of mind; the vast expanse it calls the gulf of maine.
the pregnancy of sea; the birth of a bell buoy!
the sea breathes in and earth breathes out.
a brief sail of visibility within the emptiness of sky.
the shore is seagullible—the unsure, saltwater daffy!
i'd say the only real knowledge is not-knowing but i really don't know.
since reality can never be described, who bothers?
the mind can't know the truth, but truth will know being.
i surrender; now won.
three things. first thing, you’re not a thing. second thing, you’re everything. third thing, nothing will fill you in on all the rest.
fear is the light of real love filtered by the unreal thought of self; no thought of self, no fear; love is always all there is. be real.
desire is the face of fear; belief is its defense; opinion is its little voice and violence, its inevitable over-reaction. love, be real.
light exhales waves exhale atoms exhale molecules/earth exhales vegetation exhales animals exhale mind exhales light
light inhales mind inhales animals inhales vegetation inhales earth/molecules inhales atoms inhales waves inhales light
light exhales/inhales light
if you can read this, you're close enough to see.
DISIDENTIFICATION with mind and EXPERIENCING what one is—that is all. but to one identified with mind, that appears impossibly illogical!
the sound the mind hears is the sound the mind makes.
a momentary wave of sound within an infinite sea of silence.
the cormorant of mind; the vast expanse it calls the gulf of maine.
the pregnancy of sea; the birth of a bell buoy!
the sea breathes in and earth breathes out.
a brief sail of visibility within the emptiness of sky.
the shore is seagullible—the unsure, saltwater daffy!
i'd say the only real knowledge is not-knowing but i really don't know.
since reality can never be described, who bothers?
the mind can't know the truth, but truth will know being.
i surrender; now won.
2011-08-15
the ndtv sutra
i am [no thought].
nonedamentalism.
metaphor is dead. long live antiphor!
what happens in the holograph, stays in the holograph.
enlightenment is nothing more than you minus the you.
only knowing knows.
you can't imagine the unimaginable.
x = U - u
no damned tree, no damned forest;
next damned question.
you can lead a horse to water,
but you can't make it jump in and drown.
making a living is murder; love kills itself.
being is before to be or not to be.
every door is you going further into you.
nothing is ever wrong but that thinking always sees it so.
you can't become one with that which already is you.
if you think you know what you are, you don't know;
but that which you don't know, you are.
it's not high definition; it's no definition.
the mind is a great tool but a lousy identity,
like a ford f-250 is a great truck but a lousy penis.
madly loves you.
i am is here for you
(in dedication to one).
nonedamentalism.
metaphor is dead. long live antiphor!
what happens in the holograph, stays in the holograph.
enlightenment is nothing more than you minus the you.
only knowing knows.
you can't imagine the unimaginable.
x = U - u
no damned tree, no damned forest;
next damned question.
you can lead a horse to water,
but you can't make it jump in and drown.
making a living is murder; love kills itself.
being is before to be or not to be.
every door is you going further into you.
nothing is ever wrong but that thinking always sees it so.
you can't become one with that which already is you.
if you think you know what you are, you don't know;
but that which you don't know, you are.
it's not high definition; it's no definition.
the mind is a great tool but a lousy identity,
like a ford f-250 is a great truck but a lousy penis.
madly loves you.
i am is here for you
(in dedication to one).
2011-08-10
2011-08-05
the lost book of truth
0.1 there are no words for truth and only lies in words. yet these words are one way for pointing to truth, although truth is always unsaid.
1.1 mind is consciousness limiting itself in order to eat itself in order to create more of itself that appears a little less limited.
2.1 identifying with mind ensures suffering. first, it’s incomplete always looking for completeness; second, it’s divisive guaranteeing violence.
2.2 division creates separation creates association creates disassociation creates division in a never-ending vicious cycle.
2.3 mind will never stop the vicious cycle: it is what it is. there is no choice but to understand the vicious cycle for what it is; or suffer and cause suffering.
3.1 if identification with mind (a person) is a vicious cycle of incompleteness and violence, then what is love, and why can’t a person do that?
3.2 a person can’t love. one doesn’t love. one ~is~ love. a person isn’t love. a person is mind which distorts love into filtered false emotions.
3.3 as long as one identifies with mind, and thinks of oneself as a person, love will never be; no matter how much a person may believe (mind on mind) in love.
3.4 therefore a person cannot love the world to save it; all a person can 'do' is deconstruct itself, eliminating the false to reveal the true.
4.1 in truth, the person doesn’t deconstruct itself; love deconstructs the person; this love is called the satguru.
4.2 all the person can ‘do’ is let love deconstruct the person; this love is called understanding.
4.3 the knowledge of the understanding is love, is the satguru, is being, is consciousness, is is: i am.
5.1 consciousness, being, i-am can not be thought; as love is obviously not a thought; i-am is intuitively known, experienced, apperceived.
5.2 this felt intuitive apperception of i-am is one of nondual consciousness, experiencing the universe as oneself, not ten thousand, not two.
6.1 these first two steps form a natural yoga, deconstruction of the person (not thought) & apperception of not two (i-am) which leads to a third—reality.
6.2 this third step, reality, the absolute, is not something a person can think, nor does i-am attain; the truth comes to i-am.
7.1 these three steps are not three steps in truth; they are one: not thought—i-am—the truth (pure affectionate awareness).
7.2 awareness isn’t experienced nor does ‘it’ experience; to the dream of a waking state, it appears as the pure potential reality of deep sleep.
8.1 there may be other ways, but they haven't been seen here; and what has been seen here as other ways appear to be just tricks of mind.
9.1 As always, these are merely words used by consciousness to talk to itself, understanding reality is available only to itself—Jai Guru Deva Om
1.1 mind is consciousness limiting itself in order to eat itself in order to create more of itself that appears a little less limited.
2.1 identifying with mind ensures suffering. first, it’s incomplete always looking for completeness; second, it’s divisive guaranteeing violence.
2.2 division creates separation creates association creates disassociation creates division in a never-ending vicious cycle.
2.3 mind will never stop the vicious cycle: it is what it is. there is no choice but to understand the vicious cycle for what it is; or suffer and cause suffering.
3.1 if identification with mind (a person) is a vicious cycle of incompleteness and violence, then what is love, and why can’t a person do that?
3.2 a person can’t love. one doesn’t love. one ~is~ love. a person isn’t love. a person is mind which distorts love into filtered false emotions.
3.3 as long as one identifies with mind, and thinks of oneself as a person, love will never be; no matter how much a person may believe (mind on mind) in love.
3.4 therefore a person cannot love the world to save it; all a person can 'do' is deconstruct itself, eliminating the false to reveal the true.
4.1 in truth, the person doesn’t deconstruct itself; love deconstructs the person; this love is called the satguru.
4.2 all the person can ‘do’ is let love deconstruct the person; this love is called understanding.
4.3 the knowledge of the understanding is love, is the satguru, is being, is consciousness, is is: i am.
5.1 consciousness, being, i-am can not be thought; as love is obviously not a thought; i-am is intuitively known, experienced, apperceived.
5.2 this felt intuitive apperception of i-am is one of nondual consciousness, experiencing the universe as oneself, not ten thousand, not two.
6.1 these first two steps form a natural yoga, deconstruction of the person (not thought) & apperception of not two (i-am) which leads to a third—reality.
6.2 this third step, reality, the absolute, is not something a person can think, nor does i-am attain; the truth comes to i-am.
7.1 these three steps are not three steps in truth; they are one: not thought—i-am—the truth (pure affectionate awareness).
7.2 awareness isn’t experienced nor does ‘it’ experience; to the dream of a waking state, it appears as the pure potential reality of deep sleep.
8.1 there may be other ways, but they haven't been seen here; and what has been seen here as other ways appear to be just tricks of mind.
9.1 As always, these are merely words used by consciousness to talk to itself, understanding reality is available only to itself—Jai Guru Deva Om
2011-08-03
aumdadaGospel 21: it's the berries
I am walking barefoot down a dirt road on a mid-summer morning. There is no known destination. A small yellow butterfly appears to be following me, floating in its fractal patterns but always returning to the line I’m following. It finally rests on a branch of red ripe raspberries, their sun-warmed fragrance rising with the rising warmth of the sun-drenched day. I lean over and pick several of the juicy ones until I have a hand-full.
A chipmunk scurries across the road as I resume my walking and the butterfly its floating. I pick a berry from my mouth and place it on my tongue. The outside is warm but its bite is juicy cool. A breeze moves the high branches of an oak tree. Two crows fly by. I place another berry in my mouth. A flash of something moves through the woods. There’s a sound of a splash in a nearby brook. Another berry. A single cumulus cloud forms in a cobalt-blue sky, changing shapes as the wind softly fingers it edges, now a turtle, then a heron.
There’s still a few berries in my hand so I pop the rest in my mouth. The sun goes down. The sun comes up. Dinosaurs are turning into bluebirds. Oceans are turning into canyons. I’m standing at the edge of a sunburnt mesa, waiting for the total eclipse of the moon. A raven turns to talk to me. “You’re really making quite a day of it,” its vocals echoing off the rainbow cliffs as feathers shimmer with the blackness of absolute light. I stub my toe on a rock in the road and feel the stars of fourteen billion years. A coyote laughs in the distance, before the universe was born. So I am too.
A chipmunk scurries across the road as I resume my walking and the butterfly its floating. I pick a berry from my mouth and place it on my tongue. The outside is warm but its bite is juicy cool. A breeze moves the high branches of an oak tree. Two crows fly by. I place another berry in my mouth. A flash of something moves through the woods. There’s a sound of a splash in a nearby brook. Another berry. A single cumulus cloud forms in a cobalt-blue sky, changing shapes as the wind softly fingers it edges, now a turtle, then a heron.
There’s still a few berries in my hand so I pop the rest in my mouth. The sun goes down. The sun comes up. Dinosaurs are turning into bluebirds. Oceans are turning into canyons. I’m standing at the edge of a sunburnt mesa, waiting for the total eclipse of the moon. A raven turns to talk to me. “You’re really making quite a day of it,” its vocals echoing off the rainbow cliffs as feathers shimmer with the blackness of absolute light. I stub my toe on a rock in the road and feel the stars of fourteen billion years. A coyote laughs in the distance, before the universe was born. So I am too.
2011-08-02
the cicada sutra
there is one conditioned mind and 'we' are it.
pleasant dreamstates.
mind is the hard drive of consciousness.
there is one fact: i am. the rest are just varying degrees of thoughtful metaphor.
a rose is not a rose is god.
the natural state of a balloon is empty.
silly rabbit, emptiness is for no one.
world is what remains after mind has filtered out the goddess from itself so it can eat the rest in mindless satisfaction.
it is the cries of the goddess after every single bite reminding one the world is not what it appears to be.
from the sweet black w/hole of pure awareness, this overwhelming wave of consciousness impossibly breaks through.
being too smart for awareness.
the more one stands as awareness, the less there is to stand.
the simple natural immediate and thorough restorative wetness of awareness: ah!
after almost 14 billion years, light knows it is light, and a single cicada rattles space-time away.
pleasant dreamstates.
mind is the hard drive of consciousness.
there is one fact: i am. the rest are just varying degrees of thoughtful metaphor.
a rose is not a rose is god.
the natural state of a balloon is empty.
silly rabbit, emptiness is for no one.
world is what remains after mind has filtered out the goddess from itself so it can eat the rest in mindless satisfaction.
it is the cries of the goddess after every single bite reminding one the world is not what it appears to be.
from the sweet black w/hole of pure awareness, this overwhelming wave of consciousness impossibly breaks through.
being too smart for awareness.
the more one stands as awareness, the less there is to stand.
the simple natural immediate and thorough restorative wetness of awareness: ah!
after almost 14 billion years, light knows it is light, and a single cicada rattles space-time away.
aumdadaGospel 20: exit stage left
We dropped the mescaline at sunset and by nine o’clock I was driving a car full of lunacy through a swath of headlight-lit ever-changing quicksilver forms of strange particularity come alive for just a moment until others took their place for just a moment in a string of moments this dance of transformation was creating from out of the nothingness of night. In the back seat sat Joey and his two younger cousins. In the front seat was my cousin Paula. Joey’s cousins had never taken hallucinogens before and their reactions were loud and getting louder. Although Joey was attempting to lead them towards a quieter place of appreciation, he was losing the way himself and his laughter at their antics was beginning to outdistance their own clamor. Between the visionary chaos through the windshield and the cacophony of sounds within the car itself, I was beginning to lose the ability to follow the way of the road. So I turned to Paula and whispered loudly, “I think I need your help; I’m starting to freak out!”
This was a first for me. All previous trips had been enjoyable. There had been intense moments but never anxious ones. But although I had never had one, I knew enough to know a bad trip when having one. And I was having one, my eyes were telling Paula. “I know a place,” she said. “It’s near the Center. Some friends of George have an apartment there. Good people.” She emphasized the good. Her words were like a rope and I grabbed on to them. They led me to the state highway and down to Center Homestead where I stopped at her direction. Joey’s cousins were screaming something but I ignored them, as I also ignored the fact we hadn’t seen George all this summer and he wouldn’t be too happy about Joey invading his newfound secret territory.
I don’t remember any of the introductions or even the faces of the people I met. All I remember is the couch, the music, and the egg. For a timeless span of the album Brave New World played repeatedly, I disappeared into the supple folds of a blue couch. At first I felt relief like none ever experienced. Every anxious thought dissolved into the low-lit ambience until the only thing remaining was the wonder of music and a marvelous couch. It wasn’t as if I had disappeared completely but had simply become music and couch. I had always been music and couch. And music and couch were just this one thing. “God...” I finally spoke.
Paula must have heard me, because she suddenly appeared before me, and said previous to our leaving, I need to visit the egg room. I followed her away from the music and couch and she pointed to a door. I walked though it alone and found myself inside an egg. It was completely yellow. On the yellow floor there was a yellow bean bag chair. I sat. Paula closed the yellow door. A small yellow lamp glowed softly from a yellow wall. There is this interesting fact I now note: because everything was yellow, there was no yellow. And because there was no yellow, there was no room. There’s a crack called space-time through which the world appears and I had come back through it to see my original form.
This was a first for me. All previous trips had been enjoyable. There had been intense moments but never anxious ones. But although I had never had one, I knew enough to know a bad trip when having one. And I was having one, my eyes were telling Paula. “I know a place,” she said. “It’s near the Center. Some friends of George have an apartment there. Good people.” She emphasized the good. Her words were like a rope and I grabbed on to them. They led me to the state highway and down to Center Homestead where I stopped at her direction. Joey’s cousins were screaming something but I ignored them, as I also ignored the fact we hadn’t seen George all this summer and he wouldn’t be too happy about Joey invading his newfound secret territory.
I don’t remember any of the introductions or even the faces of the people I met. All I remember is the couch, the music, and the egg. For a timeless span of the album Brave New World played repeatedly, I disappeared into the supple folds of a blue couch. At first I felt relief like none ever experienced. Every anxious thought dissolved into the low-lit ambience until the only thing remaining was the wonder of music and a marvelous couch. It wasn’t as if I had disappeared completely but had simply become music and couch. I had always been music and couch. And music and couch were just this one thing. “God...” I finally spoke.
Paula must have heard me, because she suddenly appeared before me, and said previous to our leaving, I need to visit the egg room. I followed her away from the music and couch and she pointed to a door. I walked though it alone and found myself inside an egg. It was completely yellow. On the yellow floor there was a yellow bean bag chair. I sat. Paula closed the yellow door. A small yellow lamp glowed softly from a yellow wall. There is this interesting fact I now note: because everything was yellow, there was no yellow. And because there was no yellow, there was no room. There’s a crack called space-time through which the world appears and I had come back through it to see my original form.
2011-08-01
aumdadaGospel 19: the frogs of war
Children can be cruel and we were nothing if not children. It was a Tuesday morning and David and I were headed to our cousin Paula’s cottage to play some ping-pong, listen to some music on her porch, and maybe make a little noise. David had secretly scored some Black Cat firecrackers from a cousin who had visited during the weekend. So we walked along the road leading to the public beach detonating a few explosions on the way.
When we reached the shore, we were confronted with a resounding spectacle of frogs. There were hundreds of them, as if the wind-driven waves washing along the weedy section of the shoreline were turning into living creatures. They were hopping in a passionate celebration of existence. At first we looked in wonderment and felt their fervor in our blood. It was almost overpowering to the mind.
So it wasn’t long before the fact of frog and firecracker combined in our thoughts, emerging as some ghastly mutant creature. It wasn’t difficult at all to catch the first frog. And it wasn’t a stretch of the imagination to gently clasp its little emerald body while forcing a firecracker into its tiny mouth. Lighting the fuse was just a simple spark of action, and then we let it loose to hop along the golden sands like a funny cartoon character smoking a small cigar—until its head exploded in a mush of green and yellow guts.
Oh how we laughed—we laughed our heads off and it felt so good! And then we did it again. And again. And over and over again until the killing grounds disgusted even us. We left them there to rot in the growing sun and continued our morning walk to Paula’s and listen to some top forty radio, munch on some cookies, and drink some orange soda. When the noontime news came on and started droning on about some B-52 bombings beginning in Viet Nam, we turned it off. It was time for ping-pong.
When we reached the shore, we were confronted with a resounding spectacle of frogs. There were hundreds of them, as if the wind-driven waves washing along the weedy section of the shoreline were turning into living creatures. They were hopping in a passionate celebration of existence. At first we looked in wonderment and felt their fervor in our blood. It was almost overpowering to the mind.
So it wasn’t long before the fact of frog and firecracker combined in our thoughts, emerging as some ghastly mutant creature. It wasn’t difficult at all to catch the first frog. And it wasn’t a stretch of the imagination to gently clasp its little emerald body while forcing a firecracker into its tiny mouth. Lighting the fuse was just a simple spark of action, and then we let it loose to hop along the golden sands like a funny cartoon character smoking a small cigar—until its head exploded in a mush of green and yellow guts.
Oh how we laughed—we laughed our heads off and it felt so good! And then we did it again. And again. And over and over again until the killing grounds disgusted even us. We left them there to rot in the growing sun and continued our morning walk to Paula’s and listen to some top forty radio, munch on some cookies, and drink some orange soda. When the noontime news came on and started droning on about some B-52 bombings beginning in Viet Nam, we turned it off. It was time for ping-pong.
2011-07-30
The Secret Book of Apperception
Started reading Doors-of-Perception and realized Huxley’s mescaline experience is essentially the everyday without the buzz—when attentive.
Huxley describes experiencing objects as pure being and as being one with the being of his own being.
Huxley refers to objects & himself being one Not-Self, although in actuality, if he went further, he’d see his self is not a self at all.
As an aside, Huxley was not unversed in Zen or Vedanta so his mescaline experiences were somewhat confirmations of his intellectual studies.
When attentive, it is obvious what the mind interprets as separate objects are not, for it and me are one I that is.
All are appearances arising within the absolute reality of naked awareness. Call me consciousness; then I am awareness.
Nisargadatta speaks to this dual aspect of nonduality. Actually he refers to a trinity: being, breath, and universal consciousness.
Nisargadatta's triumvirate compares with that of sat-cit-ananda where breath is seen as the energetic quality of bliss.
But words cannot describe the actual experience. (Huxley also speaks to this early on.) Only is is is.
No words for Tao—all words exist as mind. Mind only interprets experience. At best, it will recognize there is an intuitive grasp of isness.
As another side, Atma Vichara is experienced energetically and intuitively when it becomes clear the question, Who-am-I? cannot be answered.
Thus, this actuality of a picture frame before me is not a mental experience. It is an insightful one, what Nisargadatta calls apperception.
I cannot explain with words this experience nor how it came to be, except see it always is and “I” was conditioned not to see it.
When one begins to see through the conceptual self, the doors of apperception are unlocked, the gateless gate is opened, and reality enters…
…but reality enters where reality has always been. Here and now. (and this has been just more words) Jai Guru Deva Om.
Huxley describes experiencing objects as pure being and as being one with the being of his own being.
Huxley refers to objects & himself being one Not-Self, although in actuality, if he went further, he’d see his self is not a self at all.
As an aside, Huxley was not unversed in Zen or Vedanta so his mescaline experiences were somewhat confirmations of his intellectual studies.
When attentive, it is obvious what the mind interprets as separate objects are not, for it and me are one I that is.
All are appearances arising within the absolute reality of naked awareness. Call me consciousness; then I am awareness.
Nisargadatta speaks to this dual aspect of nonduality. Actually he refers to a trinity: being, breath, and universal consciousness.
Nisargadatta's triumvirate compares with that of sat-cit-ananda where breath is seen as the energetic quality of bliss.
But words cannot describe the actual experience. (Huxley also speaks to this early on.) Only is is is.
No words for Tao—all words exist as mind. Mind only interprets experience. At best, it will recognize there is an intuitive grasp of isness.
As another side, Atma Vichara is experienced energetically and intuitively when it becomes clear the question, Who-am-I? cannot be answered.
Thus, this actuality of a picture frame before me is not a mental experience. It is an insightful one, what Nisargadatta calls apperception.
I cannot explain with words this experience nor how it came to be, except see it always is and “I” was conditioned not to see it.
When one begins to see through the conceptual self, the doors of apperception are unlocked, the gateless gate is opened, and reality enters…
…but reality enters where reality has always been. Here and now. (and this has been just more words) Jai Guru Deva Om.
2011-07-29
aumdadaGospel18: a season of listening
Rock & roll was our bible and the garage beneath Joey’s cottage was, for one summer, our church. It was unusual for a lake cottage to have a foundation; it was a summer cottage after all. But a garage was just strange. The Tylers never used it for their car, and although there was a couch and a coffee table, they never were down there to use those either. So we did. Joey had a portable record player and we played whatever albums were popular amongst us. That’s how I discovered Surrealistic Pillow.
It was Diana’s choice; she had turned a little hippie-wannabe the previous winter, discovering bell-bottoms, tie-dye, pot, and some fascinating musical selections, including Al Kooper, Steve Miller Band, and Jefferson Airplane. They all grew on me as we played them over and over and over again that June, July, and August. But there was something about Surrealistic Pillow.
I had heard of the Airplane, and actually owned the 45 of White Rabbit, but I thought of them as nothing more than a one or two-hit wonder. And on first hearing, that rest of the record appeared sluggish and unexciting for the most part. Maybe it was the pot that changed my mind. A garage with an open door was the perfect place to share a joint. It provided the welcome secrecy of someplace inside while guaranteeing the outside air needed to filter the sweet aroma. Throw in a couch and record player and there’s the textbook setting for our summer of love—one year late.
3/5 of a mile in 10 seconds! It started the second side, and we always started that record with the second side. It provided the initial jolt for conversation and cleared the mental space for profound revelations. Like: “It was like there,” Diana patiently explained. “Wow,” David looked and saw. “Where?” I asked. “If you can’t see it, I can’t say,” she answered, emphasizing each and every single word. “Oh, there!” I too saw it now. “But where is it?” Joey giggled nervously, still unable to see it. I was silent for a minute, and Joey repeated his question. I looked at him and finally responded, “I think I lost it.” And then everyone would break out in that crazy high incurable laughter.
When both the laughter and the record ended, and most of the time it was curiously simultaneously, we would flip it to the other side. About ten minutes later, “Today” began to play, and we were slipping into private universes of otherworldly introspection. If you weren’t careful, this was where paranoia could appear; people are undeniably strange and who really knows the other? Otherwise, if one went further, one could really see some stuff. But no words can be spoken to this point.
It was Diana’s choice; she had turned a little hippie-wannabe the previous winter, discovering bell-bottoms, tie-dye, pot, and some fascinating musical selections, including Al Kooper, Steve Miller Band, and Jefferson Airplane. They all grew on me as we played them over and over and over again that June, July, and August. But there was something about Surrealistic Pillow.
I had heard of the Airplane, and actually owned the 45 of White Rabbit, but I thought of them as nothing more than a one or two-hit wonder. And on first hearing, that rest of the record appeared sluggish and unexciting for the most part. Maybe it was the pot that changed my mind. A garage with an open door was the perfect place to share a joint. It provided the welcome secrecy of someplace inside while guaranteeing the outside air needed to filter the sweet aroma. Throw in a couch and record player and there’s the textbook setting for our summer of love—one year late.
3/5 of a mile in 10 seconds! It started the second side, and we always started that record with the second side. It provided the initial jolt for conversation and cleared the mental space for profound revelations. Like: “It was like there,” Diana patiently explained. “Wow,” David looked and saw. “Where?” I asked. “If you can’t see it, I can’t say,” she answered, emphasizing each and every single word. “Oh, there!” I too saw it now. “But where is it?” Joey giggled nervously, still unable to see it. I was silent for a minute, and Joey repeated his question. I looked at him and finally responded, “I think I lost it.” And then everyone would break out in that crazy high incurable laughter.
When both the laughter and the record ended, and most of the time it was curiously simultaneously, we would flip it to the other side. About ten minutes later, “Today” began to play, and we were slipping into private universes of otherworldly introspection. If you weren’t careful, this was where paranoia could appear; people are undeniably strange and who really knows the other? Otherwise, if one went further, one could really see some stuff. But no words can be spoken to this point.
2011-07-28
the apocryphon of aum dada
The whole world is the creation of I-Am. Mind has always been its tool although mind ran way with that world.
Within the context of mind and its egoic self, there is no point to that world. Fear appears to be king and runs randomly rampant.
But in the context of I-Am, there is absolutely one point in that world and that is to break out of that world.
In the context of egoic self, the world appears to be real yet pointless and meaningless.
In the context of I-Am, the world appears to be a dream with a single point and meaning: waking up from that dreamstate.
Pulling back and looking at the physical realm of consciousness, in the context of egoic self, it appears violent and random.
In the light of consciousness, the physical world is one of light descending into matter and ascending back to light—one point.
In the unconscious ways of consciousness, the body appears to be involved within this reflexive drive of the universe in space-time.
In the conscious workings of consciousness, the mind appears to be involved within this reflexive drive of the dreamstate in human time.
Natural disasters as experienced within the dreamstate are meaningful on the unconscious level of the reflexive universe.
Human tragedies as experienced within the dreamstate are meaningful on the conscious level of the reflexive dreamstate.
All is expendable and all is sacrificial—consciousness is always ever-changing, ever-renewing, always making more of itself.
But when sitting on the pinnacle of both reflexive universe and reflexive dreamstate, one is truly blessed with double responsibility—svaha!
As the drive of the reflexive universe is pure light, the drive of the reflexive dreamstate is pure love, Satguru, I-Am itself alone and one.
The love of the Satguru is a love that can’t be expressed in terms of egoic self; it is as to compare electric light with sunlight.
But the loving drive of the reflexive dreamstate is just as powerful and single-driven as the nuclear drive of the reflexive universe.
Light, love, call it sunlove, has descended into the dreamstate of egoic self and is now being pulled up into itself by itself—the Satguru.
Each and every dreamstate interaction can be viewed within this so-called serendipitous and meaningful framework of waking up.
Again, it should be remembered that sunlove can be tough love, not completely understood by mind—but the Satguru will always make more.
The closer the egoic self is to dissolving into the pure awareness of I-Am, the more this serendipity will be experienced and understood…
until the only purpose of the dream character is the purpose of the reflexive dreamstate itself—the Bodhisattva drive of the Satguru.
As always, these are merely words used by consciousness to talk to itself understanding reality is available only to itself—Jai Guru Deva Om
Within the context of mind and its egoic self, there is no point to that world. Fear appears to be king and runs randomly rampant.
But in the context of I-Am, there is absolutely one point in that world and that is to break out of that world.
In the context of egoic self, the world appears to be real yet pointless and meaningless.
In the context of I-Am, the world appears to be a dream with a single point and meaning: waking up from that dreamstate.
Pulling back and looking at the physical realm of consciousness, in the context of egoic self, it appears violent and random.
In the light of consciousness, the physical world is one of light descending into matter and ascending back to light—one point.
In the unconscious ways of consciousness, the body appears to be involved within this reflexive drive of the universe in space-time.
In the conscious workings of consciousness, the mind appears to be involved within this reflexive drive of the dreamstate in human time.
Natural disasters as experienced within the dreamstate are meaningful on the unconscious level of the reflexive universe.
Human tragedies as experienced within the dreamstate are meaningful on the conscious level of the reflexive dreamstate.
All is expendable and all is sacrificial—consciousness is always ever-changing, ever-renewing, always making more of itself.
But when sitting on the pinnacle of both reflexive universe and reflexive dreamstate, one is truly blessed with double responsibility—svaha!
As the drive of the reflexive universe is pure light, the drive of the reflexive dreamstate is pure love, Satguru, I-Am itself alone and one.
The love of the Satguru is a love that can’t be expressed in terms of egoic self; it is as to compare electric light with sunlight.
But the loving drive of the reflexive dreamstate is just as powerful and single-driven as the nuclear drive of the reflexive universe.
Light, love, call it sunlove, has descended into the dreamstate of egoic self and is now being pulled up into itself by itself—the Satguru.
Each and every dreamstate interaction can be viewed within this so-called serendipitous and meaningful framework of waking up.
Again, it should be remembered that sunlove can be tough love, not completely understood by mind—but the Satguru will always make more.
The closer the egoic self is to dissolving into the pure awareness of I-Am, the more this serendipity will be experienced and understood…
until the only purpose of the dream character is the purpose of the reflexive dreamstate itself—the Bodhisattva drive of the Satguru.
As always, these are merely words used by consciousness to talk to itself understanding reality is available only to itself—Jai Guru Deva Om
aumdadaGospel 17: new moon waters
Next door to my Uncle Charley’s cottage sat the Upton’s summer house. Benjamin Upton owned a wood mill in Bluefield, a small mill town about ten miles south of New Moon Lake. His business was, I had overhead my parents say, a lucrative one. Besides his mill, his fortunate sons and daughters, his white Cadillac Coupe de Ville, his large motor boat with dual inboard engines, his house in town built on a landscaped hill with nothing in view but his property of meadows and woods, and his summer house of varnished golden pine with French doors and louvre windows, he was a political leader of the town, and his wife was deeply involved with the First Baptist Church of Bluefield Parish.
One early July Saturday morning, I was sitting with my aunt and mother on the grassy promontory overlooking the beach and lake. David was inside finishing his Cheerios and I was waiting for him to join me for a morning swim. Suddenly a crowd of people dressed in Sunday best gathered on the Upton beach. A man in black appeared from out of the crowd and walked right into the water, shoes, pants, and all. He held a book in his hands and began reading what was obviously Bible scripture. A heavyset woman dressed in white emerged and joined him in the lake. It was Joanne Upton.
At first her dressed flowered in the shallow waters but then it sunk around her as they walked further and deeper. She was also wearing a large straw hat with a white ribbon securely tied to her chin. Exchanging some words with the minister at first, she held her hand out to someone in the crowd. A woman also dressed in white appeared and joined Mrs. Upton and the minister in the waist-deep water. The Reverend spoke some words and lightly touched the woman’s forehead. Joanne Upton held the small of the woman’s back and then dipped her beneath the surface. I saw the Holy Spirit above the effervescent expanse of outgoing ripples, and small white doves with wings of fire descending in our midst. Our minds dissolved into the depths of New Moon Lake and we were always swimming in the youth of ten thousand summers.
One early July Saturday morning, I was sitting with my aunt and mother on the grassy promontory overlooking the beach and lake. David was inside finishing his Cheerios and I was waiting for him to join me for a morning swim. Suddenly a crowd of people dressed in Sunday best gathered on the Upton beach. A man in black appeared from out of the crowd and walked right into the water, shoes, pants, and all. He held a book in his hands and began reading what was obviously Bible scripture. A heavyset woman dressed in white emerged and joined him in the lake. It was Joanne Upton.
At first her dressed flowered in the shallow waters but then it sunk around her as they walked further and deeper. She was also wearing a large straw hat with a white ribbon securely tied to her chin. Exchanging some words with the minister at first, she held her hand out to someone in the crowd. A woman also dressed in white appeared and joined Mrs. Upton and the minister in the waist-deep water. The Reverend spoke some words and lightly touched the woman’s forehead. Joanne Upton held the small of the woman’s back and then dipped her beneath the surface. I saw the Holy Spirit above the effervescent expanse of outgoing ripples, and small white doves with wings of fire descending in our midst. Our minds dissolved into the depths of New Moon Lake and we were always swimming in the youth of ten thousand summers.
2011-07-27
the apocalypse of aum dada
I took a ride this afternoon and was almost hit twice by oncoming cars swerving into the wrong lane.
It appeared to be a message, repeated, and if I didn’t get it, there’d be a third one I wouldn’t be able to get—it would get me.
I knew what it meant almost as soon I realized they were messages—surrender is not a negative movement.
It begins as such, when one begins to realize one’s sense of self, that egoic sense of I, is purely a conceptual one.
It is at this level one uses the thorn to remove the thorn, that is, one uses the mind to remove identification with the mind.
This is the yoga of wisdom, and it is in its nature, negative, a neti-neti approach. Who am I? Not this; not this.
Nisargadatta Maharaj, though, also emphasizes the positive result of such a negative and self-destructive approach.
Once the objects of this self-identification are removed, the I am this or this or this and so on and so on, only the I Am remains.
This pure “I Am” is all there is, pure non-conceptual self-existence; it is the only thing that cannot be denied.
And the whole world is its creation! Mind has always been its tool although the mind ran away with world.
Ultimately then, the surrender of the egoic self is not so much a surrender as it is the unavoidable awakening triumph of I Am.
Since the egoic self is just shifting conceptual identifications entirely mind-created, there is really no one there to surrender.
This is why it is said all one can do is understand. The understanding of the falsehood leads to a natural lessening of self-identification.
One cannot believe in one that doesn’t exist. The power of the false declines gradually until there is a sudden final letting-go.
It is the final letting-go that will appear as something completely negative to the remaining, almost now purely habitual, egoic self.
It is as if it knows it doesn’t exist except in concept, yet still holds on to the habit of that conceptual existence. Maybe dangerously so.
Therefore when faced with some line-in-the-sand kind of action (or non-action), the surrender of the egoic self is a deathlike one.
Alternatively, when vestiges of egoic self are utilized as a finishing tool, it becomes clear the hand that holds the tool isn’t the tool.
Such letting-go then is not a negative movement, but a positive inevitability: the tool surrenders to the hand that’s always held it: I Am!
As always, these concepts are subtle ones, and they are merely words used by consciousness to talk to itself…
in the understanding the ultimate reality of that pointless point of pure awareness is available only to itself—and not its tool of mind.
Jai Guru Deva Om—I Am That.
It appeared to be a message, repeated, and if I didn’t get it, there’d be a third one I wouldn’t be able to get—it would get me.
I knew what it meant almost as soon I realized they were messages—surrender is not a negative movement.
It begins as such, when one begins to realize one’s sense of self, that egoic sense of I, is purely a conceptual one.
It is at this level one uses the thorn to remove the thorn, that is, one uses the mind to remove identification with the mind.
This is the yoga of wisdom, and it is in its nature, negative, a neti-neti approach. Who am I? Not this; not this.
Nisargadatta Maharaj, though, also emphasizes the positive result of such a negative and self-destructive approach.
Once the objects of this self-identification are removed, the I am this or this or this and so on and so on, only the I Am remains.
This pure “I Am” is all there is, pure non-conceptual self-existence; it is the only thing that cannot be denied.
And the whole world is its creation! Mind has always been its tool although the mind ran away with world.
Ultimately then, the surrender of the egoic self is not so much a surrender as it is the unavoidable awakening triumph of I Am.
Since the egoic self is just shifting conceptual identifications entirely mind-created, there is really no one there to surrender.
This is why it is said all one can do is understand. The understanding of the falsehood leads to a natural lessening of self-identification.
One cannot believe in one that doesn’t exist. The power of the false declines gradually until there is a sudden final letting-go.
It is the final letting-go that will appear as something completely negative to the remaining, almost now purely habitual, egoic self.
It is as if it knows it doesn’t exist except in concept, yet still holds on to the habit of that conceptual existence. Maybe dangerously so.
Therefore when faced with some line-in-the-sand kind of action (or non-action), the surrender of the egoic self is a deathlike one.
Alternatively, when vestiges of egoic self are utilized as a finishing tool, it becomes clear the hand that holds the tool isn’t the tool.
Such letting-go then is not a negative movement, but a positive inevitability: the tool surrenders to the hand that’s always held it: I Am!
As always, these concepts are subtle ones, and they are merely words used by consciousness to talk to itself…
in the understanding the ultimate reality of that pointless point of pure awareness is available only to itself—and not its tool of mind.
Jai Guru Deva Om—I Am That.
aumdadaGospel 16: a summer thriller
No season can be spent without trouble being bought, even in the days before sex and drugs and rock & roll. One day, David discovered a spool of party-favor paper, printed with blue balloons and teddy bears all over. It was the leftovers of a birthday party held in the cottage where the New York people lived. We knew them only by sight, exchanging hellos when walking along the shores of their beach while heading for the swamp at the north end of the cove, but nothing more than that. Our parents may have held deeper conversations but never shared any of them with us. The only way we knew they were from New York was the golden Empire State license plates on their automobiles.
Their driveway was almost at the beginning of the Gold Coast Road, which began at the state highway and followed the properties along the waterfront of the cove, past all our cottages, until it reached the county way. The New York people kept their trash cans near it at the end of their driveway, and the roll of paper was lying on the ground there. We had been walking down the road toward the highway when David spied it reflecting the late evening sun. At first, we tore some pieces off and waved them like streamers behind us. Then Joey had an infamous idea. “Follow me!” he shouted running off for the end of the way.
There was a large pine tree with wooden signs of the names of those who lived along the lake. It was at the corner where the dirt road met paved highway beneath a street lamp, and Joey was tying an end of the roll of paper around it when we caught up to him. His evil genius was apprehended by us almost immediately. David grabbed the spool at the finish of the knot. We waited with him as cars rolled past us, speeding north and south to destinations other than this summer country one. When the coast was clear, we bolted across, and David tied the further end of the long span of paper on another tree. We then ran across the highway again and waited from a secure place on the side of our dirt road.
Joey heard a car approaching from the north. “Here comes one!” he howled. There was a short stretch of straight highway in that direction before it passed our road. The paper glowed softly in the twilight, and then flashed as the headlights of the oncoming car picked up the traces of its length about four feet above the black pavement. Suddenly it appeared like a solid silver chain stretching across a mysterious thoroughfare. God knows what the driver thought. But brakes squealed! A white car came to a stop and a man almost flew out its door.
By then we were laughing uncontrollably. “Roadblock!” Joey screamed. “Identify yourselves!” I roared. “Hands-up!” David barked out an almost scripted order. The man looked over at us as something registered in his eyes. He hollered out something and another man got out of the passenger side. They exchanged words and then came running at us. “They’re after us!” Joey screamed out the obvious. “Run!” I echoed. “Follow me!” David cried and went running up the dirt way.
It was nearly dark now but the surface of the road reflected the remaining light that lit the cobalt sky and it glowed before us with high adventure. David turned off at the driveway of the New York people, threading his way in-between several cars towards the shadows of the right side of the cottage. We heard angry voices behind us as we followed him into the darkness and out the other end of beach, free shore, open lake and clear sky.
The New York people were all inside. We ran for the freedom of the water and waited. The two men must have given up the chase, or were knocking on the door of the cottage waiting to ask New York people whatever two irate men who left their car in the middle of a state highway at twilight in late July would ask such strangers from New York. We knew we’d never find out and we laughed about it amongst ourselves as we headed for the safety of our swamp.
Their driveway was almost at the beginning of the Gold Coast Road, which began at the state highway and followed the properties along the waterfront of the cove, past all our cottages, until it reached the county way. The New York people kept their trash cans near it at the end of their driveway, and the roll of paper was lying on the ground there. We had been walking down the road toward the highway when David spied it reflecting the late evening sun. At first, we tore some pieces off and waved them like streamers behind us. Then Joey had an infamous idea. “Follow me!” he shouted running off for the end of the way.
There was a large pine tree with wooden signs of the names of those who lived along the lake. It was at the corner where the dirt road met paved highway beneath a street lamp, and Joey was tying an end of the roll of paper around it when we caught up to him. His evil genius was apprehended by us almost immediately. David grabbed the spool at the finish of the knot. We waited with him as cars rolled past us, speeding north and south to destinations other than this summer country one. When the coast was clear, we bolted across, and David tied the further end of the long span of paper on another tree. We then ran across the highway again and waited from a secure place on the side of our dirt road.
Joey heard a car approaching from the north. “Here comes one!” he howled. There was a short stretch of straight highway in that direction before it passed our road. The paper glowed softly in the twilight, and then flashed as the headlights of the oncoming car picked up the traces of its length about four feet above the black pavement. Suddenly it appeared like a solid silver chain stretching across a mysterious thoroughfare. God knows what the driver thought. But brakes squealed! A white car came to a stop and a man almost flew out its door.
By then we were laughing uncontrollably. “Roadblock!” Joey screamed. “Identify yourselves!” I roared. “Hands-up!” David barked out an almost scripted order. The man looked over at us as something registered in his eyes. He hollered out something and another man got out of the passenger side. They exchanged words and then came running at us. “They’re after us!” Joey screamed out the obvious. “Run!” I echoed. “Follow me!” David cried and went running up the dirt way.
It was nearly dark now but the surface of the road reflected the remaining light that lit the cobalt sky and it glowed before us with high adventure. David turned off at the driveway of the New York people, threading his way in-between several cars towards the shadows of the right side of the cottage. We heard angry voices behind us as we followed him into the darkness and out the other end of beach, free shore, open lake and clear sky.
The New York people were all inside. We ran for the freedom of the water and waited. The two men must have given up the chase, or were knocking on the door of the cottage waiting to ask New York people whatever two irate men who left their car in the middle of a state highway at twilight in late July would ask such strangers from New York. We knew we’d never find out and we laughed about it amongst ourselves as we headed for the safety of our swamp.
2011-07-26
aumdadaGospel 15: oberon, what the puck?
I had a dream. It was summer 1968 and King and Kennedy had both been assassinated that spring. My parents were watching the Democratic National Convention on TV, and Senator Ribicoff was speaking out about the violence outside the hall on the streets of Chicago. Mayor Daley rose and had to be restrained from bolting for the podium and biting off the head of the respected Gentleman from Connecticut. “You lousy motherfucker! Go home!” he screamed and called in the riot police instead. They trooped down the corridors pounding any delegate not pledged to Hubert H. Humphrey into bloody submission. It’s true; Dan Rather took this picture.
Clean Gene eyed the bloodshed from the balcony. There was no time to find a phone booth. He ripped off his white shirt and thin black tie, revealing an eye in a pyramid imprinted on a red, white and blue spandex undershirt. “For truth, justice and the American way,” he cried, swooping down into the action on the floor, where Ed Muskie met him with a piece of green kryptonite. It’s true; Norman Mailer wrote this book.
Lyndon Baines Johnson rubbed his forehead asking over and over again what monsters had he let loose. Abbie Hoffman came in through a side door and answered with a left hook. Bobby Seale raised his fist and punched a gaping hole through the convention hall ceiling. The stars poured in. George McGovern looked up and saw the black hole of 1972. Richard Nixon was smiling like a Cheshire cat licking up the Milky Way. Jerry Rubin took the next bus for Wall Street. It’s true; Mia Farrow acted in this movie.
I woke up. The house was quiet. The night light in the kitchen gave out a shadowy glow. Everything was a lie. Walking past the refrigerator, I grabbed a can of Coke, and went into the living room. Embers still glowed in the fireplace; it was a cool August night and I watched their final performance. There was a long road before me, with dead man’s curves and disappearing straight-aways. There were long stretches of falling asleep at the wheel. There was an accident or two. But there was something there is that keeps one going.
Clean Gene eyed the bloodshed from the balcony. There was no time to find a phone booth. He ripped off his white shirt and thin black tie, revealing an eye in a pyramid imprinted on a red, white and blue spandex undershirt. “For truth, justice and the American way,” he cried, swooping down into the action on the floor, where Ed Muskie met him with a piece of green kryptonite. It’s true; Norman Mailer wrote this book.
Lyndon Baines Johnson rubbed his forehead asking over and over again what monsters had he let loose. Abbie Hoffman came in through a side door and answered with a left hook. Bobby Seale raised his fist and punched a gaping hole through the convention hall ceiling. The stars poured in. George McGovern looked up and saw the black hole of 1972. Richard Nixon was smiling like a Cheshire cat licking up the Milky Way. Jerry Rubin took the next bus for Wall Street. It’s true; Mia Farrow acted in this movie.
I woke up. The house was quiet. The night light in the kitchen gave out a shadowy glow. Everything was a lie. Walking past the refrigerator, I grabbed a can of Coke, and went into the living room. Embers still glowed in the fireplace; it was a cool August night and I watched their final performance. There was a long road before me, with dead man’s curves and disappearing straight-aways. There were long stretches of falling asleep at the wheel. There was an accident or two. But there was something there is that keeps one going.
2011-07-25
aumdadaGospel14: an early ending
The end of summer is not the beginning of the fall. It’s the return of books, pencils and paper, and back to school. That was always the Wednesday after Labor Day, so we would most often leave the lake on the Tuesday in-between, although most everyone else left the afternoon of the holiday. All the docks and rafts and boats would be pulled in to the shore, leaving the lake in its wilderness condition of nothing but a smooth blank mirror.
The Francis family summered on the lot next to my Uncle Charley’s. Actually it was the lot one over from his; there was an empty lot of trees between the two, right across the picture window of our cottage (today there’s a large all-season house sitting there). My father would sit at the table in front of the window and stare through those trees almost every evening he was there, ruminating on the life spans of the congregating moths at the light shining from the table-lamp.
There were nine children in the Francis family, although there were only eight on this particular summer. The oldest had been killed in Viet Nam the previous spring. They had been slow to arrive that summer, but they finally did almost en masse for the Fourth of July, and kept more to themselves than usual, breaking camp early the Sunday of Labor Day weekend.
By Monday late afternoon, everyone else had disappeared but Paula and myself. We walked down to the Francis waterfront and sat on the blue raft now pulled on to the shore. The matching blue docks were stacked behind it. Wooden shutters had been nailed to the windows of the blue cottage. The beach was clean of toys and blue Adirondack chairs. We stared out at the lake and discussed the events of that summer. Jane and I had finally become a thing after two years of flirting with the possibility, but had broken it off after less than two passionate months. Paula had started up something with George and wondered what it was and where in the world it was going.
“He seems serious about us,” she was saying, “but he doesn’t want to have anything to do with anyone else. It’s kind of intense.” She was now matching his intensity with her own natural obsessive nature.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “I don’t think I even saw him the entire month of August.” Even after Jane and I had broken it off, we had returned to flirting again with the possibility, so the last couple of weeks of the month had been back and forth ones of dueling obsessions, away, looking for another, and near, longing for the same old same. I really didn’t have a chance to miss George at all.
“I know,” she replied. “We weren’t separated at all this last month. I hardly saw any of you guys either.” I said nothing more but it had occurred to me as well the George and Joey rift had finally cracked us apart.
We continued to look out at the water. Ah, the summer was over. “It’s never going to be the same,” the lake reflected my own sad silent voice back to me.
The Francis family summered on the lot next to my Uncle Charley’s. Actually it was the lot one over from his; there was an empty lot of trees between the two, right across the picture window of our cottage (today there’s a large all-season house sitting there). My father would sit at the table in front of the window and stare through those trees almost every evening he was there, ruminating on the life spans of the congregating moths at the light shining from the table-lamp.
There were nine children in the Francis family, although there were only eight on this particular summer. The oldest had been killed in Viet Nam the previous spring. They had been slow to arrive that summer, but they finally did almost en masse for the Fourth of July, and kept more to themselves than usual, breaking camp early the Sunday of Labor Day weekend.
By Monday late afternoon, everyone else had disappeared but Paula and myself. We walked down to the Francis waterfront and sat on the blue raft now pulled on to the shore. The matching blue docks were stacked behind it. Wooden shutters had been nailed to the windows of the blue cottage. The beach was clean of toys and blue Adirondack chairs. We stared out at the lake and discussed the events of that summer. Jane and I had finally become a thing after two years of flirting with the possibility, but had broken it off after less than two passionate months. Paula had started up something with George and wondered what it was and where in the world it was going.
“He seems serious about us,” she was saying, “but he doesn’t want to have anything to do with anyone else. It’s kind of intense.” She was now matching his intensity with her own natural obsessive nature.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “I don’t think I even saw him the entire month of August.” Even after Jane and I had broken it off, we had returned to flirting again with the possibility, so the last couple of weeks of the month had been back and forth ones of dueling obsessions, away, looking for another, and near, longing for the same old same. I really didn’t have a chance to miss George at all.
“I know,” she replied. “We weren’t separated at all this last month. I hardly saw any of you guys either.” I said nothing more but it had occurred to me as well the George and Joey rift had finally cracked us apart.
We continued to look out at the water. Ah, the summer was over. “It’s never going to be the same,” the lake reflected my own sad silent voice back to me.
2011-07-23
and the lord said sutra
and the lord said beware those who come carrying gifts of scripture for they would imprison you in their words.
and the lord said an ass will pass through the eye of a needle before a single word turns real.
and the lord said reality is what you are and not within the knowledge of all words.
and the lord said one and one is two but two is just a product of the one.
and the lord said those who love through lies are only lying to themselves about their love.
and the lord said it's gonna be a scorchah out today so be sure to drink plenty of liquids and stay cool.
and the lord said no words are truer spoken.
and the lord said it's funny how a person always wants to accentuate the positive without accepting the negative that fatedly accompanies it.
and the lord said i made the grass green & the scythe that lays it low & the emerald grasshoppers flying to their sanctuary, but you made me.
and the lord said isn't it something else that it's not even nothing.
and the lord said consciousness is the sinner and ego is the sin or something to that effect.
and the lord said love consciousness; slap ego.
and the lord said remember in these sublime matters, consciousness is always talking to consciousness.
and the lord said an ass will pass through the eye of a needle before a single word turns real.
and the lord said reality is what you are and not within the knowledge of all words.
and the lord said one and one is two but two is just a product of the one.
and the lord said those who love through lies are only lying to themselves about their love.
and the lord said it's gonna be a scorchah out today so be sure to drink plenty of liquids and stay cool.
and the lord said no words are truer spoken.
and the lord said it's funny how a person always wants to accentuate the positive without accepting the negative that fatedly accompanies it.
and the lord said i made the grass green & the scythe that lays it low & the emerald grasshoppers flying to their sanctuary, but you made me.
and the lord said isn't it something else that it's not even nothing.
and the lord said consciousness is the sinner and ego is the sin or something to that effect.
and the lord said love consciousness; slap ego.
and the lord said remember in these sublime matters, consciousness is always talking to consciousness.
aumdadaGospel13: strange love, strange world
Jane and Diana lived just off the point that watched over the cove which formed our developing world each summer. Their cottages neighbored each other on the waterfront facing the open vast expanse of empty lake. A small dirt road ran past their driveways. It left the county road, which bridged the outlet of the lake, at the hillside property of George’s parents and ran along the opposite shore of the cove, past the yawning grounds surrounding the point, continuing on past Jane, past Diana, and towards the entrances of other greater forbidding lakeside properties.
In the day, the road was always in the shadow of trees. At night, it would become exceptionally murky. It was the darkest I had ever experienced, and I appreciated the puddles of moonlight splashing the surrounding atmosphere with shadows of sight on those nights we journeyed upon it. One early evening, David and I walked over to visit with Jane and Diana to watch the movie, Dr. Strangelove, on TV. This was before the advent of pre-recorded video and so the event was considered something awesome and auspicious.
We had waited all week to see it, looking forward to Peter Sellers and his triumvirate of exceptionally diverging roles. So we watched it attentively, laughing at almost every line, and especially the rich pantomime of Strangelove’s uncontrollable extremity—we never even noticed the time passing. After the world had finally ended, and the necessary small talk had come to a close, we said our goodbyes. David and I walked through the light of the driveway to the darkness of the road. It wasn’t long before we realized the stark truth: there was a new moon over New Moon Lake.
I literally could not see my hand before my face. Needless to say, I couldn’t see David at all. It was only the sound of our voices which kept us together. Of course we had no flashlight, and the road was a rambling more-than-a-quarter-mile course running in-between roadsides of brush, bush, tree-stumps, trees, and the occasional stick with sign indicating a driveway leading to an undetectable cottage far below. We bumped many of those things that night.
It was slow going. Step-by-step, we searched out the road like two blind men. I was still a little high from the joint we had smoked outside before the movie. Not that Dr. Strangelove required anything to make it strange, but we thought it might be a good idea to match the consciousness of its particular brand of sanity with something similar ourselves. And now that consciousness was walking in the blackness of a world gone dark. There was nothing there but me, and I was just this bodiless entity stumbling in the emptiness of night. I was free to re-invent the world in any way I saw fit. In fact, there was nothing else I could do.
In the day, the road was always in the shadow of trees. At night, it would become exceptionally murky. It was the darkest I had ever experienced, and I appreciated the puddles of moonlight splashing the surrounding atmosphere with shadows of sight on those nights we journeyed upon it. One early evening, David and I walked over to visit with Jane and Diana to watch the movie, Dr. Strangelove, on TV. This was before the advent of pre-recorded video and so the event was considered something awesome and auspicious.
We had waited all week to see it, looking forward to Peter Sellers and his triumvirate of exceptionally diverging roles. So we watched it attentively, laughing at almost every line, and especially the rich pantomime of Strangelove’s uncontrollable extremity—we never even noticed the time passing. After the world had finally ended, and the necessary small talk had come to a close, we said our goodbyes. David and I walked through the light of the driveway to the darkness of the road. It wasn’t long before we realized the stark truth: there was a new moon over New Moon Lake.
I literally could not see my hand before my face. Needless to say, I couldn’t see David at all. It was only the sound of our voices which kept us together. Of course we had no flashlight, and the road was a rambling more-than-a-quarter-mile course running in-between roadsides of brush, bush, tree-stumps, trees, and the occasional stick with sign indicating a driveway leading to an undetectable cottage far below. We bumped many of those things that night.
It was slow going. Step-by-step, we searched out the road like two blind men. I was still a little high from the joint we had smoked outside before the movie. Not that Dr. Strangelove required anything to make it strange, but we thought it might be a good idea to match the consciousness of its particular brand of sanity with something similar ourselves. And now that consciousness was walking in the blackness of a world gone dark. There was nothing there but me, and I was just this bodiless entity stumbling in the emptiness of night. I was free to re-invent the world in any way I saw fit. In fact, there was nothing else I could do.
2011-07-22
the w/hole sutra
pointing to the point of nonconceptual existence
like a point of pointless black w/hole being
from which the whole conceptual shebang begins.
from this pointless point the world is seen as inside out
with nothing propping up these tents of flesh and bone
but breathing its belief.
the pointless point is like the pinhole point of light
projecting out an incredible world of bright imagination
that imagines it's imagining.
there are no choices in the matter;
one rests in the pointless point of the mother w/hole
or cries out some conditional version of violence.
being is the opening to the w/hole.
the w/hole erupts from time to time in acts of thoughtless love.
every night, you fall back in your w/hole;
so, in the morning, just rise into it.
om. that is the w/hole. this is the w/hole.
from w/hole, the w/hole is manifest:
the w/hole is gathered from the w/hole…
and the w/hole remains.
like a point of pointless black w/hole being
from which the whole conceptual shebang begins.
from this pointless point the world is seen as inside out
with nothing propping up these tents of flesh and bone
but breathing its belief.
the pointless point is like the pinhole point of light
projecting out an incredible world of bright imagination
that imagines it's imagining.
there are no choices in the matter;
one rests in the pointless point of the mother w/hole
or cries out some conditional version of violence.
being is the opening to the w/hole.
the w/hole erupts from time to time in acts of thoughtless love.
every night, you fall back in your w/hole;
so, in the morning, just rise into it.
om. that is the w/hole. this is the w/hole.
from w/hole, the w/hole is manifest:
the w/hole is gathered from the w/hole…
and the w/hole remains.
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