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.
2011-08-31
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.
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