echoes from emptiness

Tag: Presence

letter to a reformed seeker

Cartoon by Michael Leunig

 

Dear (newly wide-awake) reformed seeker -

If you haven’t yet been called delusional, flakey, misguided, weird, out-of-touch, in denial, crazy, mistaken, blasphemous, arrogant, heretical, evil, a nutter…

If you haven’t been judged, shunned, ostracised, scorned, ignored, rejected, excluded, gossiped about, sent to Coventry…

No worries – there’s still plenty of time.

Seven billion stories (and counting) are poised to project their characters onto the empty pregnant space that you know yourself to be.

Hang in there – if you can find a ‘there’ anywhere. (Chuckles)

When the barbs come thick and fast you’ll be astonished to find that they fly right through your shimmering spaciousness. It’s quite a trip actually!

Best

etc


Cartoon by Michael Leunig


without ever arriving, it’s always here

 

emptiness loves emptying

 

emptiness loves emptying
that’s it’s nature
its forms are endless; beyond mind’s conjecture

you can’t arrive
at an apperception of its infinite beingness
by any practice or prayer

it is too ever-present
too intimate
without ever arriving, it’s always here

~

 

noname’s lament

358

a Very Dear someone-I-know
likes to be called ‘I Am’
he says it’s the most powerful name
one can adopt
(the masters told him so)

 .

I tease him and tell him to call me
‘I’m Not’

 .

he’s unamused; he’s very earnest about
his spiritual status and frequently
sends me to Coventry
for my irreverence

 .

I’m probably over-pedantic
(blame it on my story as an ex-educator)
but from the moment it was seen
what ‘I’ is – when IT was fully unclothed
and revealed as naked Presence -
the ‘Am’ has been superfluous
(ummm
so has the ‘Am Not”, strangely enough,
but kid sisters l-o-v-e to goad)

 .

(aside)
isn’t the “I am” statement the ultimate oxymoron?
it’s both incongruous and self-contradictory…

 .

the only verb-form ‘I’ can logically take is an IS
for there’s nothing about ‘I’
that could be called personal,
given its inextricability from whatever ‘it’
knows or does

 .

and yet, our entire manner of speaking insists
that we stand as separate objects
when irreducible BE-ing is all that
anyone
actually
experiences

 .

yes, it’s grammatically incorrect
(teacher winces, adjusts glasses)
but it’s unarguably accurate
in terms of one’s experience

 .

my much-missed bro
when can I come home
and play with you again?

~

from where I’m looking

349

The sky is powder blue and cloudless.

Like a cartoon cut-out
defiant against the celestial foreverness
stands a tall straight palm,
its huge bracts lavishly festooned with nectar berries -
breakfast au plein air for birds, beetles, insects.

High above the bracts,
the palm fronds erupt into a wild dance
celebrating – as though their lives depended on it.

Behind the palm and the security fence
the surface of the swimming pool is tickled
by the quirky breeze.  It trembles.

Nodding demurely by its edge
clusters of coral bougainvillea
saturate the eye with impossible tropical color.

This is ‘n’ – the thusness of now-this-here
in which quivers of yearning
and shudders of aversion
find no place.

Everything, everything
exists as ubiquitous Presence
presenting Itself to Itself.

Just so.

~

no way in and no way out

347

Vast Presence  is always perfectly still.

And yet – as happened today – when a child is injured outside one’s gate and lies screaming in shock and pain, there is action.  It is action unclouded by confusion, by conceptualization, by choice.  Action simply acts.  The child is held and comforted, first aid is applied.  She is protected until her mother arrives.

Vast Presence does nothing but be present.

Isn’t it curious that we strive to live in the moment when it’s impossible to find any-where or any-when else but the vastness of the Present, this very moment?  We are prisoners of this perfect Presence: there’s no need to seek it, and no possibility of escape!

~

See also – I’m prisoner of a presence

today …

346

the sun rose
with no sympathy for a small-time insomniac

the heart sang
drowning out mind’s misery-mongering

an unavoidable Presence ‘watched’
aloof and impartial
and yet inextricably absorbed
within every thought and feeling and deed

(there was caring and cleaning and caring and cooking and caring
and shopping and caring and listening and caring and playing and caring
for the adorable ancients whose turn it is to be my toddlers)

the sun set

the heart sang
its little song of gratitude

~

never will you meet such an unapologetic narcissist

343

I settle on my zafu
poised as the Presence
of a world displayed -
a world whose appearance
is wholly dependent upon
the sensory capacity
here, yet without location
anywhere

I marvel that after turning up
for more than 300 mornings,
pen-in-hand and heart-at-the-ready,
words still spill themselves
out of the silent emptiness
on the other side of thought
as fresh and fecund as on day
one

There is no author here -
my authorship could never sustain such
freshness for even a fortnight.
I’d bore myself to tears and quickly move on.

Wild wideawakeness is simply singing
soulfully
to itself in the mirror.

A small hand
holding an old-fashioned Waterman fountain pen
scribbles the opening libretto:

Everywhere I look
I see
laid out in luscious
lu-mi-no-si-ty
the miracle
of unknowable
Me!

I’m cracking up at the audacity when out of nowhere a gleeful chorus pipes up:

It’s a new dawn
it’s a new day
it’s a new life for Me
and I’m feelin’ good!*

[Never will you meet such an unapologetic narcissist!]

~

*from Feeling Good, by Peter Schick

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