The knowing of Knowing
is the sweetest somatic intimacy, the ultimate G[od]-spot.
It’s no wonder poets pen passionate love-notes
to their beloved Beloved.
It’s more evident than any revelation,
more obvious than anything observed.
Yet this seamless saturation is neither an experience
nor anything that could be called an attainment.
It’s prior to consciousness,
to memory, to perception, to imagination.
(I say “prior to” but I don’t mean a-p-a-r-t from.
Perhaps precursory would be a better word.)
How mysterious that it’s completely overlooked, ignored,
while at the same time
hungered for/longed for/searched for/worked for/studied for/meditated for/practiced for/prayed for/paid for, in time, devotion and sacrifice . . .
What a joke!
No GPS can locate it.
Yet it’s inescapable.
I don’t need a guru, method, scripture, sledgehammer
to wake up to the fact that whatever I am
is unarguably and precisely whatever I perceive, experience, feel.
I only have to look from a silent mind.
To acknowledge this Knowing –
to abide as it, to act as it –
restores me to the all-inclusive immensity
I knew all along.
All along.
Since breath #1 was gasped on a summer’s morning in 1944
and these innocent eyes first opened
onto the mindscape
before
words like suffering and salvation were sown there
sprouting addictive fantasies
about enlightenment, transcendence, escape
before
I was thought-washed to believe that
the embodiment of this Knowing
would erase every discomfort and dysfunction from my experience
before
the dark net of distinctions descended
before
I learned to be clever.
– miriam louisa
Artwork by Jean-Michel Meurice
Urgell 1, 2004
Acrylic on fabric, 215 x 215cm
More info HERE
I love the way this work portrays the richness of our circular existence, the dance of the dreamer around the still, silent core. It’s a wonderful example of contemporary Tantric art.
It’s been a year of farewells: a brother, an artist comrade, and now another old buddy from my peer-group has gone.
Again I meet the temporality, the impermanence of this experience of being alive.
Again something rises to state the actuality of my experience – not to comfort or console, but to remind myself that everything appearing is a window onto the everlastingly unaffected.
So what?
So that whatever life dishes up has some small chance of being met with honesty and presence. So that I might be sane enough to remember that my wishes – no matter how profound – have nothing to do with what-is. So that I might see directly, act appropriately.
I’m ok with old age. The need to change anything falls away. Candles in the wind.
Yet (occasionally) (rarely these days) I’m moved to share a confession. You never can tell, it might be the last one. And there are things I want to say before I go.
Thank you for reading.
echoes from emptiness 
PRAISES BE for Word Artist YOU!!!!!! AGAIN and AGAIN your Wordings Guide/Confirm that which is beyond words….!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! This Sharing is SO SO SO Timely!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! But we always feel/Sense that Beyond” when Saturating with any of your Offerings. Yes…with numbers of yrs increasing, we return in consciousness via the so-called developmental stages …right now at nearly 73 yrs, we Waver/Soar/Glide between about 5 yrs of age and “newborn”….!!!!!…and That GREAT WOMB Awaits Again….
Thank you again and again, dearest Miriam…. for the life lived and shared….
Thanks YOU, dear Dorothea – for reading deeply, and for every single one of your exclamation marks!
❤
Oh how I love you… Mx
Melinda, my dear friend – bless you. I love you too.
❤
Please say it all. In all your ways. I love you so very very much,you are so in-vowen in my heart, it sings when it reads you
I’m so happy to read your comment Nina.
This incorruptible BEAUTY means more than I can ever say.
But I’ll keep trying!
❤
Hello, dear Miriam Louisa, it’s been a good while. Thank you for these wonderfully eloquent lines of poetic diction, for the accompanying space around the words. Sending love and best wishes from England, Hariod.
You’d be amazed at how often I think of you, dear Hariod. ❤
I miss your blog posts.
Thank you for your beautiful response to these lines.
"poetic diction" – I like that; I've never really thought of my words as poetry, even though they turn up in lines.
I hope you are thriving – in spite of the current insanity afoot in England.
Love to you!
⭐
Oh, dearest, dearest Louisa,
I’m speechless!
🙏
Sorry to be late replying, dearest Slavka…
You’ve said all that matters in this beautiful comment!
Thank you so much.
❤
Deepest bow
to you
divine
One.
there it is…
glowing
off the page.
in
joy
Scott
Lovely, Dear Miriam! Deep bows for your kindness in sharing such natural wisdom!
My high school confessor used to fix me with a withering stare whiled admonishing me that the worst two words in the English language were “too late”. This was supposed to be some kind of caution to inspire more attention on my part to my Algebra lessons, lest I look back with regret that I had not adequately prepared for upcoming tests, but I took it as more of a koan, and pondered it as such over the ensuing years. How truly liberating it is to finally realize that there is no basis for regret in the midst of an eternity in which everything proceeds at its own perfect pace. Everything we need to know will be known, without exception. Love always, and may you be safe from any encroaching wildfires over your way! ❤
Thank you Louisa that was so beautifull, it made my day, Klaas.
Louisa . Thank you for this soulful and enchanting unfolding
Ananda – thank YOU for reading, and leaving such a kind comment. It’s really heart-warming to meet you here. _/|\_
This is beautiful and very consoling. Thank you for finding the right words to describe this.
Ana Lisa – I’m so happy you found your way here, to my little cubbyhole of confessions …
Thank you for reading and commenting.
I know you’ll understand perfectly when I say that “the right words to describe this” found me, rather than the reverse. I never fail to be astonished at the way this happens…
Words show up. Hand scribbles. Wild Grace!
❤
Yes, I so love laying myself open to the words. It is a tangible thing to which my whole body reacts to, I’ve certainly been known to sway and move as a I write. Sometimes its abit sad when a poem is over. I think you found me here first so good to find you back again. Lisa (to friends)
Thannk you for this