memo to busy wee-me


this pathless path has only three signposts
and they don’t point to any-thing or any-place:


shut up


into the unknowable Knowingness that you already are, that you are, that you are,
that you are


sitting in the dawn-blushed sanctuary
sitting on the zafu:  point zero
sitting with the rhythm of Life’s breath
sitting with hum, furnace of the universe
sitting with so, silver singing silence

sitting ’til the sitter is the sitting
and the blushing and the breathing
and the hum-ing and the silence
and there is only Beloved’s Beingness
and wee-me is a thought-galaxy yet to be invented


life’s naked beingness


it’s evident, if you look closely,
that the observer is the observed,
the thinker is the thought, and so on
(gratitude to J Krishnamurti for those powerful pointers)

but the person-problem remains:
who is this ‘observer-person’?
who is this ‘thinker-person’?
who is this ‘inquirer-person’?

the dynamics aren’t difficult to grasp
but who grasps?
and who then understands?

my Buddhist friends warn about dispensing with the ‘conventional’ self
but again I ask: who/what is it that dispenses – or doesn’t?

you can get bogged down in this mind-movie for great grey eons
before it loses its box-office appeal

I cast a look sometimes but boredom soon kicks in
while the wonders of unabridged Life never cease to amaze

Life’s naked beingness shines from ITself
upon ITself
and for ITself


blooming and bobbing the beloved’s beingness


each little diamond in the diagonal trellis
is a window onto a world
made luminous by the rising sun

tiny framed vignettes –
each one a perfectly composed fragment
of the hologram of the Whole

eye lovingly lingers on one composition:
a gerbera bloom, turned to greet the sun,
its petals of iridescent coral reaching,
opening, adoring the light

yes! yes! it nods
and I notice my head is bobbing too:
blooming and bobbing the Beloved’s beingness


breath … beingness … beloved


for what appeared to be decades,
(but were only eyeblinks of eternal everness)
I sought the Beloved:

I looked in Your eyes
I looked in Your books
I looked in Your ideas
I looked in Your philosophies
I looked in Your inspirations
I looked in the beauty and horror
of nature
and I looked in the secret drawer
of body’s senses

when I stopped looking?

this breath

this beingness

this Beloved


mooning, hair on end


standing in my backyard at the balmy tropical dusk-hour, my gaze gluing itself on a row of pines that underlines the eastern sky and something happening that stands my hair on end and obliterates every trace of mental activity leaving nothing knowable save the ceaseless singing continuo of the Being-field

the full moon rising


beingness remains silent and ineffable


A concept of a self is necessary for function/interaction/communication with ‘things,’ including people that appear to be separate from that self.  It’s impossible to avoid the use of this concept when using language, which is crowded with personal pronouns: I-me-myself-mine …

There’s nothing wrong with any of this, but imagine how amazing it would be to form a way of wordifying the world without dualism’s defaults?  Imagine a language that was made up of vital verbs with little prefixes and suffixes to denote time and space?  I’m not the first to raise this possibility, and I realize that some indigenous languages approach it, but imagine if it was mainstream-speak.  Imagine how neat it would be to utter a phrase of this language and be understood – which would immediately imply a shared view of Beingness.

mind loves to move concepts around
ever building
ever organizing
ever explaining

but Beingness remains silent and ineffable
utterly unaffected by wordifying or worlding
while never for a second separate from them


song of silence


silver singing silence

punctuated by call of dove
and craw of crow
laughter of jogger and roar of truck

embroidered by pen scribbling
by sun peeking through lillypilly
by flicker of shadows on brick

felt by this throbbing body’s beat-land

known by this unlit Light as its Beingness
brought to Awareness


silver singing silence