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?

~

so what’s the big deal?

222

The ruts made by a million meanderings of the Memory Bus down Habit Avenue are deep.

Little wonder then that the bus finds it easy to continue to follow them along – even after a whiff of wild wideawakeness.  It’s easy to drop back into default dualism when this happens, to be unsettled, and critical of a ‘clarity’ that’s become objectified and ‘owned.’

But what I’m noticing is that there’s an immediate and spontaneous awareness of what’s going on (mindless habitude), of where one is (in Rutsville), and an equally spontaneous elevation (yes it feels like that – like just floating up) from the rut.  Oh!

Another dead petal drops off the lifebloom, floats serenely to the ground without one having to do a single thing, think a single thought, or choose one state over the other.

Life’s driving, whether one’s in the ruts or out.  And Life’s wearing one’s very own name-tag.  So what’s the big deal?

~

acting-out a phony role

191

Old mates mill around at the moment.

One is convinced global evil is now over-powering goodness, and wants to leave

One is bored, yet afraid to emerge from her cocoon of security.

One is desperate to do something productive and meaningful for humanity.

One is locked into needing to know “what’s next?” and remains stuck.

They share the same symptoms of discontent: mind’s default dualism.  They still believe in something they have failed to deeply inquire into, something that drives the great wheel of suffering.

And when I acknowledge their stories I too descend into a kind of schizophrenia . . . knowing something I cannot yet share, for when I try, they cannot hear.

Sometimes I feel like an actor in a phony role, yet there’s acute awareness that this seeming dissembling is not outside of Life’s perfect play.

It takes some getting used to, this unarguable Totality.

~