how sweet it is, to be just what-is!


Falling asleep again seems to be common enough in the early stages of the mindshift. But the fact that the dreamer eventually – via the presence of weird discomfort – remembers awake-ness, is evidence that apperception of the Truth has occurred.  The energy pattern called brain has changed irrevocably.

The tracks of the past are deep ruts; the partner (if there’s one), the old friends, are still identified with their stories, and they still feature in the daily life of the one-who-remembers.  Their stories of feelings, needs, desires, meanings, are revisited on cue.  There’s potential distraction in this, for sure.

But if I think I don’t want to be caught in this soporific trap; if I chastise myself for having fallen for it all, again; if I feel I want to be rid of everything that triggers somnolence … I stop and reach for my precious little sanity-saving question:


ummmm . . . who owns that thought?

and maybe another ummmm . . . who owns that thought?

ahhhhhh . . . no one can be found!


How sweet it is, to be just what-is!


something silent watches



An uncontrollable nervous repetitive twitch in the eye area is called a ‘tic’.

Living one’s miraculous livingness in tic-toc mode is similarly repetitive and twitchy – knee-jerk responses dominate the day.  There’s an absolute abdication to conditioning. The gears and pulleys of thinking merrily toil on; the default ‘doer’ dreams its version of the dream and claims all credit for itself, while blame, natch, belongs elsewhere.

For some this way of being-a-life works fine – in their opinion it’s non-negotiable.  No worries.  Yet.

For others it’s dysfunctional and causes inexplicable discontent:  “Is this all there is?”

In every sentient soul something silent watches, and when ripeness is ripe IT pulls the lynch-pin right out of the works.  Nothing whatsoever changes to the Changeless.  But tic-toc mode is history.

No more habitude!  No more sleepwalking through the miracle of one’s life!


first find the slippery fish called ‘me’


The reality adjustment business is huge. Not only the trade in drugs and drink, but all the subtle and not-so-subtle remedies for all the things we don’t like in our lives – and particularly the popular paths to new, improved, enlightened, creative selves.

Being an old soldier on these route marches, I appreciate their appeal. I remember the mini-euphoria that would occur when one found a fresh fix to try, with its promises of a new ‘me’. This would be the answer to my discontent; this would make me happy again!

But after trudging doggedly up the track for a while, I’d notice that nothing had changed, fundamentally.

The problem, however, wasn’t the product. It was the notion that it was necessary. Where do we get this calamitous notion?

Well, we get it from the same source as spawns the ‘me’ –
that slippery fish that thinks it runs the show
and spends its life in discontent, trying to change it all.

Instead of focusing on self-improvement strategies,
first find the slippery fish,
hook it, reel it in
gaze into its lidless eye:

if this is your real and improvable ‘self’,


what’s looking?


from grrrrrr to aaaahhhh …


my whistling neighbor wakes me at dawn
and sleep has only just arrived!

what’s going on?



“oceanic silence is being penetrated by the knowing of something called whistling”

piss off!



“does Awareness give a toss whether it’s oceanic silence or tuneless whistling it’s aware-ing?”



aaaahhhhhh ….


self-satisfaction is unsatisfactory


self-satisfaction is unsatisfactory

my current state,
physical as well as mental,
is the natural outcome of my efforts
to satisfy my self

those efforts, encouraged by my
nearest and dearest, and fostered by
a culture of self-satisfaction
have driven me to distraction, to
discontent, and into depression

it ends
but not through any act of will

it ends because
some kind of intelligence sees
that to continue is wholly
illogical and unintelligent

how can a self that has never
had solid existence
ever be satisfied?

it ends of its own accord