if I scream for a break from this full-on life
with all its dualistic extremes
I’ve gone and forgotten
that reality isn’t optional
and how extraordinary to find that this
savage wisdom somehow soothes
and silences, softly,
the voice of she-who-screams
Expressing the inexpressible is so tricky. As soon as words are uttered – or even thought – there’s duality by default, and the inexpressible is nondual by default.
Poets often speak of merging into oneness but this is misleading and mistaken, because, well, oneness being one, who or what could be outside it to “merge”?
There’s no merging involved in wild wideawakeness. There’s just a waking up to the realization that nothing has ever been divided up – except by thought and language.
Wild wideawakeness embraces the totality of creation – as you, in you, and believe it or not – thanks to you.
The penny slipped through a crack in the basket-case I used to take for ‘me’. It fell, spinning like a dervish – one side chasing the other in the cosmic dance of dualism. And eventually, obeying the laws of entropy, it ran out of momentum and stopped.
It came to rest in the Real, the changeless,
where both its sides are equally true and valid.
It came to rest in the Real, which had been its home all along,
and it knew as much.
It knew it had never,
in spite of all its spinning and spending,
ever for one nanosecond left the Real,
because the Real is one without a second,
the Real is all there is,
the Real is totality, wholeness.
What a gobsmacker to realize that the two-sided penny called duality,
with all its stories, is inseparable from the Real.
Neither is the basket-case.
All Holy! Halleluiah!
The backyard Butcherbird was first up this morning. It was still quite dark when the trills of its morning overture sounded outside the sanctuary. Now he (or is it she?) is standing on the bird-bath. It’s the young one, so probably it has yet to learn that Willy Wagtail bathes first. There will be scolding, for sure.
Blessed rain has fallen over the holiday weekend: heaven for the locals with their parched gardens, hell for the holiday-makers in their sodden tents.
There’s not one thing in the world of phenomena that isn’t potentially either heaven or hell. Once things are split up into me and not-me, good and bad, right or wrong, the Game begins.
It reminds me of the ‘Snakes and Ladders’ dice game we played as kids. Back then there was the innocent thrill of whether chance would see one gobbled by a snake or saved by a ladder on the way to the finishing point. The adult version sees us clambering up the ladders chasing pleasure and being gobbled by disappointment when life doesn’t oblige; perhaps we should rename the board, and call it The Grace Game …
Grace is amoral
It belongs to no one – not even the awakened –
and cannot be bestowed by anyone.
Mother’s Grace, Guru’s Grace, God’s Grace, are all terms assuming the existence of duality, separation:
me-and-Mother, me-and-Guru, me-and-God, and so on, with me endlessly supplicating for ‘my’ supposed needs.
Have you noticed how Grace seems to simply show up right when you’re at the lowest ebb, when you’ve pretty much given up, when you don’t know where to turn?
When the doer loses grip
Grace gets space.
is often misunderstood
many take it to be the realization of
in spite of the peculiar absence of a
self that could realize a no-self!
it’s not about self or no-self,
illusion or enlightenment,
form or emptiness
duality or non-duality
it’s about the cessation of all such notions
it’s about a mute ‘eureka!’
beyond the reach of the notion-spinner
yet more intimate than one’s own skin