emptiness is ceaselessly singing itself into existence
shhhhhh – if you’re very still and silent
you’ll hear its unstruck sound
in the so and hum of breathtide
and the murmuring pulse of bodybeat
in the spaciousness too vast to be contained
within a bony cranium
you’ll hear the choirs celestial –
the harps, the tinkling bells,
the roaring, flaming om
and you’ll hear it all
without turning an ear
for if you’re curious enough to check it out
you’ll be amazed to find …
the ‘listener’ and that sacred sound
cannot be torn apart
What has neither parents nor offspring
yet knows existence as its family tree?
What has never had a mind to ‘make up’
yet sees everything directly and intimately
and acts freely, without choice?
What has no body, no form
yet the ten thousand things
and the ten thousand no-things
fit it perfectly?
‘I’ is the eye of existence.
‘Me’ is the figment of fantasy that imagines itself owner of that eye. ‘Me’ is the way ‘I’ refers to itself, yet neither an ‘I’ nor a ‘me’ can ever be located.
The I-eye of clear Awakeness is owned by nothing – no circumstance, no person/entity, no thing whatsoever.
It is never born, although the body- mind organism it saturates and substantiates appears to be born.
It never dies, although its ‘host’ will appear to do so.
It can never be found, for it is always inseparable from that which seeks.
‘I’ is nothing to do with me, or any other personal pronoun.
That’s all that can be known – or said – about It.
And even that’s two words too many.
Dashing about with young ones,
quietly caring for older ones,
making name and fame and fortune …
Ceaselessly and choicelessly
we dance our dream
down the pathless byways of Life.
Seldom do we stop and notice
that all our steps
are danced on one spot.
We imagine a ‘me’
and along with it comes time –
the warp and weft of past and future.
Then comes the shock of seeing
that no me, no past, no future
can possibly exist outside of
and an unarguable eureka
You are the Presence
in which all existence appears
blooms, and dissolves…
reshuffles the understanding
of a lifetime
and blows the heart wide open.
I write 27-01-44 when asked for my date-of-birth, yet the Life that took ‘first breath’ that day was never born.
It’s not exactly rocket science to come to this conclusion; one just follows the tracks of the genealogists a little further than the norm.
Where did the Life that animates this breath have its beginning?
How can I claim it began in this body-mind cocoon, fruit of the sexual activity of two other body-mind cocoons, whose unique genetic and phylogenetic imprints were systematically combined and passed on? Or was it in the imprints of their parents? Or their grandparents? Or their great-grandparents?
The Life that animates each one of us harks back to the first cell-division. We share ancestry. We go back to the One. We share – we are – Creation’s initial impulse to forge the miracle of existence from the void.
Time to put down the pen; this is all starting to sound too Biblical for a baby-boomer.
this morning: a flood, a broken water pipe, a plumber, a back-hoe digger, much noise, no running water in the neighborhood
everything appearing, happening
(including the observer
and her supposed self)
is Creation expressing IT-self
the rhythm of Creation never misses a beat
as IT serenades ITself through a thousand disguises
existence is ITs unfolding score