I was asked to find my mind
I was asked to find my thoughts
I was asked to find my self
So then it seemed timely to try to find
that was so successful at failing
it couldn’t be found
it can’t be escaped
oh how I love being so deluded
that simply watching words leak out of a pen
can deliver shameless delight!
Image: Andrew Wyeth – Wind from the Sea
Tempera on hardboard, 1947, detail
[What moves – the curtain or the wind?]
Source: Washington Post
All writing on this blog leaks from the pen of Miriam Louisa Simons. Over at my other blog this unlit light, you’ll find more of a smorgasbord of writing, including some of my own.
I chose this WordPress theme for its uncluttered minimalism, and because it’s responsive (i.e., it displays readably on all devices). All the links that normally appear in a sidebar or footer are hidden behind the menu icon at the top of the page. If you feel inclined to explore the offerings posted here since 2010, please click that icon. You’ll also find a way to follow this blog by email there. I promise you won’t be overwhelmed – emptiness has erratic and unpredictable habits. Posts turn up. I marvel.
Copyright © Emptiness
wonder births questions
questions birth creativity
creativity births wonderment
The cycle of creation begins with wonder
What exactly wonders?
Not ‘me’, not ‘you’!
Life Itself wonders, and billions of bubbles of sentience (felt as ‘I’-ness) explore its questions in billions of different ways.
The questions will always generate creativity in one form or another, but it takes a ripening awareness for creativity to birth wonderment.
Whose ripening awareness?
Not ‘mine’, not ‘yours’!
It’s a natural ripening without subject or object, without knower or known; a flowering that’s conclusion-free and that operates outside of time.
Earth’s summer breath embraces the coolness of the pre-dawn atmosphere and for an hour or so reveals itself as soft mistiness. Through the big trees camellia blooms are showing pinkly; there’s a tree covered in huge scarlet trumpets and another clothed in a purple so intense it could explode:
I sees but does not watch
I hears but does not listen
I feels but does not touch
I tastes but does not eat
I smells but does not inhale
I is freedom without the ‘from’
I perceives but doesn’t conceptualize
I has never been born and can never die
I is the still, silent, ubiquitous point at the centre of the spinning world
I has never believed one single belief nor thought one thought nor made one choice
I is amoral, innocent, unconditioned intelligence which has nothing to do with intellect
I is joy without cause
I is love without object
I is what one is
and what all sentient beings are
(as the perfect purple of a Jacaranda bloom)
The news that one exists only as a concept in consciousness is unacceptable for most folk.
Struggling so seriously, so arduously, to create a self (a whole self, a creative self, a healed self, a true self, a higher self), most refuse to contemplate the credentials of the crafty creator of the struggle.
This struggle is familiar to me; it used to be the story of my life. But one day the layer of stories holding together the self I took to be ‘me’ was subjected to a blow-torch – the choiceless, value-free Light of inquiry. Like tired old wallpaper it dried up, peeled back and fell off.
‘I’ is all that’s left and every-thing every-one every-where is this ‘I.’
I = Awareingness, intimate and inescapable
I = Consciousness, in which all concepts find their context
In this unknowable ‘I’-ness who needs a ‘me’?
‘I’ tells me who:
L I F E
butt on cushion
body is one vast eye
the eye of I
body is a thousand-armed antennae
the hearing of I
body is perfume-breathing breath
the nectar-nose of I
body is an ocean of tentacles
the feeling, touching and tasting of I
I sees, hears, smells, feels this new day
without a trace of any yesterdays.
I is this new day.
returning to Life is wonderment
‘ONE’derment wraps one in atonement
at‘ONE’ment is ‘n’
‘n’ is now-this-here
now-this-here is suchness
suchness is ultimate ‘I’-ness
there has been rain in the night
and the earth’s breath
is fresh and fruity this dawn
what am I?
‘I’ is the Knowingness
apperceiving that ‘me’ is not
and only ‘I-ness’ is
intellectual acceptance of this
self thinks it has understood something
and is pleased
but as this savage wisdom percolates down
into the darker layers
something called me
isn’t so happy
the battle of battles begins but
the outcome is inevitable –
winners in every corner
all bets collectable!
turns out there’s only one Player!