‘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.
Today I’m off to hospital for the knee surgery that was postponed in December last year. Given the events that set the scenario in motion – a motorcycle accident in Athens, Greece, 1972, and given the subsequent wear and tear in over 30 years of leg-work, it’s easy to see that it’s all happening as it must. Gratitude for my Orthopedic surgeon and his team, and for access to a humane hospital facility.
Like most folk I longed for emotional equanimity
But longing – like its twin, avoiding – isn’t something wee-me does
it’s what wee-me is.
When dear wee-me was exposed for what-it-is
its games were seen as mental skylarking, and
the ideal of equanimity ceased to be relevant.
This unknowable knowingness – let’s call it ‘I’
is untroubled by the ups and downs of life,
by the dangers and pleasures of emotional expression.
Resting as ‘I’, emotions are free to be.
And in that freedom they rise,
swirl and fade
like the mists on this mountain.
That’s my version of peace.
life in the clouds that shroud a rainforest mountain is languid life
all sound is muffled by mist; even birdcall echoes as from afar
mold and mushrooms thrive
keeping the cottage and its contents dry is impossible
my paintings warp and ripple, my books buckle
suchness is this damp world dripping
then scrolling back
I’m living in a Chinese painting …
and here, here
the vast no-thing called I
knows no damp or dry
the dream and its awareing
appear to be two
but can one exist
without the other?
try as I might
I can’t extricate myself from
either, and I ask myself:
how can I believe in two
when I fail to find even one?
Wild wideawakeness isn’t a partial or incremental affair. (Perception is always partial, apperception is holistic.)
Awakening can be a bit like falling through the bottom of a long-drop into an ocean of crystal-clear brilliance.
At some point the long-drop and its contents are seen to be all you thought you were as a separate self – a person with characteristics, a history and a future.
And all of it – all of it – is seen as a wondrous manifestation of Awareness.
Awareness, fundamental and infinitely creative
is the ‘I’ that knows both the long-drop
and the oceanic clarity
[long-drop? This may be a term unique to the lands downunder, where it’s what we call an outdoor pit toilet.]
clamorous sea-speak this morning
for one who grew up amongst the coastal cliffs
the tussock-crowned dunes
the tidal pools
the crashing surf and wild symphonic joy
of the ocean inexplicably called Pacific
“there’s bound to be a salt-wave forever lapping in the heart”
she-who-scribbles loves water;
inescapable conditioning of the cells
well, ‘I’ has no preferences
and that means It embraces everything:
incomparably perfect Love!
this soundly sleeping body was the scene of a mozzie-massacre in the night:
today an insect screen will be mended!
sleep or no sleep
comfort or discomfort
peace or irritation –
it’s all the same to I
sob and bitch and moan
laugh and giggle and grin
gossip and lies and satsang –
it’s all the same to I
I is simply I:
no conditions affect It
no purpose distracts It
no preference confuses It
no definition contains It
I is YES! to everything
without even being asked