Apparently the Buddha said
The Great Way is not difficult, only avoid choosing.
The difficulty isn’t in the choosing or the not-choosing.
It’s in the notion that a separate *chooser* entity exists.
But choices arise spontaneously and choices are made spontaneously.
Assuming the existence of one-who- chooses,
when such an entity cannot be found,
creates the pits and potholes on the Way.
Believe in a self that can choose,
or a self that cannot choose,
and you’ll find the Way impossibly fraught.
The only way I found to “avoid choosing” was to track down the chooser. At some point on this hunt, I found that the chooser is a clever cartoon character dreamed up by a team of very creative fellow cartoon characters – the merry members of the local Think Tank. When they were seen for what they are, they shuffled back into the cartoon.
The naked light of Awareness that KNEW all this merriment turned out to be incapable of ever making a choice, yet it never fails to get everything exactly right!
He who would rest in
must know the nameless name
whence all things rise
and bloom and cease
returning whence they came.
What IS this “nameless name”?
The echoes whisper and scribbler scribbles …
The wild wideawake
that can never be known.
The brilliant light of
that has never been lit.
The perfect present
that can never be escaped.
The vastness of unimaginable
before you are labeled and defined.
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
If a plant that thrives in temperate zones is placed under the tropical sun it doesn’t take long to die. If a creature that thrives in temperate zones is brought to the steaming tropics it will try to run away. Yet if a human that thrives in temperate zones finds itself in those tropical climes it will often force itself to adapt with a barrage of shoulds, oughts, musts, and air-conditioning.
Conflict may seem to be resolved in the mind but the body silently suffers. The evidence is visible all around: lethargy alcoholism substance-abuse obesity skin-cancer depression … and the root of all this suffering? The dragon – the one described so well by Joseph Campbell as the dragon whose every scale bears the dictum: THOU SHALT!
The secret sword that slays the dragon is the question: WHO SHALT?
Who is the one who must adapt? And who says so? Dragons are notoriously difficult to find, yet they dissolve in the mirror-light of Awareness. The conditioning that constructs them vaporizes. No ‘shalts’ survive. It’s all a matter of fearless eye-balling.
folded up on my zafu
venus rising, a brilliance
above the coral horizon
where soon the first
radiance of a new day
legions of bats, black
against indigo, are
winging their silent way
back to their favorite
but it’s still dark enough
for my candle to be
queen of the shadows
and she whispers to me:
“If the light of your awareing
wasn’t brighter than my own,
how could you see me?
I am but a shadow-play
of the unviewable, unlit
Light that you are!
Think on this. And when the
sun climbs over the eastern rim
and reaches into this tiny patch
of sacred space, undressing
think on this again.”
On the Blackall Range the sun shakes itself off and emerges from the gleaming Pacific earlier than on the coast. We sit sipping our steaming green tea, awareing the birth of the new day.
Gradually the little motel room floods with golden light called up by the bird-lords of the mountain, who take off for breakfast elsewhere once their work is accomplished. Other fellow-travelers stir: a dog barks at a jogger, a gecko jumps at a huntsman spider, a TV begins to quack in the next unit . . .
The apparent shift to another place, another space, is just that – an appearance. Phenomena may change, will change, are ceaselessly changing . . .
But this Light of awareing doesn’t rise or set, and knows no time or space. Wherever we go IT remains unchanged, yet IT births all that appears to change. Wherever we place our cushions for a morning sit, there IT is. And when we get up again? There IT is. Beloved!
flicker of sunlight on leaf
delicate line of light
scooting along spiderweb
soft shadow-dappled light
on patchwork paving
light creates the appearance of form
but all appearance
is shifting shadow-light
the play of luminous shadows
appearing within the primal Light
that is their source and substance
the primal Light
that is one’s true and perfect nature