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.
after the fall
into calamitous clarity
one cannot call either the state of war
or the state of peace ‘real’
the only reality is the knowing
of war or peace
this unknowable knowingness
which hosts and populates
never takes sides
and has nothing to lose
or to gain
Dull sky draped over grey and textured sea.
A couple of early fishing boats buzzing about stalking their prey.
Palm fronds quiet, enjoying a rare rest on this storm-pregnant dawn.
Do you favor the ‘neti-neti’ (not-this, not-this) path or are you inclined towards the ‘yes-yes’ (yes to everything) approach to Truth?
I found out that it makes no difference what path one ‘signs up’ for or what one practices. Once the source of all your utterances is given space, silent unknowable knowingness is laid bare.
And IT couldn’t care less what path you take, or how diligent your practice might be; IT is utterly unaffected.
Rest. Relax. Release.
Returning to suchness is peace.
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
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.
Do you exist apart from the stories you believe about yourself?
I found I cannot claim existence apart from the beliefs I buy into. I found that just as the thinker is the thought, the believer is the belief.
The evidence for solid, separate existence is compelling – and true, relatively-speaking. It’s just that we forget we aren’t separate from our beliefs; we believe we ‘own them.’ But the owner-thing turns out to be … another belief!
Unless we’ve acknowledged and questioned our beliefs – including the ‘real me’ one – we tend to think they are non-negotiable and rock-solid. However, we cannot unstitch a belief without simultaneously disappearing the believer.
Perhaps that’s why it’s such a touchy business to enter into dialogue or self-inquiry about our non-negotiable beliefs and assumptions. Yet on the other side of the terror of self-extinction lies the peace that we seek – the peace that passeth all understanding.
knowing, sentience, awareness
these are words for IT that utterly fail
to define IT
“The word is not the thing,” said Krishnamurti.
“The word is not the no-thing, either,” echoes Emptiness
knowing that includes no
sentience that includes no
awareness that includes no
knowing that includes no-thing
sentience that includes no-thing
awareness that includes no-thing
these are concepts dancing around IT
spinning, dyeing, patterning,
weaving, on the loom of
mind’s exquisite tapestry
stopping the talk, shutting up at last
there’s just this
pointless and placeless