pop goes the poseur

Three mid-winter haiku.


Rengetsu - Uji River Teapot Scroll ca1840



winter in my hut

drafts shivering the rainbows

I sit with my tea



thoughts and thinker? wrong

thoughts-thinker-thinking: all one!

pop goes the poseur



zafu guru says

two thoughts cannot co-exist

I dive in the gap


Painting by RengetsuUji River Teapot Scroll

Source – The Rengetsu Circle

you will not be missed

Photograph by Andy Ilachinski


You will not be missed by Life

– you,

a minuscule synapse in Its immeasurable web

of pulsing intelligence.


Yet, if you stumble wideawake into that synaptic self-

less identity – against all odds,

turning away from all cultured data-input –

Life will support you in unimaginable ways

(you will speak of Grace, you will kneel in awe)

as you flow the info-field for the fulfilment

of Its One Uncaused Thought


Make no mistake

you will not be missed by Life, ever.

The nano-speck of measurable matter

known by your good name

will be recycled to beneficent use

in the interest of the

Holy Whole.


You will not be missed by Life


because you can never go missing,

even when you pretend to die.


Image by photographer and physicist Andy Ilachinski

See more of Andy’s fine work on one of my other blogs – the awakened eye


the shock of seamless intimacy

Miriam Louisa Simons: the shock of seamless intimacy


when the myth of separation erases itself

from the mind’s story-trove

one free-falls into a view (there’s no choice about it)

that’s viewerless

the shock of seamless intimacy is usually hair-raising

devastating, humbling

no separation! outside & inside – same!

repeat: same!

– – –

all those stories one tells oneself about oneself

and the mythical others

all those resolutions made in the aching lostness:

practice! diligence! discretion!

all those stern exclusions: the egotist, the phoney

the ignorant, the ‘evil’…

all those fantasies about embracing

some Unknowable Immensity


all those comforting conclusions; certitudes acquired

along a streaming lifeline

gone – synapses wiped

– – –

only this Nothing that excludes nothing

remains, on Its knees

utterly undone

fully full

and excruciatingly sweet

– – –


Image source unknown. Please notify me if it’s yours, so credit can be given. Thank you.

whatever It is

Echoes from Emptiness - Black Hole 7 by Fabian Oefner


whatever It is
that delivers these words
(unreachable by mind’s intent)
through this form

that’s what I pray to


whatever It is
that cracks open this heart
(circumventing mind’s cynicism)
to bathe me in bliss

that’s what I call love


whatever It is
that heals this weary wounded body
(unaided by any out-sourced effort)
restoring it while I sleep, oblivious

that’s what I hold sacred


whatever It is
that births and sustains creation
(immeasurable by mind’s technologies)
unfindable, yet apparent wherever my senses alight

that’s what I bow down to


whatever It is
that is moved by grace
(which is just another word for the unwordable)
to pray, to bow, to melt into the sacred

that’s whatever It is

entertaining Itself


Image credit: Fabian Oefner

‘me + world’ or ‘me = world’?

'me + world' or 'me = world'? You get to decide your stand in the great Game of life.


is either ‘for’ or ‘against’
your being free

one of my teachers sagely pointed out
that everything is definitely ‘against’

then along came another who shook
her curls and laughed:

it’s all set up for your delight!
how could you bear to miss one morsel?

they were both right of course –
it all depends on whether one’s view
is from the look-out of ‘me + world’

or ‘me = world’

in their compassion and kindness
both gave me the key
to the secret of secrets:

you get to decide which look-out you’ll accept
and which version of the Game you’ll play

you get to decide




[That’s the Game in a nutshell. Which version are you playing?]

Image source

without ever arriving, it’s always here


Echoes from Emptiness: emptiness loves emptying


emptiness loves emptying
that’s it’s nature
its forms are endless; beyond mind’s conjecture

you can’t arrive
at an apperception of its infinite beingness
by any practice or prayer

it is too ever-present
too intimate
without ever arriving, it’s always here



are we listening?


To listen and to hear are as alike as oil and water. We often think we are listening, when all that’s really happening is that we’re hearing a download of noise from an external source, data which our memory (thinking) sorts into stories that gel with our own worldview.

The art of listening involves bringing relaxed word-free attention to the moment’s fullness – whether it’s a friend sharing confidences, a ghetto-blaster thumping, a kookaburra cackling, the water murmuring and the breeze sighing over its surface. In the same impartial way, this listening notices the constant commentary being broadcast inwardly by thinking and feeling – the whole movement of “me”.

It’s interesting to find that when this quality of listening is present there’s really nothing to say because opinions are absent. There’s nothing to say, yet everything that matters is being said. In the absence of words, something else has space to speak, something inextricably intimate that we recognize as Love.