don’t tell me you don’t know
exactly WHAT you are
(that you ARE the peace and sweet release
. . .
I know you’ve looked;
you’ve seen, you’ve conceded
– nothing you know
– nothing you think
– nothing you feel
– nothing you remember
– nothing you experience
can be what you are
– all these phenomena
– all these perceptions
– all these peculiarities
come and go
your bright alive Knowingness remains
. . .
Beloved – even your pain
your suffering, your grief,
rise and fall –
you’ve seen how they wither
(along with your hubris)
when you drop out of your story
and into mind-fucking
that never changes
don’t tell me you haven’t yet fallen
that can’t be known
don’t lie to me, Beloved
I don’t believe you
. . .
propelled by memories of childhood intimidation
I toppled into the Venus flytrap called wee-me
my body’s ultra-sticky reflexive reactions
instantly creating a powerless self
that set about consuming itself
propelled by the practice of presence
I fell back into the changeless nameless
where nothing can stick or stain
and neither self nor no-self are on the menu
It’s difficult to describe the intense pain and excruciating itch experienced on contact with Australia’s notorious hairy caterpillars. I had a tactile taste of it today.
These caterpillars march along in head-to-tail formation – long columns of fluffy wigglers in search of tucker. As they travel they drop miniscule invisible hairs which carry some kind of poisonous irritant. You merrily dash out to the clothesline in the morning and unwittingly walk over these hairs in your bare feet. The effect is instant – the body’s immune system sets up a red alert. If you’re a baby or a toddler you could die.
Searing itching agony creeps up the feet to the ankles, then up the shins to the knees. The hand that scratches picks up the poison and becomes affected as well. You dive into the swimming pool to escape the fury of itching and to wash the hairs away.
Sheer agony. Undeniable. And yet …
Why is it that the pristine awareness in which this hairy horror movie plays out is utterly unaffected? Beats me, but turning to that ultimate changeless refuge never fails to sabotage the arising of suffering.
What has neither parents nor offspring
yet knows existence as its family tree?
What has never had a mind to ‘make up’
yet sees everything directly and intimately
and acts freely, without choice?
What has no body, no form
yet the ten thousand things
and the ten thousand no-things
fit it perfectly?
what is, is always a somatic event, whether it be a mental or physical experience, whether it be of the ‘external’ world, or the ‘internal’ one
this body teaches me, guides me; it has its own way of regulating its miraculous system
when it’s happy it lets me know: it sleeps soundly, thinks clearly, stays centered in imperishable knowingness
I write “it lets me know” and instantly need to correct the illusion of two: it lets itself know, and a wee ‘me’ thought claims receipt
dear wee ‘me’ thought – you serve me well
now that you’ve revealed yourself as the ephemeral indispensable servant of the changeless Real, the Beloved, we are friends, we can make up, we can stop pretending this default dualism
is the body of beingness
yours, mine, and all the appearances taking the verb
it never moves yet it contains all that changes
have you found that which never changes?
that which never moves?
that which never knows, labels or holds a belief about anything?
find that – it’s closer than your next thought
and Totality will at last embrace ITself
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