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 morning ‘I’ opens eyes in a new version of world-ing.
This morning the great Shining slips through slits in wooden window shutters.
I rise with its rays, make green tea in a different kitchen.
This morning’s view from the zafu opens out over cerulean, cobalt, turquoise
blending to ultramarine at the horizon: the Coral Sea.
Utter lusciousness for an artist’s brain.
This morning’s body is stiff and sore, tired and protesting.
There will be a quieter day today, methinks. But who can tell?
Life’s agenda and my own often don’t match!
This morning, as always, I-eye just watches,
serenely unaffected and seriously contented.
What can be said about the overpopulation of the planet? What can be said about starvation, about terrorism, about climate change? What can be said about the spread of diseases like AIDS?
Whatever is said or imagined by thought will be the product of conceptualization – the same source that produced the problems, the questions, and that endlessly spins the solutions. But genuine change cannot be wrought by thought’s projections, for it only knows the known, and the known is the past. Revolution is never creative; it may be innovative, but that’s not the same as creative. Innovation is generated by thought re-arranging what it already knows. Is it possible for thought to find a new question? Or can new questions only arise from That which is beyond thought?
What thought knows cannot be the Truth for Truth is changeless and unknowable.
Go for the guts of IT: find the changeless, unknowable Truth and then see what happens to the rest.
Watch in amazement as Life rises to meet ITself – with wisdom and compassion and your name on ITs ID card.
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.
Someone tells me, migraine-wracked me, “It’s all an illusion.”
In spite of vomiting and pain I have to agree, since there’s no suffering happening. I have learned that to avoid, to move away from whatever suchness is presently presenting, is to suffer.
But in the contrary way of unbidden questions something asks, “If the experience of sickness can be said to be an illusion, what’s aware of the illusion; what knows it to be an illusion?”
The Awareingness that’s aware isn’t a thing. And nothing can be found outside of this Awareing-Knowing, so, how could any experience be said to be an illusion or not-an-illusion?
“Don’t overlook the Reality within the illusion!”
said someone very wise
and this is the most powerful and comforting
mind-medicine one can offer
When the penny drops, there’s no way for it
– or its inventor (me/you) – to go back.
It’s not a question of not wanting to,
or of wanting to ‘for the sake of others.’
When the penny drops, the place it drops to is no-where.
And the one who thought up whole penny-idea is awol.
So there’s nobody to go back
and nowhere to go back from or to.
The full impact of this isn’t apparent at first.
It unfolds like a flower: petal by petal.
Watching, one sees the shifts in behavior,
especially in one’s reactions.
One sees the vast liberation that was never-not-present.
One sees the joy that has no cause or meaning.
One sees, but no-one watches.
There is no witness!
Watching sees and that Watching is what One is.
The ruts made by a million meanderings of the Memory Bus down Habit Avenue are deep.
Little wonder then that the bus finds it easy to continue to follow them along – even after a whiff of wild wideawakeness. It’s easy to drop back into default dualism when this happens, to be unsettled, and critical of a ‘clarity’ that’s become objectified and ‘owned.’
But what I’m noticing is that there’s an immediate and spontaneous awareness of what’s going on (mindless habitude), of where one is (in Rutsville), and an equally spontaneous elevation (yes it feels like that – like just floating up) from the rut. Oh!
Another dead petal drops off the lifebloom, floats serenely to the ground without one having to do a single thing, think a single thought, or choose one state over the other.
Life’s driving, whether one’s in the ruts or out. And Life’s wearing one’s very own name-tag. So what’s the big deal?