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
Sometimes one gets frustrated trying to find clean and accurate phrases to wordify this immaculate suchness – ‘n’ – the ‘what-is.’
Language – this English one at any rate – is quite useless for this purpose. Whatever is uttered immediately needs qualification, adjustment, explanation.
Perhaps poetry is the medium, but its technologies aren’t known to me.
(Are they knowable at all?)
The problem is the subject-object split.
If I say, “I am sad”, for example, I lie.
I cannot find an owner of sadness (or any-thing else).
Sadness simply is ‘what-is.’
Perhaps one could say, “I is sadness.”
But that would be grammatically clumsy. And also irrelevant, because the ‘I’ seeks no reason for it; ‘I’ has no aversion towards it; has no need to express it.
The sensation of sadness is an energetic body-brain response to apparent conditions, often appropriate and inevitable in the grand scheme of dream-scenarios – as is all suffering, at the bottom line.
And, like the dreams, changing, always changing.
How then to write about That which never changes?
Poetry is the medium.
Like creativity, knowing nothing about how to ‘do it’ is probably the only way for it to happen.
More musings on Grace: The ‘something’ that happens to return me to now, to Life, is usually something I want least. I mean, who would welcome pain and immobility? Who would sign up for surrender of career, colleagues and culture?
We love to welcome Grace in its function as provider of pleasant surprises and serendipities. But Grace can also bring unpleasant surprises.
Grace is function and fire.
Grace is Life’s creative dynamism.
Grace is Life on the return loop of Its journey.
Grace is what undoes ‘me.’
Sitting later today. The sun is hotter, the shadows shorter; traffic noise is louder, but drowned out by a raucous conversation being held outside my window.
Four flying rainbows called lorikeets are in a dispute with one huge kookaburra: What a drama! What a racket! You’d think a flock of fifty birds was out there, but no, only five. First class Australian citizens . . . (only joking!)
This body-mind rests as unwavering happiness.
How can that be so?
There’s a mangled knee, and surgery tomorrow.
There’s midge and mozzie mayhem.
There’s a stiff spine from a strange posture
held overlong in the studio …
Yet suchness equals happiness.
Who could fret about pain,
worry about surgery,
fuss over insect bites,
complain of a sore back
when every detail of every scenario
is simply what-is?
Without a hint of negation
aversion or denial
I fail to find any owner.
This body-mind rests as unwavering happiness
and that happiness, too,
is simply what-is.
Without a hint of desire
preference or aspiration
I fail to find any owner.
Falling asleep again seems to be common enough in the early stages of the mindshift. But the fact that the dreamer eventually – via the presence of weird discomfort – remembers awake-ness, is evidence that apperception of the Truth has occurred. The energy pattern called brain has changed irrevocably.
The tracks of the past are deep ruts; the partner (if there’s one), the old friends, are still identified with their stories, and they still feature in the daily life of the one-who-remembers. Their stories of feelings, needs, desires, meanings, are revisited on cue. There’s potential distraction in this, for sure.
But if I think I don’t want to be caught in this soporific trap; if I chastise myself for having fallen for it all, again; if I feel I want to be rid of everything that triggers somnolence … I stop and reach for my precious little sanity-saving question:
ummmm . . . who owns that thought?
and maybe another ummmm . . . who owns that thought?
ahhhhhh . . . no one can be found!
How sweet it is, to be just what-is!
I have slipped from the power of now
into the pleasure of now
it’s a kind of relaxation into
what simply is
without argument or
it doesn’t imply that what is
will always be up-beat –
it will simply be what it is
pleasure and pain, joy and sadness,
clarity and confusion –
all have equal status
immeasurably vast, ‘I’ remains
a rock-solid emptiness
in the pleasure garden of now
The leap taken into wild wideawakeness is akin to the evolutionary leap from linguistic potential to language development. The bridges leading back to ignorance are spontaneously destroyed: you know what you know, and it cannot be denied.
I spent so many years in “please-like-me” mode;
aware of it, yet powerless to change it
in spite of desperately wanting to.
The program’s still there, still kicks in
but there’s no wanting to change it,
or accept it, or love it,
or do The Work on it.
Relaxing as what-is opens the heart
and this is perhaps the greatest wonder:
that everything I hoped and imagined
would be erased by this savage wisdom
is embraced by it without condition or judgment
and simply ceases to be a problem.