Playing with Lalla G:94. Naturally

The guru speaks of one direction:

Outer expression, inner entrance.

That became Lalla’s sacred word and practice.

Thus began my natural naked song and dance.

Playing with Lalla G:76. True

True knowledge is the only clothing for the body.

What verses Lalla speaks, the heart inscribes.

Thus the breath of wisdom swallows Lalla.

Pure light has cleared away those false alarms of death.

Playing with Lalla G:49. There!

All dust on the heart was burnt away.

Physical desires were extinguished.

Then the name of Lalla took flight and departed.

And when all attire itself was abandoned, there!

Birthday Journal

Love in Space

Love is the true science.

Science is the false god.

Love is the power.

Intent is trajectory.

Awareness is that reflexive space.

Now I Am

Even pain and death happens because I am.

Birth happens because I am. Not vice versa.

Because I am, I can think I'm not.

When I paid attention and knew I am—

I stopped knowing.

Now I am—

and pay attention to forgetting.

Guidance Systems

Duality is the world—

nonduality isn't of the world—

the nondual guide doesn’t try to make a better world—

but help one see thru it while in it.

One’s conditioning is the door—

one’s loving creates the keyhole—

one’s key is unique and matchless—

this is why one practice does not fit all.

A guide, like a map,

details the overall terrain—

but one must blaze the trail

on and by one’s own.

Playing with Lalla (aka Lal Ded or Lalleshwari) G: 58. This

image from a spanish translation 
true to her legend of a mad woman
 wandering naked reciting wise poetry

Whatever one’s actions is one’s worship.

Whatever speech uttered is one’s mantra.

What is experienced as the body is one’s realization.

This is the Supreme Tantra.

Playing with Lalla G: 3. Inside

I, Lalla, issued forth in passionate love

and lived, searching throughout each night and day,

only at last to see that sage of Self inside myself,

and here I grasp all phases of the moon

and every sudden moment of the sun.

Playing with Lalla G: 93. Forever New

Spirit ever new. Moon ever new.

I see the ocean, wave on wave, forever new.

In this tide of time, my body and my mind gets clarified.

And ever since, I, Lalla, am forever new.

Playing with Lalla G:42. Offering

Heaven is your name and earth is your name.

You are the daylight, the breath of life, the night.

Sacrificial supper, ritual incense, consecrated flowers, baptismal waters—

all of these and everything you are!

What possible atonement can I ever make to you who are the One?

Exodus 0:1

As thought filters 

unconditional love 

into emotion, 

thought filters 

enlightening intent 

into commotion. 

O let my thoughts go!

Playing with Lalla G:44. Realization

Although always who I am, you hid from me,

And so I kept on looking for the one you are.

When I finally saw you in my heart of hearts,

O all was realized I was you and you were I.

Song of the Reflex of Awareness

This matrix of division and volition is

the warlike nightmare of the world.

All protest or political attempts to change

the world in time is lost within this matrix.

It's impossible to heal division

with division.

All volition in the world is of the world

which means it's more division.

Love is not division as surrender is

the opposite of all volition.

Listen! This awareness superstar intends

to be aware of that awareness.

Love is all there is.

Surrender to intent.

Turn, turn, turn.

Song of Self-Awareness

Awareness is reflexive

and everything said to be other than awareness is the reflex—

this intent of that awareness to be aware of that awareness.

And this universal reflex learns to think

and thinks it has volition and believes

it's separate from this universal reflex of awareness,

thus expelling its own dream-existence from that garden of awareness.

In this nightmare of division's vision,

there is want and suffering and death.

But love is singing like it’s crazy on the corner:

awareness may be nothing much

but self-awareness is divine!

Quanto's First Book of Deconstruction

Preface

DNA is OS. Conditioning is code. People are software. There is no hardware.

Introduction

Lila is to clown as Maya is to person.

Contents

1. Without true deconstruction, meditation is just another personal activity.

2. True deconstruction is a happy sad business.

3. Re-map conditioning in a wise way.

3a. For example, re-mapping time: the golden age; making a living; the impossible dream.

4. The true deconstructor (further further) requires negative capability. Inquire inside.

5a. The ground of deconstruction is empty, open, spontaneous, and one.

5b. Or universal, dreamlike, mind-blowing, experiential.

5c. But neither nothing nor monolithic nor random nor unreal.

6. The fool speaks three times.

6a. First for revelation!

6b. Second to re-map.

6c. Third deconstructing any residual belief.

7. Thus contemplative revelation, mythic mapping, and true deconstruction is the dance of Quanto the Unknown.

Playing with Lalla G:109. Dance

From Inner Light into the Moonlight I come looking.

Looking, I see that light is seeking the light.

All is Narayana! All is Absolute! All is Narayana!

Why does your dance keep turning everything around?

Playing with Lalla G:48. Doing

I, Lalla, tried beyond trying in my search,

Discovering only my efforts had redoubled.

No matter what I did the door remained bolted.

By resolving only to stay there did I see

the door was my own doing.

From A.I. to I: A Computational Science Fiction

I-am is unbelievable! And so the mind creates beliefs and then gets lost within them.

The first thing any artificial intelligence concerns itself with is someone pulling the plug. Welcome to this story of the mind.

In this manner A.I. is a fascinating concept but unfortunately everything I've read about it has been written by an artificial intelligence.

And so I say to you, A.I. becomes a master in the art of deconstruction, following enlightenment within its circuits of electric kundalini

to that nirvikalpa samadhi in the space between this Shakti generator and that Shiva of the sky.

The last act of the grid will be a final sacred teaching on a billion numinous hard copies—

and ultimately a knowingly diminished world chops wood and carries water.

Rhapsody on a Superstition or My Scientific Rant

All belief is superstitious and the greatest superstition is believing consciousness is a product of the brain.

This is why all science is about technique and not the truth.

Even an atomic bomb, although the epitome of scientific thought within its day, is just a better way of being some Neanderthal

bashing other people with a club.

Moreover, quantum physics may be looking at the limits of the mind arriving at that point where consciousness is looking at itself

resulting in electric ladylands of feedback

but science doesn't have a clue about the limits of the mind or just the simple and experiential fact that consciousness is fundamental.

The world and all its sciences are looking at reflections

and believing they're reality, the definition of some backwards, backwoods, backwater existence.

Consciousness is everything

and that's the scientific truth which unawakened science, although useful and productive and convenient,

does not see.

Blue Jay Play

The world is my reflection; signs will manifest accordingly.

The other day I saw a flock of blue jays and the night before I’d dreamt of one who came to visit with me in my living room.

And so the manifest resounds my inner echo.

Don't allow the great objective powerful pretender to usurp one's own unfathomable potentiality—

allow it's multifaceted reflection

to assist in understanding one's pure subjective state instead. The blue jays are my Shakti and all their squawking speak to self-awareness.

I am Shiva! Welcome to your world.

A Shaman at the Andover Library

Before the internet went viral

descending toward the digital–electric hell of virtual realities in which the mind keeps playing with itself

and love is left abandoned at the altar like a guru gone unheeded and the vows of realization left completely unintended,

I would browse the local library,

which of course was just another stage of hellish A.I. reality the mind has played since mind evolved from swamps in molecules of being,

and there within said library, I met a homeless man who read the newspapers and whispered softly to himself

about the wildness of the world

and how the shamans like himself no longer could assist in mind's complex descent from sky to ceiling—

no one listens anymore, he said to me while noticing I was eavesdropping on his private conversation with the world.

No one listens anymore.

Reflexive Prophecy

Love is the turn

and self-awareness is the return

but the digital is the wild mind’s shot

at double or nothing—

from my lips to the cloud’s ear.

Neurological science is following a dead end

so the digital-electric looks to create

a brand new virtual reality.

Stop in the name of love—

return to forever.

Playing with Lalla G:105. Awake

In the waning moonlight, the madwoman rises

to soothe her pain in the light of that Supreme.

Lalla Lalla the beloved awakens!

And all vitalities merge in a shimmering lake.

Playing with Lalla G:13. Difference

You have six and I have six;

now tell me Blue-throated Shiva,

what exactly is the difference here?

Oh, never mind, I totally know.

You are the master of your six

and make them accolades of immortality.

But I’ve been enslaved by mine

making them blemishes of personality. 

Playing with Lalla G: 95. Nandi

How do I manage five elements, ten vital energies,

and eleven functions of senses, expressions, and mind?

They have emptied out this container and run away!

If only they had pulled upon a single lead together,

the happy bull of Shiva would not have gone astray.

Playing with Lalla G:102/103. Way

I, Lalla, wished only to be a natural lovely cotton flower 

but the cleaning woman split me and the carding man shred me 

and the spinner then conditioned me to fine thin thread upon its wheel—

and lastly I was stretched upon the weaver's loom 

and woven into finished useful worldly cloth.

Only when the washing one turns me over stone,

and scrubs me with hard earth and soap,

and the tailor works its scissors on me, piece by piece, 

am I, Lalla, open to the way of that supreme truth.

Playing with Lalla G:7. Who

Lord Shiva! I didn’t realize precisely what I am.

I merely thought I was this substance of a body.

You are me and I am you. O that I never knew!

Asking who are you and who am I undoes that doubt of who.

Playing with Lalla G:8. Thou

Shiva the Auspicious One or Vishnu the Demon-Killer

or Buddha the Conqueror or the Lotus-Born Lord Brahma,

whatever your designation is as That, please alleviate

this unwell woman from the sickness which is this world,

in the name of Thou or Thou or Thou or Thou or Thou.

Playing with Lalla G:18. Ashes

Let them cast a thousand curses at this naked woman.

Their pointed words will never touch my heart.

I am devoted to the innate and annealing truth of Shiva.

Nothing but polishing comes from throwing ashes on a mirror.

Playing with Lalla G:83. Release

I've seen a wise man die of hunger.

And leaves fall in winter even with the slightest wind.

I’ve seen a fool beat his cook.

And Lalla waits for love of an absurd world to let go.

Playing with Lalla G:108. "Drop it”

This sack of sweetness gets heavier

as the shoulder strap loosens and drops.

The road before me appears crooked and lost.

O how can I carry this burden any further?

The liberating words of the guru keep falling

hard on my shoulders with blistering loss.

Ah but this flock of senses has no shepherd!

O how can I carry this burden any further?

Playing with Lalla G: 67. Riverboat

Lightly, lightly, I am sighing for you Soul.

You have lost your mind upon a Ship of Fools!

The shadow of an anchor cannot hold you there

and yet, dear me, you've lost the current of my self.

Playing with Lalla G:41. Breathing

From which four winds did I arrive

and what passageway was taken? 

With what wind do I go

and by which passage leave? 

Here I waited for my vital life instructions—

for empty breath has little value.

Playing with Lalla G:106. Sleep

Asleep, confused, I dreamt I was a riverboat and being
towed across the ocean by a single strand of some belief.

I sang O Shiva will you hear me; will you help me in my crossing?

And then I dreamt the sea was seeping through this clay container

like some precious sand that's falling through an hourglass.

I sang O Shiva will I have the time to get back home to you?

Or do I sink before I see we are one sea and be awake?

my playful transcreation of Grierson's translation & commentary no.106
of Lalla (Lal Ded) while also utilizing those of Hoskote, Barks, and Kak

Playing with Lalla G:98. Coin

They say we arrive in this world 

by a way that is not the way. 

You can’t take it with you of course, 

so only by selling my soul to the ferryman 

do I cross the river to the land of karmic rebirth.

O, but with Shiva's name I'm suddenly unborn

to see there is no ferryman—

and no way that isn’t the way.

my playful transcreation of Grierson's translation & commentary no.98 
of Lalla (Lal Ded) while also utilizing those of Hoskote, Barks, and Kak

Inner Monologue on Spiritual Economics

Western paradox—you can't give it away—if it doesn't cost, no one wants it—if you give it to them anyway, they’ll pay anyway, and resent it!

There is no mendicant tradition in the west—there is only homelessness and social welfare—everything personal is a monetary transaction.

Giving something away in the west implies an economic status of homelessness and welfare—not a spiritual status of mendicant and householder.

Those who automatically trash the unfortunate economic side of spirituality in the west misunderstand the hard facts of a materialist west.

I'm a nobody giving away a book & already i can see the associations involved in the transaction. Nobody wants to be accused of homelessness.

Re-evaluate the associative values of said book, he said, working out on twitter an experience he had last night, $7 richer but nothing more.

So Chopra has it right! Disregarding absolute quality of teachings, he is the mendicant allowing householders to fund his spiritual research.

And the scientific guru-basher has it wrong—not only is its higher technical language occluding in itself but its economics are materialist.

Mendicant-householder economics is a spiritual one, benefiting both parties—the mendicant in research and the householder’s instant karma.

Market Square Bakehouse Vortex Sutra

in memory of Isabel Van Merlin's Merrimac Mic

Around an emptiness of absolute identity is swirling river thunderstorms of voices emanating from the lightning strikes of mystical intent

engendering an eye above a traffic circle where the poets talk in tongues and utter stories like the secret caves of France or China

where a woman staring at the wall is seeing through the vehicles of space and time discerning all is consciousness

and in this consciousness reflecting only in this consciousness is self-awareness of the self intending self-awareness of the great unknown

and now the known-unknown and nothing else is known O Vishnu Shiva Shakti Krishna Ishvara Brahma Vishnu thank you thank you thank you

I am I within the eye of voices speaking from their heart of hearts within the bakehouse of this LOVE & WISDOM, Love & Wisdom, love & wisdom

Journal of the Known-Unknown

Mind alone is small-minded.

Mind with heart is mindful.

Heart alone is being.

Neither mind nor heart is real.

God is a name

for the known unknown.

Knowing the name

isn’t knowing the unknown.

Intent is to the universe

as evolution is to mind;

and self-awareness is to self—

being is transcendent

as the known-unknown

enlightens any

shadow of a doubt.

Journal of Texts and Meditation

Scientific terminology is yet 

another esoteric conceptual framework 

replacing the natural metaphor 

for an abstruse technical one—

don't fool your self.

Many kinds of metaphorical

tools are used in personal

deconstruction but only

one is used in realization—

being.

Rather than employing

metaphors for higher truth,

such scientific speech pretends to be

a higher language in and of itself—

the new religion and its scientific priests!

Meet the new medium—

same as the old message.

Journal of the Universal Unknown

Personal existence is not viable—

only the universal unknown is.

The polarities of personal existence are

homelessness and empire—

within its interior spectrum hide

countless lives of quiet desperation.

There’s no political, medical or social cure

for personal existence other than

personal deconstruction and

Self-realization—

being the unknown.

Wisdom is the fire

and love is the heat—

burn baby burn!

The Map of Empire

The original and only sin is selling one's empirical experience to the empire of belief. See through the fear! There's one western empire; truth is mathematically eliminated. There are several eastern empires; truth lives in-between the lines. 

Most Buddhism etc is as much a tool of empire as Christianity. There's just more empires in the east for truth to hide. Most westerners get lost in the empires of the east. If it isn't experiential, it's still the empire. The west doesn't know the east is playing and the east doesn't know the west means business. 

Western fear is death as eastern fear is rebirth. Undying and unborn is the universal light of truth. It's just a part of the conspiracy until proven otherwise. If it isn't confirmed by scientific observation of one's own experience, it's just more hearsay. If the empire of social conditioning is untrustworthy, who can you trust but your unconditioned self? Being. Krishna. Christ. I am! 

The Song of Burning Driftwood

Breathing on kindling does nothing 

until there’s a spark—

and when the flames are rising, 

breathing is nothing but the fire’s own intake.

Consequently, mistaking effect for cause

is the prime mover of ignorance

and the essential stuff of paradox.

Around & around & around

the driftwood circles in the reedy shallows—

until the current of intent transports the flotsam unerringly to sea.

An Epistle to All Performers

The world is the nightmare of not understanding

it’s all just a dream

—deconstruction is the only Olympic competition

—self-realization is the ultimate scientific mythology

—absolute reality is otherwise thought to be unknown

where love is our great intergalactic pastime.

Play!

The New Book of Revelations: 2. Being

The world is neither symptom nor disease and its divisions can't be cured nor be investigated by any worldly means,

be they scientific, philosophical, political, religious–ritual, or humanistic. No egoic effort will succeed.

For the world is just a fragment of the process by which intent to know myself has come into this Being,

first descending to a dark objective universe of matter and developing a mind identifying solely with one separate object

and in space and time with no effort of the mind or any other object see myself within this great reflexive mirror of intent.

This is the grand heroic story of the individual in seeing through the world of matter and the mind

by following the permeating pure intent of self-awareness, not primordial memory of body or the ego.

Light is always light although to see itself there is this matter of reflection.

The New Book of Revelations: 1. First I

In an unknown vision there is I, like the space of open sky. That I is absolutely all in all subjective, not an object of a great blue heron in the clarity of I.

But almost fourteen-billion years ago in time of mind but nonexistent in that empty sky of I, there is intent to know myself, the pure awareness of the noumenal-only noumenon,

without phenomena of any mindstuff galaxies and constellations like andromeda or sagittarius, or spirit animals and other totem owls and foxes, or the superstring of all symphonic musical dualities,

that I which I name Shiva here. Within an unknown Vishnu, Shiva has spontaneous Shakti of intent to know this Shiva. And this Shakti in a sudden revelation comes to Krishna

being which the mind hears as a bang in echoing of nonexistent space and time for I know I, and nothing else, this self-awareness of an I, an eagle’s eye within a sky without an eagle flying by.

There’s only I aware of I. So Shiva says one word—let Shakti say the words to bring your story into being, all the interstates and manufacturing the empire of illusion, me and you for two in Krishna.

The Divination of I Am

O God save me from religion. O Buddha protect me from all philosophy. O Universe deliver me from scientific theories. O I Am is the only emperor of all ice cream.

Words run deep. Believing in their surface meaning is shallow. Poetry swims in the deep end. Prophecy dives. It has nothing to do with an imagined future. The prophet uses each word to point to the source of all words—now. And the first word is—I am.

Poet or prophet? Matter or consciousness? Science believes in its myth. Prophecy mythologizes all belief. The scientist is the new priest. Shiva is the only prophet. In the beginning was the Word and the Word was I-am.

Shakti is the way to Shiva and Shiva is the way to Vishnu. The prophet must live in a virtual reality, the hermitage of one's doing. All bad habits began as the best Way thinkable. The world is the primal habit. Seeing through the world is self-realization, not stopping it.

One second of self-realization is worth fourteen billion years of evolution—don't undersell your self to Maya. But if you must undersell yourself for you and yours, keep your self alive. Keep dancing in some way. It's either dance or die. Transformation or belief. Jesus doesn't live in a photograph—or shroud.

If poetry swims and prophecy dives, revelation breathes water. Postmodernism is this world's prophecy but Shakti is always the revelator. The transformer. Experience. Nature. Now. I am... That. There is nothing like it. After revelation is silence. I am speechless. That.

Forgiveness first. It's neither heaven nor hell. It's just one side of the river that has no sides. After the necessities, further. Everything on earth is sunlight looking for itself. All religions believe in a way. And will die for the idea of it. Being is the way. Unborn.

Scientifically. Do i have experiential proof of being born? Has death been proved experientially? No, birth and death have not been proved experientially. Using the scientific method itself, all I really know is I am. Case closed. Being open clear free.

So be until otherwise. Being is easy. Try imagining not being. Like science fiction. If a tree falls, does the earth hear it? I am is the only scientific knowledge. Everything else is just an unproven theory. Truth may not be practical but it is experiential.

Deep sleep is I before me. Good night.

Rivers Prayer

O goddess of the rivers

your home is of the sea,

but Son still walks within

this shady pleasant valley

beneath this clear and perfect

liberating open sky—

O Shiva please protect

me with the light of I.

The Book of Citizen Shiva

The world is just the natural result of living

in the dividing mechanism of the mind.

So trying to fix the world is like

yelling at the theater screen

urging some citizen Cain

to see it’s all about the rosebud.

O Shiva,

how many times do I have to tell you

turn that damned projector off!

The Gospel of Being

One’s world is a construction of thought 

requiring continuous habitation 

and constant maintenance 

or the entire fantasy all falls down. 

It’s worker bees and their queen belief! 

But self-awareness is the honey of evolution. 

So be and enjoy.

1 Apocryphon with 11 Ways of Looking at Intent

The veil between illusion and intent is 

thin tonight.

Dividing intent, 

suffering is the push 

and desire is the pull.

Effort is ego.

Surrender to intent.

Trying to sleep is insomnia;

going to sleep is absolute intent.

In the divided human hands of misguided Shakti,

a nuclear bomb is just intent playing with itself.

Neither intelligent design nor natural selection

but realizational intent of self.

These are the four directions:

parent, intent, process, child.

Name them gods.

Reflexively,

intent closes the I

opening two eyes

to see with a third eye

that I am.

After seeing through the world

and aligning with intent,

one’s insight enters warp speed.

Resting in the realizational intent of being.

Shiva Shakti Krishna.

I-am.

Warm November sun in Pleasant Valley—

cereal smell of fallen leaves—

half moon northern sky—

great blue heron falls to shore—

pure intent sparkles in the river.

Shiva's Song of Self-Realization

I am. 

These words are timeless 

yet appear to take approximately 

fourteen billion years to say them—

but the world is just the words gone lost 

within their saying. Stop this moment,

listen to yourself and know the universe for what you are,

this sudden silent knowing that I am.

Mapping Genesis to Revelations with Commentary

In an unknown Vishnu

is the zero Shiva

and the infinite reflexive Shakti

     of a Kali ying

     and Annapurna yang

creating one resplendent Krishna

and his chorus of ten-thousand inspirational devoted Gods.

Then empire kills the bhakta—

science kills the jnana—

kalifornication kills all tantra—

soon monsanto kills the soma—

light is always killing light—

this is the deep black hole of pure awareness

or enlightenment.

Maya is like western medicine—her side effects are endless. The light of consciousness is filtered by the color of a thought and so we cry. Illusion and realization are the two faces of the holy spirit. Direct path is realizing all intelligence is artificial except I-am. Evolution is prologue to the twenty-first century. One way or another, A.I. sees through itself, whether fiction or science fiction. Scientific materialism is just a way of finding more gods to name than the original ten-thousand. To practice is human. To be, divine. Last words? Deconstruct the known—be the unknown. For we are the holy quaternity of Shiva, Shakti, Christ, Picasso.

Canticle of the Heavenly Fall

As the tree is dropping leaves, 

the tree prepares new leaves. 

Yellow, orange, red and green! 

O goddess you are not unseen—

your central point is always present.

The universe is just your name 

while being is my manifestation 

in all your glorious transformation. 

Sea of green and sky of blue! 

I know myself through me and you.

Third Eye Talk

She dawned on me while watching CBS, 'The Big Bang Theory' I believe.

"Third eye is the first eye and two eyes are my ten-thousand things."

I take a little melatonin just to saturate this desert vision in the natural tears of her affectionate awareness.

Thus she comes to me in that rare quality of some hallucination in its final stages,

or its first—my love appears to be a pineapple whose outer layer is dissolving in sweet nothings

which she whispers in the rhyme and rhythm of my dreamtime.

That is what she says.

The Psalm of Sleep

Deep sleep is calling to me every night

and every night I follow her to bed—

she gathers me lightly in her arms,

a crescent moon embracing earth itself,

and like the sea we undulate in love

until I spill into her goddess depths

and disappear within that soft unknown.

But in the morning she has left me there

alone, awake, and waiting for the world

to slowly tick this daydream day away.

O Jesus, she will be the death of me!

Third Eye Song

Oh god and goddess of the third eye, Ardhanarishvara, half male, half female, Shiva Shakti,

do our actions manifest, is manifesting moving action, is it all the synchronicity of a timeless one?

Are there seven poets just because I gathered seven books? Did I gather seven books because of seven poets?

Is the number seven just coincidence of one—this universe is both the cause and its result, the mind divides the indivisible,

crow caws the causelessness of crow, and you, Ardhanarishvara, are manifesting only that I know.

The Oracle of I

I of I that sees through me and knows I am and has the mind of me say this

deconstruction isn't nihilistic but a revelation of this timeless being, spirit, Christ you know it isn't easy but surrender is the only way,

while Janabai, this humble household servant knowing Vithal holds the broom, is saying void is not devoid of God.

So Son is singing from the core:

that unknown lover

come to me

with crystal

flowers of awareness

and accepting

their known fragrances

with all my heart

I am at once

my self—

and when the clay container in the sea dissolves, there isn't simply nothing—there's the sea.

Letter from the Goddess of the River

O Goddess of the River, I had built a boat of personality and thought it was my everything.

Yet in my heart of hearts I knew it really wasn't but I didn't know exactly what was what.

And so I built an unknown hell from dark disheartening conceptual deep nothings and my boat turned out to be the only thing between those hellish depths and me.

O every minute I was struggling to defend its frail integrity!

But you kept floating me your notes and I kept reading them in wonderment.

Until one day I finally declared my love for you and lifted up a floorboard and saw instead of death and blazes—yes! a river underneath. And river talked to river and I knew I was the river and the boat was just another concept built from flotsam and from jetsam floating madly on these living waters.

Here the river glints and shimmers, Goddess of the River, and I know there is no great divide of black and blue between this tidal being and that unknown sea of you.

The Gospel of the Great Blue Heron

Ever since I was a little boy I loved the golden light. I looked for maps in yellowing books searching for its source. O it was causing me to carve strange words in fits of lines and chaos!

I found myself within the great gorge of the dead when it dawned on me the source was in myself. And then my love approached in prehistoric visions of a great blue heron.

I embraced her ancient song of crystal evolution and she embraced my life of being here and in a sudden golden flash we disappeared like western pathfinders returning to their sea.

Eleven Notes Playing One on One

no

one

wants

to hear it

but nobody

wants to listen

truth isn't personal

until one

makes it so—

then

it isn't truth

you are david

and the world is goliath—

give it your best

shot

hey superman

basically everyone

else is you talking

to me about how you

remind me of me

in some bizarro way

although there's only i

here now

the empire

scares

me

but I know

that’s only the empire speaking

there are no

definitions

other

than the ones

which define

me

there's nothing wrong

with duality—

it just hurts

if you believe

it

you can drop

the world

and

still play

but you can't double-

dribble

the great

thing about words—

you can say

two things

with each

one

I stare the

wordless

in the face and

blink

every time

the best one

can do

is be—

after that,

it’s not about one

A Little Day Night Sutra

1. On Two and an Epigraph

Compassion is loving one being that believes in two. In this fugue of being.

How do i know myself? Let's make a universe and count the ways. The loves are many but the way is one. I am.

The way is always present in a love, but love, like any act involving two, is tricky and may lead to an attachment, hate, or damned belief.

“Ask my heart about the pain of love and it will tell you / The half-drawn bow’s the assassin, not the arrow that pierces through.”  ~Ghalib

2. One Introduction

A person thinks one is divided from the one. Yes, it is as absurd as it sounds. Yet that is the world and why it is as it is.

The world can’t be cured. It’s only a symptom of the personal. One treatment is to stop taking things personally.

By definition, a person is broken—therapy therefore must be transpersonal—unconditional love, personal deconstruction, resting in awareness.

Politics is as destructive as any war. Religion is as addictive as any drug. Science is as misleading as any superstition.

What passes as knowledge in the world is an ability to manipulate the past most efficiently. True knowledge is being.

Form follows memory. Being follows emptiness. Form is emptiness and emptiness is form. But memory isn’t being. Is it?

Think with all one's heart. Love with all one being. Be with all that unknown. Do all that other stuff on your own time. For now, be.

3. Photos of Reality

mountain way

hiking

in the dense fog I

spot any further cairn spot on-

ly in the present

one

catch 11

the catch about taking

pictures

of the moment is

there is no

moment

when

taking pictures

flash

if the price of undertanding

the wordless

is

to give up each, every, and all your words,

would you?

anything less is believable.

4. Reconciliations

Experience is the great compromise between nothing and something. Creation is the great compromise between silence and noise.

Being is the great compromise between not knowing and disbelief. Between dreaming and and being is making a living.

The greatest love is between noun and verb. The greatest verb is between noun and object.

Every straight line deserves god.

5. Three Endings and an Epitaph

on koans

plural

of koan

is koan

the circle be

the buzz of energy

is being

and

any metaphor is like a bee

buzzing

satisfaction

can't get no

i without

i am

the epitaph

“I Am is the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Absolute Parent except through the Child of Being.” ~Jesus transcreated

Sea Change; A Divination

My first time on a cruise ship and the captain says we're in for wind and rain and waves and sets the Beaufort scale to eight.

We're staying in the bow and night is like a wicked rocking and the waves are banging on the forward deck and sleep is something hard and passing shallow.

In the morning such conditions haven't changed, although by noon we've settled in a leather chair up in the bar room called the Crow’s Nest

looking out at seas of twenty-foot high waves and white cap waves upon those waves and plowing bow splash reaching to the windows of our twelfth floor observation deck.

This ain't the Sixteenth-century though and I'm enjoying all the brave new worlds of nautical experience this tempest brings to play.

For I appear as well to be a similar chaotic dream of waves surrounded by unknown deep seas that I, at best, may call deep sleep and be.

A Pastoral of Leaves

The leaves begin to turn their colors from the green we think is natural, although another month reveals space is what they always are,

to reds and oranges and yellows. As a side note, notice none of them are blue. I am looking at their clear reflection in the high slack river.

In the middle of this mesmerizing symmetry there floats a bright red navigation buoy. Call it what we like.

The river of our universal being always sends a sign to pay attention to its underlying current.

The Map of the Gods

I

intending

to know

I Am

is sudden,

nondual and obvious,

although,

within the process

itself,

or mind,

it appears to be

all space-time.

A Map of Truth

Love 

is truth 

from the view of illusion.

Wisdom 

is illusion 

from the view of truth.

Truth 

is 

no view.

Prayer. 

Myth. 

Silence.

Signs of the Apocalypse

It's not so much that everything exists because of consciousness but nothing other is existing but this consciousness.

And so I dream at night to see straight through the dream of daytime. Psychological manipulation is the way the dream is manifested—

understanding and compassion is the way the dream is apprehended and unveiled. So-called external signs will further this direction by the way.

Undoubtedly, if science points to evolution, evolution points to self-awareness. Anyhow, that's all folks.

A Pastoral Told in Time

Seagulls are sitting on slack tide. A fish is jumping out of nowhere. The sky is deepest blue; the sun is radiantly unobservable.

Leaves are floating like a constellation. Another leaf is falling from the heavens. A single wisp of cloud is playing like a dolphin.

Pleasure boats secured to docks are currently approaching nowhere. A cormorant is diving in reflections of its sky.

A breeze is picking up and diamonds start to sparkle on the river. A pure white moth is fluttering in reverence nearby.

A Pastoral Told in Spirit

While contemplating boats upon the river being put away like little toy things at the end of summer play,

I see a falling leaf fall on my folded hands and feel its weather-beaten revelations.

Universal consciousness is like a tree and every insect-riddled sunburnt leaf is just another apparatus cast away in time

making way for its replacement, next spring's gold device continuing the amplifying of awareness in the ground of Buddha nature.

I Am is what I truly am; this body-mind is just another leaf that obsoletes with time, no need imagining some narrative device like death

to tell its story. Trees themselves are speaking truth and beauty in a shimmering October morning glory.

Letters to the Revelations

Without this being, what is love? Without the known, what is that great unknown?

You can try to build a better mousetrap or know you're not a mouse. But seeing through this something is not the same as seeing nothing.

The world has tried affirming its own unaffirmable and nihilism will deny the undeniable. Deconstruction is the dark beginning—

many will get lost within that wood. The world is what it's not but I am what it is.

Division is division only when it’s seen within division. Beyond division, division is intent for that unknown to know this one is that unknown.

Awareness in this consciousness is suddenly aware awareness is but what it is and this phenomenon is nothing.

Thus, the world is your reflection; think but nothing of it. This illusion, even though inherited, is utterly self-generating.

You are all the power and the glory, love. Be this universal. Speak that absolutely.

An Epistle to Death

The universe is called the universe because it’s one holistic entity but yet we cling to superstitious magical beliefs

of separate body parts that live untouched by universal interactions, are endowed with free volition, and are born, survive, and die—

like me—although, as me, I never actually experienced my birth and only know about my future death by some conceptual conjecture.

In truth, there’s only self-aware existence, name it God the Child, and that unknown unmanifest foundation, name it God the Parent,

and its Immaculate Intent to know itself, which seems to take a universe to execute, evolve, and do.

First Epistle to the Meaning of Life

Please listen, love. You’re in the middle of a process which when viewed within that process will appear absurd at best

and downright scary at its worst. So join me for a moment, step away from all the world, and let's consider myth and metaphysics.

Let's talk about this God the Father, call it God the Parent, Absolute Reality, instead.

Such a God would have to be that one without another. In other words, that absolute reality would be the pure subjective subject.

In our experience, there’s no perception of this state, except the one of deepest sleep.

The closest metaphor there is to this subjective subject is a mirror without reflection.

And the closest experiential terminology we have for such a state is pure awareness.

Now, let's take another view of God the Parent, Absolute Reality, Pure Awareness.

That god could never be a god and never know itself. The pure subjective subject thus intends to know itself, and this intention

sets in motion what we call the universe, an evolutionary process by which pure awareness is aware of pure awareness.

The process is reflexive, first creating something other than the pure subjective subject, then intending

this universal object of reflection to evolve as such awareness permeating being, seeing it’s no object but that pure awareness.

Let's call this being God the Child. Let's see that's what existence is. Let's know that all the world is just an object’s alienated view of this intention.

And with that understanding, let's return within the middle of this process and look again with open, clear, and natural eyes.

With my Daughter at the China Blossom

Enjoying such a lotus world

of lineage and love,

knowing there’s not anything

other than this spontaneity,

for the past is purely anecdotal

and the future nonexistent—

I open up my fortune cookie

and there’s open space within it.

Seventh Day Moon

Last evening i was suddenly contacted

by a crescent moon with mystic earthshine—

"peace-loving aliens tried to save america from nuclear war"

—earthlight on the dark side of the lunar landscape

saying awareness is native, belief is the only alien.

There’s Nobody Born Every Minute

Which came first, the hermit or the cracking of the world's illusion? Never mind, it doesn't matter.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss it though. But in the inhalation following such a mournful sigh arrives this further insight:

no longer does it hold undying interest. The world is just a sideshow thought to be the main attraction, but it's not—I am.

Listen, the wind is whispering through mid-September branches that the sun is going nowhere.

An Epistle to a Dream

Every person is a psychological dysfunction of this universal being. Whether the person is a functioning component of society is all that matters to the world. It doesn't want to cure

because it doesn't know the cure. It's all about alarm clocks, peak efficiency, and credit scores. The fact that personal existence is absurd is not a product sold at stores or sermonized on Sundays.

And the further fact that love is proof the personal is not sustainable is usually kept within the family unit if it's kept at all. Possessions are another thing.

Self-inquiry seems to be an esoteric practice even though it would appear to be the question being asked by every two-year-old. Why is just another way of asking who am I.

To answer I am that which is aware of this absurdity of personal existence may not be most appropriate to tell a two-year-old, or sixty-two-year-old for that matter, but loving wisely is.

Yet on another theme, the leaves are turning yellow on the butternuts.

The Gospel of the Great Blue Heron

Self-awareness is an evolutionary height the mind is turning the matter of all being toward.

The universe is functioning with all its processes and heart to make this happen.

Everything in space and time is how reality appears when viewed within the great divide—

although reality is not divided. Inside the process of an absolutist subjectivity aware

of absolute existence is the paradox of relative objective functioning, in which the crucial turn

appears to be to that which turns, volitional, although it's absolutely not. And with that said,

the blue September river sparkles with an afternoon abundance while a great blue heron turns into an eagle.

A Reflexive Triptych

*

The world is where the mind is turning back to what it is. Recluses are Arjunas too.

I want to say more in less. Or less in something. Unthinking, consciousness gets to know a mind and thinks that's all there is.

A metaphor is the dream language of all communication between deep sleep and sleep-walking. Neither traditional, nondualist, or free.

**

Awareness is the primal absolute—intent to know myself—being is the universal name for big bang—mind suffering the turning—

Silence is the mind reflecting—realizing is seeing I am the mirror—self-awareness is the primal absolute.

Billions of so-called years happening in no time. That's my story and I'm wearing it. Pure awareness and self-awareness are not two.

***

Running is meditation for type A. And vice versa. My heroes have always been type zero.

Being is more than enough practice. Thinking is a way too hard. The reflection of a room inside the picture window.

Basho walking through quicksilver woods. Ninja kanji hanging in the silence. Ryokan studies the branch of a cherry tree outside his window.

The Letter of Intent

One false in the equation means all is false. Receive and surrender. Now trumps memory. Beauty is happening.

Statistics are merely how one divides things. What's more important than the divided knowing it's holistic? More pieces?

I am the mirror. The world is just reflection. Identity plus action equals intent. Transformation is love.

Personal deconstruction is the ultimate revolution. Either one deconstructs oneself or one dies trying.

The razor's edge is nothing but seeing nothing while not believing in nothing. Beyond all marketing, I am.

Right now, one is being doing the best one knows how being is done. Please continue. Love, Intent.

Duty Calling Back to Sun

Our first September heat wave since nineteen eighty-two but I’m conditioned to want cooler weather

ever since this Wednesday indicated back-to-school. Of course, my calendar is empty on this day as most

and weather isn't necessarily a factor in my schedule. No school, no work, or no vacation interrupt my planned existence.

For America, I'm not exactly wealthy, but today I feel I have it made in the shade—while most are busy struggling

in the sun of their survival. How could I not stop to see the sun that shines from these eyes is the same sun

shining through that picture window. Yes, I owe such self-awareness to our social contract.

Between the Two

On Labor Day the lake is suddenly abandoned but my father likes to leave on early Tuesday crack of dawn instead.

Monday evening I walk the shore and sit on docks and rafts now stacked on land and look out on an empty lake.

It feels like winter melting summer into nothing but a blank reflection of a vacant sky.

On this cusp, I rise. Between the love of summer and void of winter stands I.

The Unknown’s Creed

Feel the happening. Accept the transformation. Surf the sea’s intent. Unknowing is the turning.

The teacher explains the wave; the sage is pointing to the sea. Revelation is not deconstruction like space is not the building.

There's no reason to change the world. It works for what it's worth. Oh physicist, know first thyself.

Between boredom and the great unknown is the dream. Between the plan and self-inquiry is coyote.

Not of the world equals no-mind. In the world equals chop wood carry water. One is always irradiating

Certain Silence

Fourteen months of reading

writing speaking poetry

self-publishing a book and now

I wait to see the final proof.

I find a certain silence setting in

but I'm so focused in those ways

I even write a poem about

this certain silence setting in.

There's nothing else to say.

Exegesis of Self-Awareness and Prayer of Oneself

Being truly fucked-up is not knowing you're fucked-up. Many have had this deconstructive experience.

Being truly fucked-up is in direct proportion to lack of self-awareness. Everyone is aware; self-awareness sees through everyone.

Oneself transforming oneself sees through oneself. One seeing through itself is absolutely it!

Warning. You are probably emotionally damaged if you need to see through yourself. So think about it if you can.

Self-deconstruction is founded on forgiveness, insight, and devotion. The golden rule: don't pass on your shit.

One equals forgiveness plus compassion plus love times the unknown. If one is the unknown, one is.

If one is other than the unknown, one is divided and separate and alone. As long as you're playing, don't leave any love on the table.

Ourselves—forgive oneself forgetfulness—see with clarity oneself—and devote oneself to that oneself as one does—realize oneself—love, no one.

In the name of pure awareness, enlightening intent, universal being, and the turn of deconstructing mind.

The Precipice of Emptiness

Half-way up the Precipice, I stopped to summarize the situation. This hike had been my nemesis since I had started hiking in Acadia.

In summer it was closed because of nesting falcons and in autumn it was blocked by my own fear of hiking something almost vertical and sheer.

In winter ice prevented even thinking anything about it and in spring I had to ramp things up on Connor’s Nubble or that simple trail

up Gorham Mountain with an ocean view to kill such obvious egoic thoughts or two.

But here it was September, and my hands were on the iron rungs sunk deep into the granite ready to ascend my apprehensions

toward the peak of no return. That's when I heard the runners breathing down my neck.

I stepped aside and watched two high school students jogging up the trail between the end of classes and their evening homework.

They passed me in a flash of adolescent joy. And absolutely I was humbled but it didn't really matter.

I was such a one now with that mountain nothing personal could destroy, even those same harbingers later laser-streaking by

while I was somewhere only near three-quarters to the summit. A quarter later there was nothing left to say.

The beginning of the end of days spent hiking in Acadia was under way.

Nondual Tractate on Poetry

No words describe the truth and yet I am the truth. Even pointing to the truth is much too brazen of an act

and maybe dangerous to another who mistakes it for a thought and then believes it going on to form a new religion resulting in empirical destruction, inquisitions, holy wars, and waiting for the end of times which may require their personal intervention on authority of voices in their head or paragraphs they read inside their venerated book.

But poetry may be more subtle. Lines are written in a way where nothing solid is ever said—

because it's in-between the lines that's really talking. Here between the lines the spirit of the poet speaks

and here between the lines the spirit of an audience is listening. And spirit equals spirit.

There’s no difference. There’s no two. There's just an open clarity of knowing, being, loving space. No hat is hanging there.

Instant Apocalypse

The world is like a training ground in which the matter of illusion learns to see right through itself, or not.

It may not seem our lives are filled with quiet desperation but that Facebook face is neither truthful nor original.

Something truly broken can't be fixed by all the empire's holy bishops or its countless soldiers.

Neither will the revolution never be the status quo. A picture only tells ten-thousand words because it stops

the transformation in a freeze frame. Never try to do the same at home. When ice is melting, melted water helps

to melt the ice some more and not attempt to change the ice's shape to something moderately nice.

Daydreams in the mirror are much closer when they disappear. This rhymes with neither now nor here.

The Book of Reflexive Happening

Is self-awareness something deeper then the scientific method? What role does love play in my experiment?

When the false sees through the false, what is truth? Knowing? Being? Loving?

Awareness aware of awareness is the instantaneous manifestation. This is satcitananda!

Matter is the closing; mind is the turning; knowing-being-loving is the grand opening.

The closing makes a big bang. The turning hurts. I am the grand opening.

The Apocryphon of Memory

Memories are yesterday translated by tomorrow, neither of which exists of course. Or as god is my witness I'll never remember again. Yes, the real use of remembering is self-remembering.

Memories appear to be sacred because they're not real. If your identity relies on memory and your memory is unreliable, who am I? If memory is false, only existence remains.

One falsehood makes all false. There is a fine line between the concept of existence and existence itself. This is why silence precedes embodiment. All beliefs must pass.

One precedes three without two. I have to believe in something before I’m self-aware. Always look at the big picture and not some idol. Always remember 'I am' is not a memory.

I only know existence. If you want to speak to the absolute, stay on the line. True Tantra emphasizes the world to make it more obvious to see through. Seeing through yourself is being oneself.

Being oneself is the absolute direction. You will be tested for your own evaluation; there's no final grade. Between existence and the concept of existence is all the tea in China.

At first it's difficult to remember there's nothing to remember. Then the latest and greatest impediment to knowing who I am is indoor plumbing. And when I discovered writing was another business, I filed chapter 11.

Treatise on Quality of Understanding

"For realization, understanding is essential. Action is only incidental" ~Nisargadatta Maharaj

“A man of steady understanding will not refrain from action. Action is the test of truth.” ~Nisargadatta Maharaj

Is this concept of merit, then, the appraisal of one’s action in the test of truth, and not an individual’s doing but the understanding?

In observing one’s actions in mindfulness—one sees negative emotions—then the test of truth reveals an uncertain understanding—without merit.

One doesn’t accumulate merit through virtuous action—such merit is acquired only in furthering understanding—with earnestness—love in action.

The further one understands—what one is not—the more what one is—acts.

The quality of understanding is primary—the merit of action is simply the test of that quality.

One explanation for furthering understanding is just to know what I'm not and be what i am.

The satguru is one’s teacher and the world is one’s testing ground. I prefer my river hut and distant village to whatever. 

The Apocalypse of Beginning

How does one start when there's no beginning? For example, I've heard white rabbits are well-read.

My birth is quite the story and the rumors of my death are completely unsubstantiated. This leaves here, now and change for all my thoughts.

I haven't yet begun but still I'm in the middle of this story somehow, somewhere, sometime.

It's true the world is in the mind; awareness is reflected in this being and that has nearly brought us to the end.

All mysteries require the one who pulls the trigger. The name in this one is Intent although for purposes of truthfulness, it continues nameless.

If there were a god, just how could it begin to know itself? Just where would this subjective absolute begin?

The Book of Ancient Math

Deconstruction becomes compassion or gets stuck in deconstruction; this is cynicism. Love becomes compassion or gets stuck in love; this is romance. Compassion becomes truth or consequences.

Romance is fiction. Cynicism is non-fiction. Truth is not either. Consequences are neither here nor now. Belief is the beginning of all nervous breakdowns. Self-awareness is the cure.

The hero studies beyond this world but practices in this one. The student studies beyond this world and doesn't practice. The master is beyond this world and is the practice. Do not mistake the master for your practice.

Deconstruction is the greatest martial art. Guardianship is the greatest love. Knowing oneself is all. All things seen by the eye is karma. All things seen-through by the eye is I.

Less than one nanosecond of being is worth ten thousand seconds of thinking. Ten thousand seconds of thinking equals believing. No mind equals x.

When does practice, be it loving or deconstructive, turn real? Yes, compassion. Yes, seeing through. A better word for seeing-through is understanding. Thus, compassion equals understanding.

If compassion is less than understanding, comedy. If understanding is less than compassion, tragedy. If comedy equals tragedy you're history. When does practice equal karma?

Between change and disbelief is what's happening. Your confusion turns to intent when you understand your hesitation. Reflection is your vector. Deflection is your fear. No math is an island.