Last Poem Out 2016

Never send to know for whom the sirens sing. Suggestion is the mother of belief. Exponential avatars tonight are permeating Times Square.

There are 108 ways to love your lover. There are two ways of looking at a blackbird. The most crooked street in the world is one way.

Dream your dream and not exist within another one’s reality. Dream your dream as if some god is dreaming you to know there is a god. Dream your dream with dragon power until there is no dragon dream to dream.

Chuang Tzu says far beyond black magic and far beyond white magic is my Zhuangzi magic. There is no me and you but I am. Maybe money doesn’t come from trees but flowers don’t come from earth.

I would retweet this if I only could. Maybe money doesn’t come from trees but flowers don’t come from earth. I am until I’m not. Love is the best!

.

This is That

This is self-awareness. That is awareness. No one comes unto that but by this.

But the mind divides this unity of self-awareness into grand intent and word of light and ten thousand strains of holy holy holy mass.

Know this: identification with a part is harder than the whole.

Waves rise and fall beneath a full wolf moon or dark as new but who is the solar controller beyond the big bipolar pond of black and blue?

Look away! The world's knowledge isn't gnosis; it's hypgnosis. Look into another I and see that blue-eyed blood-shot white-whale black-whole. 

Merry Sunshine Love

The projection is strong tonight. A rose knows it's the only rose that is a rose. Self-awareness is an infinite music. I am its only note.

If Christ Consciousness is unborn, what day is Christmas? Love is neither right nor wrong. That's why it does not compute. But you can always want what you get.

You only get what you love. So love it already! And make room for the next love. Thus acknowledging the sunshine of one's love is like the law of one attracting sunshine.

To make the future like the past, it never ends. Because it never is. Self-awareness is participatory. Like love and evolution. Never take; receive. Always give, but never give to junkies.

And this will be a sign to you. You will find a child wrapped in the natural. If awareness is conditioned to be unaware, and evolution is that so-called object of awareness being self-aware, then Yosemite!

Glacier Point, bad cell-phone reception, intuition half-dome shaman, macaroni, neti neti. Kokoro kokoro kokoro. We only want what we have. The unbelievable!

Condensing the Dreaming

The dark night of the soul. The dark side of the moon. Conditioned dreaming is the shadow of a lucid vision.

And so dream on John Donne. The only knowledge is being and being is the only dream to know itself.

Spontaneity appears to be random because. No one knows the wild infinity of causes. One can say there is infinity of causes

or one can say there’s causelessness. Narrative becomes created as some causes are selected. Narrative is changed if other causes are selected.

This is called the art of dreaming. To change one’s dream, just drop its causes and assign some other ones. There is no other effort needed.

Lucid dreaming is the love to love without a world of their conditioning.

If dreaming is about which cave of cause has been selected, magic is the art of wild coincidence.

The three dimensions of the third dream.

Love, compassion, and forgiveness.

Christ the middle way negative capability.

In other words, being is the only way of knowing and dreaming is the only way of knowing it.

The special effects of any dream

Depends upon specific causes

One is choosing to assume.

Have faith in oneself.

Choose love.

The greatest special effect is

Self-awareness.

This dreaming in the third degree: with intent; as creation; in receipt of realization.

In the name of cave-dwellers, deconstructionists, and sky-dancers, oh my!

this self-sampling is from the previous poems: ‘Dream This’ and ‘Welcome to the Hotel Mahamaya’ and ‘I’m Not Nothing Just Because It Isn't Known’ and ‘A 3D Seventh House Spiritual’ and ‘Dreaming Upon a Winter Solstice’ and unaffiliated

Tenzin Wangyal Rinpoche: Dreaming in Meaning

"As mentioned earlier, there are two levels of working with dreams. One involves finding meaning in the dream. This is good, and it is the level of most of the Western psychologies that accord value to dreams. In both the East and the West, it is understood that dreams can be a source of creativity, solutions to problems, diagnosis of ills, and so on. But the meaning in dreams is not inherent to the dream; it is being projected onto the dream by the individual examining the dream and then is "read" from the dream. The process is much like describing the images that seem to appear in the ink-spot tests used by some psychologists. The meaning does not exist independently. Meaning does not exist until someone starts to look for it. Our mistake is that rather than seeing the truth of the situation, we begin to think that there really is an unconscious, a thing, and that the dream is real, like a scroll with a secret message written on it in code that, if cracked, anyone could read.

We need a deeper understanding of what the dream is, of what experience is, to truly utilize dreaming as an approach to enlightenment. When we practice deeply, many wonderful dreams will arise, rich with signs of progress. But ultimately the meaning in the dream is not important. It is best not to regard the dream as correspondence from another entity to you, not even from another part of you that you do not know. There is no conventional meaning outside of the dualism of samsara. This view is not a giving in to chaos: there is no chaos or meaninglessness either, these are more concepts. It may sound strange, but this idea of meaning must be abandoned before the mind can find complete liberation. And doing this is the essential purpose of dream practice.

We do not ignore the use of the meaning in dreaming. But it is good to recognize that there is also dreaming in meaning. Why expect great messages from a dream? Instead penetrate to what is below meaning, the pure base of experience. This is the higher dream practice - not psychological, but more spiritual - concerned with recognizing and realizing the basis of experience, the unconditioned. When you progress to this point, you are unaffected by whether there is a message in the dream or not. Then you are complete, your experience is complete, you are free from the conditioning that arises from dualistic interactions with the projections of your own mind."

from 'The Tibetan Yogas Of Dream And Sleep' by Tenzin Wangyal Rinpoche

Dreaming Upon a Winter Solstice

No Solstice, No Winter, No Sunshine. 

No People, No Planet, No Nothing.

The special effects of any dream

Depends upon specific causes

One is choosing to assume.

Have faith in oneself. 

Choose love.

The greatest special effect is 

Self-awareness.

Stars and Swamps

Awareness is self-aware. 

The rest—the stars and swamps, 

the quantum soups and salads—

appears to be this process of just that.

It’s as if within that blink of an absolute I,

—third eye of the only God in town

and only starry sky that ever sees itself—

silent Gary Cooper shoots High Noon,

that awesome seeing so magnificent

within itself there is a universe that doesn’t see

and evolution towards a being with a seeing

which is self-awareness as it is and always is.

A 3D Seventh House Spiritual

Muladhara core of earth the serpent rises from the root.

Subterranean organic movements in symphonic cellular division rising to the sea of songs sung in the key of life.

In-between that awareness

And this self-awareness

Is

The dream of being

Unaware

The quantum of refraction

Through the law of three

Becomes reflections

In the seven wonders of

The non-dual-one

Space. Sun. Half-moon. Diamonds. Pseudopods. Serpentine animals. The number nine.

It is natural for awareness to be self-aware.

The three dimensions of the third dream.

Love, compassion, and forgiveness.

Christ the middle way negative capability.

Death Valley. The Himalayas. Wine Dark Sea.

Kiss the idiot.

Kill the Buddha.

A thing of beauty never passes into nothingness.

The Word. Knowledge of the Sutras. Tantric Imagination!

In other words, being is the only way of knowing and dreaming is the only way of knowing it.

I’m Not Nothing Just Because It Isn't Known

I am me as we are world and you are my projection—who googles who?

Self-intent will dream a world the self will need to see myself in seeing through it. Earthshine. Quarter moon. Tao of self-awareness.

Being is the thread as sword is sutra as intent is self-awareness. In the presence of the mountain daughter.

While California keeps connected to the continent, Cold Mountain is my sky.

Blessed is the shaman of the High Sierras for her ouroboric tale is seeing through a glass darkly as the deep unknown is known.

My absolute mythology is all about an everlasting universe of bliss telling me that I’m not nothing.

Just because it isn't known doesn't mean it shall be known but also doesn't mean it's nothing.

Lucid dreaming is the love to love without a world of their conditioning.

Methuselah from Methuen is my crystal meth.

If dreaming is about which cave of cause has been selected, magic is the art of wild coincidence.

The echo of listening is not making a sound.

Deep Affectionate Silence.

Welcome to the Hotel Mahamaya

Spontaneity appears to be random because. No one knows the wild infinity of causes. One can say there is infinity of causes

or one can say there’s causelessness. Narrative becomes created as some causes are selected. Narrative is changed if other causes are selected.

This is called the art of dreaming. To change one’s dream, just drop its causes and assign some other ones. There is no other effort needed.

It takes ten thousand words to deconstruct a single one. The original preface is the preface written before words.

In conclusion being needs no introduction. And self-awareness is penultimate absolution.

Sacrifice delusion and dance dance dance like native being on the pure ground of the absolute.

Universal eternity. Ubiquitous infinitude. Only the knowledge tells the knowledge to the knowledge.

Action is never cause. Intention is. For action is the localized appearance of universal enlightening intent.

And on the way, to be the love to be, or be the fear of not to be, is not so much a question as forgetting.

Dream This

The dark night of the soul. The dark side of the moon. Conditioned dreaming is the shadow of a lucid vision. There is a necessary phantom but it's lost within this big soap opera.

The dark night of the sun. The dark side of the one. Remember as it is before your memory finds a way to forget. And so the mind is like this third wheel on the tricycle of the gods.

Memory is evolution's dirty little secret in the great intent of self-awareness. That memory so loved its memories it learned to live within itself. For memory is the mirror in which the self is self-aware.

And so dream on John Donne. The only knowledge is being and being is the only dream to know itself. For it is said never throw out the baby Jesus with the backwater.

Like the smoky pewter silver river that darkly reflects the going sky as everything on-shore becomes invisible. Like this thousand-year-old mummy cave hidden in a desert sandstone canyon. Like Venus glowing within the deep sleep of that midnight sky.

Revision. Like Venus burning.

Transformation. Kalifornia. The New York Times. They are a changing. To absolve oneself of all fixation is another name for nothing left to lose. In the meanwhile we will love. No sentence lasts forever. Every word is blowing in the wind. Look, forget I ever said anything.

The apocalypse is the color of bananas. The self-awareness of one isn't two. Everything has evolved into this right here right now. Blue.

Seeking. Finding. Disturbing. Troubling. Astonishing and amazing. Wonderful! I don't know how to end this, Thomas.

Renga in Paris

When approaching the valley 

spirit and its serpent winds, 

some head for the memorable hills. 

But electrical geography and biological transducers.

Emptiness and transformation. Hollywood and vine.

Awareness is beyond all taxonomic ranks.

Mirror mirror waterfall, who’s that unknown powerball.

Potentiality is nothing ordinary.

Third eye. Second wind. Heart heart heart.

Bare trees dancing in the sky with a rhythmic stillness.

Darkness descending from sweet glacial moraines.

Venus is sailing on her universal silver river.

Although it’s seen that nothing is really known,

an energetic trace of fear remains as

something once thought to be known.

And even though one knows it's nothing,

Christ it tastes like shit.

And so it's said that Buddha is a dry shit stick.

While the world is dreaming

to awaken, one is always kissing

the phantom of that opera.

Only love can know it's nothing.

The mind can only talk about it.

And so it's said that all you dream is love.

And love is a tale 

told by a fool 

signifying the absolute.

Dark Night of the Serpent

Love is the only cure. All else is placebo. 

Trees are my legs and the sky is my eye. 

Earth is where the heart is. 

No mind Shakti and the dark night of kundalini.

No mind Shakti and the dark night of the serpent.

Staying open as the sky while being grounded as the earth.

As experiential understanding of one's universality

breaks thru personal damming,

galactic waters overflow in disturbing then astounding waves.

Universal consciousness comes with a thermonuclear kundalini kick—

the artificial sweetness of the world is like the taste of steel

reflecting light without a warmth of color.

Body is the earth and spirit is the sky in which the earth is self-contained.

Witnessing is an affectionate attention

and not a discriminating, rational, or cerebral one.

Heart.

Not mind.

For no mind equals all heart.

An Enlightened Spiritual

Clear the flotsam in the Kundalini River with a sea breeze breath and downslope exhilaration.

Knots of popular conditioning are blown apart so softly love to love you.

The swamp of human fear and sadness is consumed by universal resting in the joy of as it is.

Becoming galaxies and superstring varieties of universes buddha no mind house of mirrors.

Slanted memories of castle times, beautiful days, and green grass tanglewood picnics never die but fade away as if they’re never born.

It's either fortune or truth. Red skies in the morning and night.

John Wayne and Monument Valley. Toshiro Mifune in Rashomon.

Now imagine the apocalypse to be one grand enlightenment.

Pure awareness being self-aware. That is all.

A Nonsecular Spiritual

Words signify what being is—

Being being everywhere and not a thought to think.

In Maya did non-doing do and history is written by the ones who think they did.

Dreaming dewdrop waterfalls,

An undertow of evolutionary and nonsecular intent,

Oceanic absolutely deep Marie, have mercy on my mine and yours.

Gelatin tornadoes of awareness,

On the altar of this consciousness, all dreams are sacrificed—

Every morning as the world wakes from its dream, all is momentarily enlightened.

The mountain that wasn't always is.

First is one. Second comes love. Lastly play it as it is—

Like losing the knowledge of being by dividing this knowledge as is into ten thousand thoughts.

Green drapes closed before a picture window—daydreaming a day in a life.

Peregrination in Causation

The woods is where the lines get wavy,

white pines rising from the hollow of dead leaves.

Afternoon November shadows cross the open meadow,

fresh horseshit on the old dirt road—

the golden path through mountain laurel,

a family walking by the drought-dry pond,

wide expanse of river bordered by a nuclear solar reflection,

ancient steps leading toward the way through cedars to intending sun.

footnotes to a Meditation Spiritual

awareness is the unmanifest.

self-awareness is the manifest.

evolutionary intent is the magical space and time

between their spontaneity.

dreamtime

grab this dreamtime by its wilderness

in this dreamtime,

that awareness

spontaneously

evolutionarily

combusting

as this self-awareness.

The Missing Link is called surrender

as awareness is self-aware is

the biological function of this cell of consciousness

as it is in this body is it in that absolute intent

one being. a variety of conditioning. one way back

as awareness requires being to be self-aware, the absolute unknown becomes known to be this knowing.

self-awareness self-awareness self-awareness

Meditation Spiritual

I don't know but I've been told—

third eye is the universal eye

and self-awareness is the dream of Gods.

Tradition is teaching but being is the only knowledge

and soma is another word for kundalini

while the sunshine is within as is without.

Meditation is like being without the benefit of thought,

like the universe in the hands of an unknown absolute,

like this body of light is the only subject known

(serotonin smiles like dopamine transversing southern synapses

creating polliwogs of psychedelic gods arjuna ashwagandha san francisco

om namah shivaya, gone, gone, gone beyond, gone altogether beyond),

like the halo of a saint, like the aura of a buddha, self-awareness,

like the big bang is the western name for this awakening,

like the consciousness of people in their social conversations—

sweetness of being, spice of awareness, wood of breath.

Armistice Day Poem

As if one hundred years of age, 

mid-November leaves are clinging 

to the emptiness of branches.

Wind gusts of forty miles per hour is being forecast for today. 

And when that wind goes blowing,

leaves go dancing in its path without direct trajectory.

The world becomes a disarray of multitudinous

non-aerodynamic shapes of forms

with single intent.

Thus it is said

to love the archer

and understand the missing of the mark.

Dreamtime Spiritual

The universal when divided is a personal World at War.

Every conflict in the dreamstate is like a dreamsong calling on oneself
Return to Forever.

Science teaches certain facts of all of this but resting in nonconceptual
being is the only knowledge of just That.

Donald Trump is like a mirror of collective

psychokillers qu'est-ce que c'est.

The silver absurd waves of an infinite sea

crying out a wilderness of names.

Presence, spirit, consciousness and being. Universal, causeless

and spontaneous. Jesus and Zhuangzi. Absolutely.

There is no fixing the world. It fixes you.

Either dream the dream one loves to dream

or dream about that dream as in a mirror darkly.

following emotion

through some thought

filtering the light of joy

is resting in this being

one's absolution

White noise. The Avenues of Mountain Water. Rounded spirits of the glacier.

Concerto in Be and Symphony in See

if the self suffers as Self abides 

and there is no self but Self 

then being is the middleman 

Universal meditation like a wave intuiting the sea like trees embracing light like consciousness reflecting awareness. Sounding Hiawatha by the rapid waters of four corners. 

After hydrogen appears the big illusion. Self-inquiry reveals the liberating sudden emptiness of answering.

bodhisattva

may you see

you may dream

like a long gone

Buddha in love

as if from Colorado

Springs it's either

Pike's Peak or

Garden of the Gods

as a recluse

on Cold Mountain

while diving into

grapevine pond

each Sunday

Hallelujah Cathedral of our Mother! Every moment is as it was and as it should be. Unborn sudden free one.

transformation procreation

technology or deconstruction

one and none

Listen. the kiss of quantum whispers is always in the air.

when one's awakening

becomes quicker than

prior mind will process

please to follow love

Whatever this lifetime brings to the table is always being served.

London Calling

prophecy full moon

Blessed is the one who questions oneself. It's not easy being postmodern.

all spacetime is

oneself intending

self-awareness

because oneself

This is where I start accentuating nature as I question climate change myself. Spoiler: no one is expelled. Self-awareness is the paradoxical intent of god the self.

First learn to love everything. Then believe in nothing. Raising consciousness is like affectionate awareness as experienced. And silence is my equal love. 

There's nothing to fear but identity itself. Love is the nearest thing to an answer. Being is mostly misunderstood.

Starry Starry parts of a great black Whole.

Eastern Standard Spiritual

Nine prophetic snow birds on bare ground.

The golden oak leaves of November burnishing the river.

Sea clouds, contrails, and the last clear skies of Daylight Savings Time.

Bare trees deconstruct the house of horrors.

As the abstract matrix of docks and boats are dropped on shore,

the current is open, spontaneous, and unified.

Now the silver waxing fleck of moon in sapphire sunshine afternoon!

If one tears the construct down, one will find oneself in being.

In that awareness reflected in this consciousness,

this so-called feeling called affectionate awareness,

is abiding absolution.

Unknown but never nothing, that is all.

An Abstract Expressionistic Spiritual

Call it Absolute or God the Father. That's my natural state. Unknown.

The rope is binary. The snake is two.

Black wood. White paper. Red newspaper.

Wholly the sun or an absolutely unknowable black hole. Demonstrably this and that.

The black caws of a crow above a field of corn maiden light intent.

In the Cherry Blossom and Banana Day, there is no need to swallow any aspirin.

Desert falling rain clouds as seen through a bloodshot sandstone arch.

I was somewhere around the edge of Zuni when I saw the white buffalo.

And in the end, everything is black and white but never right or wrong.

Beneath a joker moon is walking thirteen dreams about a country nothing.

the way of the bird is the word

the moon jumped over the now

knowing nothing but feeling universally groovy

An Eastern New England Spiritual

It is said nothing good comes from an east wind.

It is said to criticize a snake is to give oneself no rope.

It is said memory makes the world go round.

In fact scientific materialism has always been anti-science.

Everyone thinks to make a better illusion but only love will do.

Forget belief. Remember that unknown.

When I was a child, I thought the world of things, but now that I am so much younger, I am Unborn.

We run the necessary gauntlet of the world until one understands this inconceivably original innocence.

One only knows the dark by feeling. Any other kind of knowing than this affectionate awareness is merely memorable.

Listen to oneself.

Don't deface another.

Make no new belief.

Love compassion and forgiveness is one's personal best.

Self-Aware Spiritual

Absolution occurs in the universal only. The personal is fictional.

On its way to becoming self-aware, the universe crashes into Adam and Eve.

Self-awareness is like the natural current of a river and a person is like a backwater channel.

Imagining oneself to be universal is just acting natural.

Suddenly non-duality is binary: 01101001.

The mind appears to be molecular but self-awareness is organic.

There is a deep affectionate awareness underlying one and all from flower to the root.

And the god of original black whole awareness descends into the material to rise through evolutionary intent into the god of self-awareness.

Upon the clearing, the depth of sea reflects the space of sky.

Koan Like Spiritual

The super-ego of mythology with the personality of a dream.

He said. She said. History and her story.

And magical reality is measured in degrees of self-awareness.

To be direct about these things, no mind is nothing if not universal.

And a koan is nothing but a myth where words are gods.

Vice is versa, love is the only virtue, and everything else is unknown.

It is said that god which is named Intent is telling stories.

Someone is singing truth stings like Appalachian Whiskey honestly distilled.

As if one not experiencing the necessary moment of intent is bound to repeat it.

Superman loves Lois

like the lotus is the sutra

and self-awareness is intent

Play Meets Meditation

Suddenly subjective recollection like remembrance of taste but flashback of smell.

As if this present manifestation is remembering the future more clearly than the past.

Memory appears to be thunder stuck in thought but premonition is a lightning feeling.

The turn turn turn is at the present crux of Tao as yin turns yang or past turns future or vice is to the versa.

Likewise near November First as play is meeting meditation and the curtain between the two is suddenly transparent.

Deer. Bare woods. The diamond sun. And eating my heart alive.

a modern spiritual

what waxes wanes

what wanes is unreal

saying that three times is quite the mantra

so much depends

upon a full wolf moon glazed

with the light of an unseen sun

footnote william carlos williams red wheelbarrow

be the sun and let the black whole see

after woke is awake waiting for the sudden

after kensho comes the recluse

beauty is truth.

truth is the beauty of

form being intent

in holy trinity

nature is my bhakti but now it's now

it's only cherry blossoms other shit and more imagination but i love it

the easy breathing of falling leaves and breathing in again

so meanwhile while waiting for the sudden

do no practical harm to others

love the other as oneself that is all

A Postmodern Spiritual

Dream an avocado surf illusion surf the red hot peppercorn and panoramic ocean view.

O great wave John Donne the causeless raven beats beneath the power of ten thousand sunflowers howling in the purple haze of a pissing sun.

Cicadas sing in sweet Virginia like a mantra strawberry lilac lotus black apocalypse calypso Joshua and nobody the frog.

Science says that everything is nothing but some quantum string—yet one acts as if the world is a thread of something else.

Jesus stopped to say belief is for the birds but render love unto oneself.

The body is through a glass willing. Spirit is ancient sunlight.

Inside each sun and daughter is Buddha Nature.

The chant of every chapter and the song of universal verse.

We are X-ray.

The universe in a moon and the absolute almighty of the unseen sun.

Mountains and rivers

Through the heart of dark continent

Looking for a way

To sea

Moby Dick on Highway Sixty-One. Call me unborn.

And the chorus, and the chorus, and the chorus, and the cool cool night.

Meditation One

Living is universal. All verb. No pronoun.

Meditation is the mediation of the universal and the absolute.

After the deconstruction of thought, being is consciously perceived.

Absolution of the universal presence only: the personal is just a dream that fades away.

No mind and no thinking are deconstructive thoughts. Pointers to the universality of being.

"because all these phenomena are the body of the one dharma of the tathägata."

"maintaining awareness of the true mind is the basic principle of the entire canon"

"though its real nature is formless, intent and proportion always remain."

"thus, the profound luminous one never ends: it remains forever shining bright."

I like my Zen early or reclusive.

Being ends in thought and begins in absolution.

True being is off the record. Buddha mind.

BEING (I AM, PRESENCE, BUDDHA MIND) IS LIKE THE POWER OF AN EMOTION WITHOUT THE THOUGHT PERSONIFYING IT

an ouroboros like universal apperception and affectionate awareness

.

Straight Out of Nothing

From out of pure potentiality my presence has appeared. 

Through what appears as countless years of evolution

I have a mind to know that. In October orange leaves are falling

but the trees are going nowhere. If a tree is falling in the forest

does the earth remain rock solid to its molten core?

And does the sun express itself in planetary play of my creation?

This is all the inner dreamworks of my self-awareness.

Holy holy holy consciousness-expanding colors are exploding

fireworks and thunder echoing within the misty river valley of my word.

An Indian Fantasia

Ten thousand objects. One subject. Keep it simple.

Love is not a thought: direct path to no mind.

This infinite experience of simple being is ecstatic joy.

While death is just a careless thought.

Einstein is the proof of angels.

Columbus discovered nothing but didn't know it.

Dreams are commentaries on a dream.

All my footnotes reference Nisargadatta. 

Between being and nothing is something else. Beyond.

Knowing the power is troubling at first and ultimately prophetic.

West meets east when neither has direction.

Nothing is as much a thought as any profit.

There are ten thousand Buddhas because one universal being.

Between the black hole and memory is being.

Being is obviously the Son of God.

Existence never is.

In other words. Einstein. West. Black hole. 

Nisargadatta East Being.

Sermon from a River

Do not become misguided by the politics of division

for the world itself is nothing but division.

The mind divides.

That’s what the function of this instrument is there to do.

But one does not identify with a tool, of course,

for in doing so, a divided world is lacerated out of universal being.

We are this one universal being before societal conditioning

and universal being always

despite forgetfulness and ignorance

and these projections.

It’s not a problem though;

it’s just the inner workings of a process the mind calls self-awareness.

There’s an evolutionary vector one is following

and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.

The river flows intently to that absolute almighty sea.

Being is the holy water

and love, forgiveness, and compassion is the current.

Follow oneself and see.

Pike's Peak Projections

At thirteen thousand feet, I saw majestic long horn sheep about three hundred yards away from the highway up Pikes Peak.

I stopped the car and ran across the mountain tundra intending to get closer for a better picture,

or I rather jumped from rock to rock avoiding tiny flowers, moss, and lichen in that fragile alpine zone

until my rapid breathing caught me by surprise.

I had forgotten that the air up at such an altitude is as rare as all the ground beneath me.

In that special atmosphere I was remembering something quite pedestrian—

breathing is as awesome as whatever else is out there in its fantastic exhalation.

Phenomenal Fantasia

1. October Flower Dance

Looking at leaves, my subtle branches intuit the stars.

There is no separation for division is exclusively a concept; what appears to be the universe is my society of being.

Only thinking makes an object from the subject, makes this jade-plated quality from that which is unknown.

As if the self-awareness of the self—the self that unknown pure awareness—is spontaneously blossoming into thermonuclear dreams of being.

There is a current underneath the chatter like the river pulling at the heart of some huckleberry backwater.

The personal is just projection from an ignorance of what I always know I am to be unknown. Stop and feel the flowers.

Love, forgiveness, and compassion like the naked roots of god only knows the stars above us.

As the universe is my single song, the absolute is silence singing.

There's intent in evolution, spontaneity is this freedom of intent and self-awareness is the song of self—that is why purple asters in October.

2. No Will

The dream is a self-powered love machine.

Everything is a thought. Even nothing. I am.

A red wheelbarrow.

Black hole white noise. 

The sea, the sea, the sea.

Shakespeare Bodhidharma.

3. Further

After irony is reflection is understanding. Comedy is always further.

One's conditioning is the mirror by which the absolute is seen. The dust is the whole point.

Feel the dust as dust.

See the leaves as always turning.

Love being and being illuminates.

Existence is a thought. Being is now. I am beyond.

The process of self-awareness is like watching sausage getting made.

An Indigenous Trip

Down by Indian Creek the leaves are turning back to that indigenous condition of an innocence before conditioning.

An unnamed stream is flowing with this hydrologic river to the absolute unknowing of the sea.

And suddenly the dream of summer celebrations on a sandbar in the middle of

this wide expanse of legendary knowledge fades like chlorophyll in hillside foliage.

There is a red-tailed hawk in pure blue skies, yellow double lines on a river road, and orange sunshine

in the loving deconstruction of yet another world.

The Great Profile

I saw the Old Man in the Mountain the year before the five granite cliff ledges giving form to face collapsed.

It was Autumn 2002 and the trees up at the notch were bare, although within the valley further north the foliage was peak.

Still, the drab surroundings only made the rock face more prolific in its inspiration, as if a vision will only come alive

completely unattached and otherworldly in the murky night when sleep has overcome the colors of our daydream.

The overall effect was honestly phenomenal! But next summer when I visited again the site I saw an even greater revelation.

There in crystal skies is surfacing the Old Man’s original face.

October Surprise

October begins with leaves 

and ends in emptiness 

and in-between occurs 

a colorful illusion 

lost to apple picking.

By November, everything is over

as if the none of it was ever there.

But that is getting far ahead of autumn things.

Stories need their telling like sleep needs dreaming.

There, a leaf is turning yellow, another

one is falling like a magic carpet

sailing in the cool fresh air,

and ten thousand erstwhile fallen

hide the ground from being self-aware.

Northeast Absolution

The wind is stuck this week. 

It’s blowing from the Northeast 

with a steadiness of force enough 

to turn the temperature on land to that of sea.

The Gulf of Maine in late September

off the coast of Northern Massachusetts

rests around the higher fifties

which is where our air is resting.

Likewise now there’s something to be said

about the art of meditation as the absolute

redeems this being no longer lost in thought

but resting in this being.

O let the sea wash over me

ten thousand yards away

as black crows fly but here

and now as silently as I.

An Acadia Love Musical

i.

Like a feeling but not an emotion.

Like attention without a thought.

Affectionate awareness isn't nothing 

as being isn't something.

ii.

That which appears to be the universe is universal being and

this knowledge known as being is just that.

And love is the sign of universal being to be followed like cairns

upon a fogbound trail on this rocky ground high above tree-level.

And fog so thick one has to walk past the last cairn to a point of almost-

no-return before the next one is discovered—this is called further.

Imagine this newborn matrix in affectionate awareness is

conditioned to perceive my self as something else.

iii.

Conditioning is an original error 

passed on thru generations

and love is the sign of my self—

the missing of the mark is not following it.

This is called sin.

And often misunderstood as 

an act against another.

There is no other.

There's only self, 

confusion and the way.

Hiker. Fog. Trail.

Conditioning. Sign. Self.

iv.

Meanwhile the big bang is the earthling name for like half

of the singular wholly process of godself knowing godself.

And the chorus sings love and attention,

love and attention, love and attention.

v.

Acadia; Act Five, Scene One: after

crawling up the desert rock western slope

suddenly seeing an eastern sea and sky

in blue panoramic ultra high definition.

One Late September Morning

This morning was as close to frost since early May. 

The sun which now appears within this picture window

warms the living room in a different way than summer sun,

reminding me I’ve built a shelter for the lack of one.

When the weather in September changes,

the change I feel is not external nor objective,

but this vital breath, this subtle feeling that I am, this seeing

affecting transformation in its universal earth-bound being.

There’s nothing but this sense of one,

affectionate awareness, easier done than said,

but being is conditioned otherwise to see myself instead as some display

divided into colors, thoughts, emotions, play.

In fact the world is not in battle, bloodshed, conflict, war.

The wind is not unfriendly, frigid, spiritless, far.

I am merely being in and breathing out—

of this I have no second thoughts about.

The Black Whole

Compassion is the default position of seeing.

Being is the only known.

Only being is known by the unknown.

If being is the only known,

and only being is known by the unknown,

then there's truly nothing

but being.

A mountain rises from the sleeping giant.

The sun is speaking from rare air.

The sun is my heart.

And I am that black hole from which the sun shines.

As the earth knows itself to be the sun,

the sun is an embodiment of that great black hole.

In this world, the language of the black hole is

the words of revelation.

Between divided emotions lovingly awaits deep sleep.

Or enlightenment in some translations.

Picture the sun as the source of the body

in tangerine clouds of absolute sky.

There's the unknown.

I am. And evolutionary intent of mind.

One not busy translating is a busy body—

urge urge urge of the procreant east.

For the discerning, 

the intelligent, the intensely questioning.

Furthur.

Ode to Affectionate Awareness

Ordinary is to time 

as nothing is to space—

conceptual pain-killers.

Being is beyond space-time

and so dangerous to personal attachments.

Resting in being begins

in the universal and eternal

and ends in the infinite and timeless.

O nothing and ordinary
is to universal and eternal
is to infinite and timeless

as personal is to being is to absolute.

Simply put,

we are conditioned to think personally

despite feeling universally—

like looking at my sometimes great surroundings

and experiencing beyond a notion

all is one

being.

Being is what love feels in-between the lines.

Affectionate awareness is such a wise and lovely name

for this essence of experience.

This affectionate awareness is the new frontier.

This not a thought, this feeling, this affectionate awareness.

This intuition is a two-dollar word for this affectionate awareness.

Revelation is the existing space

between ignorance and projection.

Intuition
is to the personal
as affectionate awareness is to being
as revelation is to pure awareness.

Deconstruct the personal.
Feel the universal being.
Absolution...

monster (in compassionate reply)

it’s the monster they fear 

that makes the monster they hear 

their champion. 

thus you shall never overcome 

a monster just by calling it 

a monster.

one can only see through

its monstrous clothes

child.

Après Moi, Je Suis: Is Is Not An Ism

Existence is personal

Conceptual.

Being is universal

Affectionate.

Existentialism is

A personal conceptual philosophy.

Being (not an -ism) is

Universal affectionate wisdom.

Philosophies are world views

Again making

Re-fictionalize

Reification.

Being is universal wisdom

Negative making

De-fictionalize

Deification.

Personal philosophies are conceptual dead ends.

One only comes to the parent through the child

The absolute through being.

Footnote—

Most religions are belief systems

Philosophies concerning the metaphysical

Dead-ending in a conceptual god—

Thank god for mystics.

The Country of Perfection

My gurus have always been stop signs and red lights 

Just a dream wrapped in a dreamer inside a dreaming.

This country of evolution is perfection as it is

All crickets and the sound of no boats on a September river.

Knowing what I’m not reveals I am the only knowledge

This red dirt muddy water universe beginning and ending.

On the silver sands of self-awareness.

I saw a sign

She is a dream

This universe

Perfection as it is.

I heard a world

The silence spoke

We are the word

That self-awareness is.

I saw a sign

That lightning struck

This thunder cried

A sign is always I.

I am
The sign.

Son Mountain 17: A Cold Mountain Transcreation

This place of my retreat,

so secret, it’s difficult to express—

without a wind, the wild vines stir,

without a mist, the bamboo is in the dark,

who do the mountain streams cry for,

why are clouds assembling together?

I sit in my hut at noon

suddenly realizing the sun is risen.

(from the translations of RP175, RH-176, BW-46)

Son Mountain 16: A Cold Mountain Transcreation

Layer on layer of mountains and rivers,

cerulean film enclosed in rose-colored clouds—

a brush of mist soaks my cotton bandana,

morning dew dampens this coat of straw,

on my feet are sojourning sandals,

in my hand is a bamboo cane.

Again gazing beyond the dust of the world

not bothered by the dreams of that land.

(from the translations of RP106, RH-106, BW-44)

Son Mountain 15: A Cold Mountain Transcreation

Divining a far-flung place to dwell,

Peace of Heaven—there’s nothing more to say.

Gibbons cry from the cold mists of the valley,

glowing peaks merge into a grass gate,

leaves thatch the roof of a home in the pines,

a pond is channeled from a spring.

Content at last to drop the world,

picking ferns as the years fall away.

(from the translations of RP79, RH-78, BW-43)

Son Mountain 14: A Cold Mountain Transcreation

My home is below lush green cliffs

with weeds in the yard uncropped—

vines hang in spiraling loops,

ancient rock rises high and steep,

monkeys gather the highland fruit,

egrets fill their bills with fish from the pond.

One or two scrolls of the immortals

go murmuring under the trees.

(from the translations of RP22, RH-16, BW-72)

On Cold Mountain, Translations, and 19

There appears to be more than one cold mountain—the real cold mountain is an absolute cold mountain—the rest are but limited buddhist frauds.

Intent at this point is transcreate all or most of what i see as absolute cold mountain—maybe less than 10% of the collection—but who knows?

By reading three translations of a single poem, one sees the poem that hasn't been translated. I call this triangulating the translations.

Just got a book called 19 ways of looking at wang wei with 19 translations of a single poem. In cribbage it's impossible to get a hand of 19.

Father and uncle playing cribbage on a red picnic table at half moon lake—when one has zero for a hand, cards thrown in disgust crying "19!"

Cribbage hand can score up to 29—also no 25, 26, 27 but 28 & 29 are quite rare—20 thru 24 will be seen making the absence of 19 noteworthy.

So a 19-sided polygon is known as an enneadecagon or enneakaidecagon or anonadecagon. So i'm off anonadecagonning.

Son Mountain 13: A Cold Mountain Transcreation

I’ve yearned to go to that eastern cliff

for numerous years until just now—

yesterday I climbed by means of vines

but halfway there was checked by mist and wind,

and the path was too narrow wearing clothes,

and the moss was too slick wearing shoes.

I stopped beneath a red perennial cinnamon tree

to sleep with a cloud for a pillow.

(from the translations of RP-9, RH-295, BW-75)

Son Mountain 12: A Cold Mountain Transcreation

In the mountains it’s cold

always cold and not just this year—

peaks upon peaks choked in snow,

deep dark woods hawking up mists,

things only begin to grow after the start of summer

and leaves fall before autumn begins.

Anyone who wanders here gets lost

looking and looking not seeing the sky.

(from the translations of RP-6, RH-67, BW-47, GS-3)

Son Mountain 11: A Cold Mountain Transcreation

I came to sit on Cold Mountain

and stayed for thirty years—

yesterday I looked back on friends and relatives

but more than half had dropped to Yellow Springs,

slowly vanishing as fire burns a candle,

passing as a river always flowing.

This morning as I face my solitary shadow

quickly tears are running in two streams.

(from the translations of RP-53, RH-49, BW-85, GS-10)

Son Mountain 10: A Cold Mountain Transcreation

Since I disappeared to Cold Mountain

I’ve lived off its fruits and berries—

what worry is there in a life

abiding in the elements of cause,

days and months flowing like a stream,

time sparking off of rocks.

The world can change with heaven and earth

but I’m content to sit within these cliffs.

(from the translations of RP-169, RH-170, GS-17)

Son Mountain 9: A Cold Mountain Transcreation

When someone sees Cold Mountain

all declare he’s wild and crazy—

his face isn’t much to look at,

his body is wrapped in rags and fur,

they don’t understand his words

and he doesn’t speak their words.

His reply to all these passersby:

come and gaze on Cold Mountain.

(from the translations of RP-218, RH-220, GS-24, BW-57)

Son Mountain 8: A Cold Mountain Transcreation

When looking for a place to dwell

Cold Mountain gives enduring shelter—

light winds blow through hidden pines

and closer it sounds better,

beneath them is a silver-haired presence

murmuring immortal words.

It’s been ten years since I’ve returned

forgetting the way I arrived.

(from the translations of RP-4, RH-20, GS-5, BW-50)

Son Mountain 7: A Cold Mountain Transcreation

People ask the way to Cold Mountain

but Cold Mountain isn’t attainable by road—

in summer the ice never melts,

when the sun’s out, it’s hidden by fog.

How did one like myself get here, you ask?

Maybe my heart and yours aren’t the same.

If your heart were the same as mine

you’d already be here inside.

(from the translations of RP-16, RH-226, BW-82, GS-6)

Son Mountain 6: A Cold Mountain Transcreation

I enjoy this space of natural awareness

amid the mist and vines and dark caves—

its wilderness is limitless

with clouds as easy friends

and roads that never reach the world

in mindlessness no one may reason away.

At night I sit alone on bedrock

until the moon ascends Cold Mountain.

(from the translations of RP-224, RH-226, BW-49, AT-27)