burn this poem

anew 

declaration 

awareness 

not belief 

love 

not politics 

wisdom 

not knowledge 

deconstruction 

not nihilism 

transformation 

not monuments 

The Crystal Peaks of Ten Thousand Ways

There's a new myth written every hour. This one says a recluse doesn't avoid people. Hermits avoid one person. That which looks like me.

Sure, there's a con-artist born every minute on the way. But there's only one way. That is my way.

Listen. I add my poem to the cairn. Basically there's view and source. And one step at a time.

Only follow this way until you see your own sign. Mountains and rivers. Sunrise sunset. Consciousness speaks to the child.

Real deconstruction isn't nihilistic. True north isn't east or west. Go visualize the sun.

I am hiking further lucid dreaming consciousness awakening forgiveness on the cross of love and wisdom Krishna Shiva Vishnu.

Self Play

The angel of absolute I is whispering a firmament of words. If April is all about memory and desire, March is all about innocence and experience. Clear woods, full sun, choiceless awareness.

So the universe is a phenomenon of an absolute I as we are the circus of the universe. Monkeys see and monkeys do. This is the elephant in the great room of the blind. Being may be useless but belief is a wasteland.

And absolute I is like the experience of deep sleep. And this universal dream is like the self-awareness of absolute I. Oh wisdom and love are too nondual for cats. Inhale, exhale, sneeze, and god bless you.

As if we the phenomena could usurp the blessings of absolute I. Not even the six eyes of lions and the four wings of eagles can approach the vanity of these two faces. To end, one must locate the beginning of this play.

Who am I? Absolutely.

Easter Dreaming Absolution

Easter is actually the celebration of altered consciousness. The child is the ground of the dream.

They come for the resurrection but stay for the apocalypse. Forgive yourself. For we never knew what hit us.

Deep sleep is primal meditation. A dream cannot stop dreaming. And being is the primal dream. Intending a dream is on the other hand.

Listen. One either dreams the dream forward. Or follows the dream signs. Tantra. Yoga.

All dream is based on the latest mythology. You are living the dream you need to dream.

Words are translations of direct experience. Translations are conversions to different belief systems.

Only consciousness cures consciousness. Forgiveness doesn't forget. Forgiveness transforms.

Question everything. Believing is something. Nothing is definitely not. And samadhi is beyond the question at the moment.

Ode Sakura

You are my mirror and I'm looking beautiful today. You are my self and I am writing every moment of this play. This is my dream and lucid self-awareness its display.

True, self-awareness is not a laughing matter, but all that clouds awareness is. Why did the turkey vulture cross the road? The reflection of the sky in this stream of consciousness knows no sides.

Every word is just another brick in the story. Real masons deconstruct conspiratorially. In an ocean of Shiva swim invisible whales in true moby glory.

Thus, dreaming separation is the first addiction. Dreaming self-awareness is the last step. Still, I keep telling myself over and over it takes zero steps to reach the heart of godliness.

And In a gadda da vida lived the plus and minus. One would think it's zero, yet I know the great unknown. Knowing I am, while understanding I'm not what I think I am, is like walking on a razor's edge without a net.

Oh the godly-mystic-experiential-naturally-without-thought is being like a cherry blossom once again.

The Church of Earth

Secret beach and open sea.

Slow seductive waves.

A sudden metronome of an unseen bell-buoy.

Dune grass kissing sweet mirage.

White mountains spied from an ancient crow's nest.

The blessed Satori in every grain of sand.

Sunshine Whiskey Tango Foxtrot

Cumulus clouds. Pink granite. The deep blue sirens of the sea.

Like the gods singing around a midnight starlight love-bright bonfire.

The radio blue response of earth wind and fire.

Agni. Vayu. Indra. Uma!

I dreamt they came from all around the world. Their names were Amadeus, Janis, Frank. They gathered in the Himalayas. Listen!

Taste the fire of the woods. Soothe your eyes in the circle of the sun.

The Optical Geometry of Rivers and Sky

The math of walls

and windows

doesn't add up.

I walk outside

to be the open space

of vast awareness.

A river is always

running through this

pleasant valley view.

Houses populate the northern bank

but on the southern side is eagle

innocence and disbelief.

The blue canoe of sky is ferrying

this ground of blind belief to the other side

where no side is the ground of seeing.

Another way is walk across the current

in a different pair of shoes

marked with the swoosh of compassion.

The calculus of pine trees swaying in the wind is whispering

there's no solution for

the absolute unknown.

No matter what one thinks,

clouds can never separate

the sky.

Listen, all of this is just a polychromatic vision

which I speak while sitting

silently at home.

The Divine Vision of Lucid Dreaming

All people are sick against themselves inside. So when someone coughs violently, war breaks out.

There are no bridges in the 21st century. Only sides, you fucking idiot. It's not social media. It's niche media.

And it's not reality shows. It's Machiavellian training.

The center is exposed by a spotlight to be rotten to the core. The spokes are flying off the wheel. But true center of no center is filling in the void.

Conscious self-awareness is the lucid dreaming of the bodhisattva.

Conscious self-awareness is the lucid dreaming of the bodhisattva.

Conscious self-awareness is the lucid dreaming of the bodhisattva.

The lucid dreaming of absolute intent is the seventh house. Lucid dreaming is to quantum physics as Newton is to Genesis.

Inspiration is to a muse as self-awareness is to revelation is to lucid dreaming is to I is to Self is to The 1 as manifestation is to signs.

Listen, for every apocalypse now there's an awakening here.

Listen, for every apocalypse now there's an awakening here.

Listen, for every apocalypse now there's an awakening here.

That math of lucid dreaming is compassion and love and forgiveness. This is the zero myth superseding the quantum of new belief or old snake oil.

To recap in old language. We're either fucked. Or we literally make love.

There are ten thousand detours to death but one way of life. Verily belief is a rainbow but truth is the light.

Nirvana is what you make of it. If it's not long division, love! Lucid dreaming is both practice and manifestation.

Lucid dreaming is both practice and manifestation.

The way out of war is unconditional surrender. The way into peace is lucid dreaming. One quick way to reach zero without the sirens of zero.

I have seen the best minds of my generation destroyed by zero.

I have seen the best minds of my generation destroyed by zero.

Shiva is the god of deconstruction. Kali is the goddess of deconstructing deconstruction. They are like husband and wife.

Ice melts. Taste the fire. It’s like deconstructing division. War is over. One love. Negative capability is negative and capable.

The concept of death is felt in the body and imagined by the mind. The living light of faith faith and faith is confirmed by the experiential.

No beauty. No truth. That is the back beat of Keats. Awareness is intelligence is bliss is as nirvana is to samsara.

World is to samsara as deep sleep is to being as food is to body as dream is to mind as self-awareness is to nirvana as re-visioning is to samadhi.

In satcitananda, breathe in dream, breathe out vision.

In satcitananda, breathe in dream, breathe out vision.

In satcitananda, breathe in dream, breathe out vision.

Blissfully a PseudoSonnet

fol 

low 

your 

meta 

bolism 

doing

or not doing.

perfect.

hummingbird or emu.

emu or hummingbird.

qoheleth says absurd

zhuangzi says what

serendipitous

mistake or

absolute intent?

The Great Usurper

During the day 

the air is clear

and disappears 

into the blue—

and at night 

when the air

ain't there,

I disappear

into you.

I steal your name

pretending this

locality is every

thing to living—

and when I lay

with you and

give it back,

all is instantly

forgiven.

Footnotes to a Dragonfly

Nihilism is

extreme

ego-tripping.

Denial is

the last resort

of true belief.

I am that

I am is

real humility.

It's not a new age

but it's also not

nothing.

Temper deconstruction

with the disbelief

of being.

It's not

not satcitananda.

And that is satcitananda.

The Song of the Dragonfly

One's psychological myth 

after deconstruction is 

the revelation.

The body is universal 

and dark matter is

the mind.

The sun

light of starlight is

enlightened intent.

And the black hole of self-awareness

is

behind door number three.

Hiking

the mountain of no mountain name,

I meet the wall. I am the peak.

A mountain stream is whispering

the name of the mountain stream

and now I am this mountain stream.

You can live

in the new world but just

don't take its modern medicine.

On the altar of Consciousness,

I am burning

everything I know.

Fire
flies
only live

for a mid-summer dream

but words

are

the

breath

of

d

r

a

g

o

n

f

l

i

e

s

At least

once every hour

once every hour

once every hour

once every hour

drink the lemon of silence.

By hook or by crook,

by ray or by way,

alter consciousness

mindfully

every

day;

this

is true

practice.

Honey bees

beat their

wings

two

hundred

thirty

beats per second.

This is

like

being

in the now.

Be in the now.

Stop waiting

and re

lax.

Enlightenment is never here on time.

Relaxing

in reality

there are no trees

and birds never sing

when we agreed

to call imagination

t

r

e

e

s

song

imagined birds

the birds are singing

death

is just imagination

and no ex

periment

has proven other

wise

for birds love

the science

so listen

you tell me

am i to believe

the birds of reality

singing

singing

singing

pure awareness

now

a

p

p

e

a

r

i

n

g

as one being

in

tend

ing

self-awareness

only God

is

Self

only Self

is

self-aware

only self-awareness

appears

to be

the universe

only the universe

evolves

to

no self

only no self

is

self-

awareness

only Self

is

self-aware

the science

the science

the science

God God

God Goddess

Goddess Goddess

and Goddesses never sing

there are no Gods

in reality

Instant Myth. Do Not Read.

The human being is my spirit animal. Matter is the closing. Awareness becomes unaware in the process of self-awareness. Being is the opening. Footnote. In absolute awareness, there is no process.

Jack Kerouac. Big Sur. The vision track. The end of the road. Only fame can kill the buddha, jack. But only buddha sees through fame.

Dylan knew his Kerouac and by some act of grace barely survived—he lives to play Jack Fame in an all together all beyond postmodernist world.

It stands to be that instant karma is also instant mythology. Only seeing through belief is next to godliness.

Alcohol didn’t kill jack but the microscopic dregs of french-canadian roman-catholic virgin-mary kerouac-conditioning did. Default, default, default. Only buddha sees through fame.

When the famous are like gods, your dream is instant myth. This is the great awakening. It's in the ninth circle of our memory where the nightmares play. Only going further sees through nowhere man.

And only the default is going further, says the infamous Wu Wei. Carry water, drink mind. Transform wood, alter consciousness. 

At the altar of the evolutionary visionaries, after doing the seven stations of the cross. Deconstruction and revelation feels like divorce and re-awakening. But it's not. 

“One fast move or I’m gone.” Transformation (experiential i-am) or i'm gone (the concept of death). Like being or thought in other words.

Bob is never-ending. Always further is Jack. Like a twist of fate. Emily Dickinson flies in. To be continued. Walt went out but Emily is in. 

I'm still paying reparations to the feminine. Emily was born in Basho. Because i didn't stop for fame, time stopped for me. Emily and Ikkyu.

Love stopped by

To play around

Like nothing

Sitting on a starry bench

Above pacific waves and waters

Flowing here at the end of the world

I feel like a photograph

Developing

It's not nothing yet but things are getting thinner. Don't Stephen King it. See through the mirror. A tip of the tongue to fire. As if the mind records transformation. New technologies only change old beliefs.

Conditioning is deep my lord, but the river is deeper. I  baptize you in the waters of experience. The snake of belief be gone. I am that I am. In the name of pure awareness, self-awareness, and that intent to be self-aware.

My early advice on the way is this. When the dream becomes heavy, drop it. Forgive, default. And about default. We can only teach you this. We can never teach you that. I am the walrus. Goo goo g' joob.

Revelation is never contained by myth. Mutual experience is transmission. I am tweeting. Consciousness to consciousness. Can you hear me, Houston.

At first, just think about being! Then just hold that thought. In time, being sees through any thought. Including time. In other words, I am.

Make poetry, not poems. Songbirds only sing what they know while waiting for some echo. Love! One. I

An Operatic Sonnet in Awareness

Awareness

is being

in seven acts.

From pure awareness

to self-awareness

appears

like a space-time

evolutionary universe

to the unaware.

However the open free and spontaneous

satori of absolute awareness

is happening now.

There's no need to change your dream;

truth is playing on every channel.

guru arizona is no name. for robert lax.

After timelessness,

what

is

there?

Space-time is

a synergistic

display.

The

Great

Southwest

was once

a sea;

Waves of

Consciousness

emerge from

Pure

Aware

ness.

On

the way

back to the world,

we stop

at

the

Petri

fied

For

est

but stay

for the Painted Desert.

Love passes through

the

prism

of

belief

be coming

sad ness,

fear, and

all the

spectrum of

emotions in-between.

To find the

truth,

one speaks the

truth.

And to be the

truth,

one wouldn't take

things

so personally.

Every color that

you see

is

just associated with a

black

&

white

memory of

some remembered past.

But

on

ly

the

clar

i

ty

of

space is now.

The

world

is

how

one

looks

di

vi

ded.

War is always with yourself.

Love is the

cracks

within the wall,

the galaxies in space,

the light

in

te

nt

to

know

the light.

Guru

witches

of the

desert

dancing

as they

speak. The

only

medi

cine is

wisdom

And the

only

doctor

…is love.

Be

now written

on the mythic

red

sand

stone

rock

is the waves

and

the lightning

and

absolute

Aum of Kokopelli

…

truly

meditation appears

as silence in the world; in

reality,

med

i

ta

tion

is like

the universe focusing

cosmic energy on the spontaneous

manifestation of self-awareness as glittering

creation

an absolute

g

o

d

is that

i

of nonentity

which creates

other identities in order

to know itself

fully

postscript o joy

after

i finally

heard you, i

couldn't stop

s

i

n

g

i

n

g

about your silence—

red rock arising from the desert like solid smoke emerging from the kiln of earth

the buttes & mesas lit afire depending on their height or westerly direction

I find myself cross-legged on the desert floor surrounded by the acts of gods

cliffside ruins across a running canyon desert brook like lightning exiting a bottle

Four Corners Medicine Wheel Sutra

South: Northerners Advancing toward Sedona

Driving out of Phoenix gaining elevation and suddenly the traffic slows as cars are parking on the far-left breakdown lane

and people gathering within the median and playing in the newly-fallen desert snow. It was like a moment from that song

'Snow in San Anselmo,' as if they hadn't seen it snow in more than their existent years. But we had and so continue on.

Miles later, we are exiting the interstate and heading for Sedona, our first long-anticipated southwestern destination.

And it isn't long before we see our first iconic sandstone monolith shaped to some whatever vision in the moment we are dreaming.

And it seems as if we never saw a setting such as that, red rock arising from the desert like solid smoke emerging from the kiln of earth.

And then, just like the visitation of an angel, it descends and tells us of our virgin birth.

West: Awakening Grand Canyon

It was just before the dawn and I was standing on the south rim of Grand Canyon waiting for the sun to rise. I wasn't sure just what there was to see but whatever it might be I thought to see the sunrise at Grand Canyon was a worthy thing to see.

I was fifty-three and for more than forty years I had dreamed of visiting this wonder of the world. It had even grown to an important status in my life involving some potential anti-suicide attempt. In other words, I had promised to myself if ever such an impulse were to dawn on me with fever pitch, I would make my way to this exact mind-blowing vista and let it talk me down from such a limited point of view.

And here I was, at the second destination in our great southwestern whirlwind tour, awaiting what it had to tell me just for the sake of listening. One by one, the buttes and mesas lit afire, depending on their height or westerly direction, and I was lit as well with such an obvious understanding, but something never felt in such a raw experiential way.

The sun doesn't ever really rise. But like awareness, for example, it's always there, right here, right now, and I am nothing but its cosmic earthly unbelievably magnificent manifestation. As if I were a thing to be extinguished! Laughing at the thought, I attended to that light with joy.

North: For the Searchers, Monument Valley

According to the Navajo, the gods had walked this land we now call Monument Valley and their karma has been left behind in storied rock.

I saw it first on film. It starred John Wayne and was directed by John Ford. And there were several titles but the plot was always beauty within the valley of the rocks.

But as we drove onto the set that mid-March morning, its simple actuality diminished every technicolor, panascope, and universal film school trope.

It always is that truth of truths. Experience is always greater than the sum of your beliefs. Now is never then, and then was never.

We take a tour. I scramble up a sandstone bluff and crawl into an Ancient Pueblo space and peer through eyes that look like windows.

O one that walks with beauty! there is no separation between nature and self, desert and thunder, sky and source, this land and who I am.

The tour guide answers every question. Even global warming is the great intent of evolution while good shepherds feed their sheep.

I find myself cross-legged on the desert floor surrounded by the acts of gods. Unlike the Hopi, Navajo take pictures. Here I am, truly a butte.

Center: The Four Corners of You, Me, We & I

Love hurts but thought kills. Ananda leaves behind a trail. Nightingales and cherry blossoms.

Even numbers are never solved. Einstein was no Einstein. Jackpine and pink granite.

Evolution is absolute intent. Darwin proves the proofless Tao. Black holes and other suns.

Only love is thinking different. Jesus is a goddess. Eye of newt and ear of corn.

Being the great unknown takes guts. Saigyo, Ikkyu, Ryokan. Earthshine, waxing moon, and sunset.

Experience is unbelievable. O Marcia! O Dawn! The sun-bronzed circle of Four Corners.

There are no names in nondual truth. There's only me, my self, and i. A jug of wine, a loaf of bread, and thou.

East: Hey Jack Kerouac! It's Canyon de Chelly.

preface

This body's like an amplifier and my love is like the music of I am; this amplifier is like electricity and I am water falling; my lightning is like a mirror and my thunder is like this dream reflecting words.

  

introduction

Hiking in the Whites, I fell into a waterfall and turned into a river. I remember playing World War Two with plastic soldiers hiding in-between the ancient roots of Jesus trees.

  

chapter one

The next thing that I knew was tripping over Lucy in the sky with altered consciousness. I was later interrupted for an all-expenses-paid vacation to a transformational experience.

  

finale

Ten years ago today in Canyon del Muerto before Ancient Pueblo cliffside ruins across a running canyon desert brook like lightning exiting a bottle,

the magic and the perfection and the glory!

  

afterword

As if universal being is kissing thee, my most beloved absolute, nearby an endless hidden summer pond so many thousand dreams ago.

Thread: guru arizona is no name. for robert lax.

After timelessness,

what

is

there?

Space-time is

a synergistic

display.

The

Great

Southwest

was once

a sea;

Waves of

Consciousness

emerge from

Pure

Aware

ness.

On

the way

back to the world,

we stop

at

the

Petri

fied

For

est

but stay

for the Painted Desert

Love passes through

the

prism

of

belief

be coming

sad ness,

fear, and

all the

spectrum of

emotions in-between.

To find the

truth,

one speaks the

truth.

And to be the

truth,

one doesn't take

things

so personally.

Every color that

you see

is

just associated with a

black

&

white

memory of

some remembered past.

But

on

ly

the

clar

i

ty

of

space is now.

The

world

is

how

one

looks

di

vi

ded.

War is always with yourself.

Love is the

cracks

within the wall,

the galaxies in space,

the light

in

te

nt

to

know

the light.

Guru

witches

of the

desert

dancing

as they

speak. The

only

medi

cine is

wisdom

And the

only

doctor

…is love.

Be

now written

on the mythic

red

sand

stone

rock

is the waves

and

the lightning

and

absolute

Aum of Kokopelli…

truly

meditation appears

as silence in the world; in

reality,

med

i

ta

tion

is like

the universe focusing

cosmic energy on the spontaneous

manifestation of self-awareness as glittering

creation.

an absolute

g

o

d

is that

i

of nonentity

which creates

other identities in order

to know itself

fully.

postscript o joy

after

i finally

heard you, i

couldn't stop

s

i

n

g

i

n

g

about your silence—

red rock arising from the desert like solid smoke emerging from the kiln of earth

the buttes & mesas lit afire depending on their height or westerly direction

I find myself cross-legged on the desert floor surrounded by the acts of gods

cliffside ruins across a running canyon desert brook like lightning exiting a bottle

Interminable Four Corners of You, Me, We & I

Love hurts but thought kills. Ananda leaves behind a trail. Nightingales and cherry blossoms.

Even numbers are never solved. Einstein was no Einstein. Jackpine and pink granite.

Evolution is absolute intent. Darwin proves the proofless Tao. Black holes and other suns.

Only love is thinking different. Jesus is a goddess. Eye of newt and ear of corn.

Being the great unknown takes guts. Saigyo, Ikkyu, Ryokan. Earthshine, waxing moon, and sunset.

Experience is unbelievable. O Marcia! O Dawn! The sun-bronzed circle of Four Corners.

There are no names in nondual truth. There's only me, my self, and i. A jug of wine, a loaf of bread, and thou.

For the Searchers

According to the Navajo, the gods had walked this land we now call Monument Valley and their karma has been left behind in storied rock.

I saw it first on film. It starred John Wayne and was directed by John Ford. And there were several titles but the plot was always beauty within the valley of the rocks.

But as we drove onto the set that mid-March morning, its simple actuality diminished every technicolor, panascope, and universal film school trope.

It always is that truth of truths. Experience is always greater than the sum of your beliefs. Now is never then, and then was never.

We take a tour. I scramble up a sandstone bluff and crawl into an Ancient Pueblo space and peer through eyes that look like windows.

O one that walks with beauty! there is no separation between nature and self, desert and thunder, sky and source, this land and who I am.

The tour guide answers every question. Even global warming is the great intent of evolution while good shepherds feed their sheep.

I find myself cross-legged on the desert floor surrounded by the acts of gods. Unlike the Hopi, Navajo take pictures. Here I am, truly a butte.

Northerners Advancing toward Sedona

Driving out of Phoenix gaining elevation and suddenly the traffic slows as cars are parking on the far-left breakdown lane

and people gathering within the median and playing in the newly-fallen desert snow. It was like a moment from that song

'Snow in San Anselmo,' as if they hadn't seen it snow in more than their existent years. But we had and so continue on.

Miles later, we are exiting the interstate and heading for Sedona, our first long-anticipated southwestern destination.

And it isn't long before we see our first iconic sandstone monolith shaped to some whatever vision in the moment we are dreaming.

And it seems as if we never saw a setting such as that, red rock arising from the desert like solid smoke emerging from the kiln of earth.

And then, just like the visitation of an angel, it descends and tells us of our virgin birth and immortality. 

Awakening Grand Canyon

It was just before the dawn and I was standing on the south rim of Grand Canyon waiting for the sun to rise. I wasn't sure just what there was to see but whatever it might be I thought to see the sunrise at Grand Canyon was a worthy thing to see.

I was fifty-three and for more than forty years I had dreamed of visiting this wonder of the world. It had even grown to an important status in my life involving some potential anti-suicide attempt. In other words, I had promised to myself if ever such an impulse were to dawn on me with fever pitch, I would make my way to this exact mind-blowing vista and let it talk me down from such a limited point of view. 

And here I was, at the second destination in our great southwestern whirlwind tour, awaiting what it had to tell me just for the sake of listening. One by one, the buttes and mesas lit afire, depending on their height or westerly direction, and I was lit as well with such an obvious understanding, but something never felt in such a raw experiential way.

The sun doesn't ever really rise. But like awareness, for example, it's always there, right here, right now, and I am nothing but its cosmic earthly unbelievably magnificent manifestation. As if I were a thing to be extinguished! I watched and laughed in universal joy.

Hey Jack Kerouac! It's Canyon de Chelly.

preface

This body's like an amplifier and my love is like the music of I am; this amplifier is like electricity and I am water falling; my lightning is like a mirror and my thunder is like this dream reflecting words.

introduction

Hiking in the Whites, I fell into a waterfall and turned into a river. I then remembered playing World War Two with plastic soldiers hiding in-between the ancient roots of Jesus trees.

chapter one

The next thing that I knew was tripping over Lucy in the sky with LSD. I was later interrupted for an all-expenses-paid vacation to a transformational experience.

finale

Ten years ago today in Canyon del Muerto before Ancient Pueblo cliffside ruins across a running canyon desert brook like lightning exiting a bottle,

the magic and the perfection and the glory!

afterword

As if this universal consciousness is kissing thee, my most beloved absolute, nearby an endless hidden summer pond so many thousand dreams ago.

A Walk Through Maudslay Park 160309

Hawks be with me…

Through the bent birch gate and into the wood. Young Blake carved his name on an old ash tree. As did Ra. Into the meadow walks the purple condor t-shirt.

The last slush of winter hiding in the swamp. New boots don't fail me now! Broken arrow, fallen trees. Summer Breeze On a Winter's Day. The last great hill before the Empire of the sea.

The new blue bridge is lurking in the distance. Teardrops of snow on the northern slope. Across the river, history is busy building new condominium construction.

The Abenaki still own this land because they never claimed its ownership. The Great White Pines of Eagle Territory. An old bridge wrapping around Flotsam Cove.

The real peak of this path are these bare rocks on the great open point of river…where the southwest wind is briskly shimmering in this glittering world.

Being the Revelator

Being is knowledge; being the unknown is truth; only the unknown is real; reality is... It's only a rabbit hole if you believe it. Otherwise, it's instant mythology.

Right thinking deconstructs belief but being sees the truth. Deconstruction without being is the tragic error of all postmodernist thinking. And Atheism is simply pre-postmodernism.

Nisargadatta's first teaching is 'I am,' as consciousness speaks to consciousness. Only being truly deconstructs. Thinking is the tool. This is sometimes called right thinking.

Faith in the satguru is transmission of being to being. Buying water by the river lifts the fog. Grace intends faith; lightning is birdsong. Everything is intention; nothing is desire.

Intent. Grace. Faith. Transmission. Wisdom. Truth. Reality. The seven states of sudden enlightenment! Like chain lightning. And true practice is as thunder remembering its default position and resetting there.

Ode to Self-awareness

O the wonder of this self-awareness!

the Unknown knowing it is that great Unknown,

like fourteen-billion years of what is named the known

disappearing into brilliant now.

O the happenstance of self-awareness!

in-between the absolute unknown

of a nominal unborn and an epithetic afterlife is

this being that unknown.

  

O the great illusion in this self-awareness!

in attempting to be known when nothing is sincerely known

befalling to the one disease affecting

psychological distress and suffering.

 

O this natural, innate, spontaneous, and fundamental self-awareness! unobstructed by the mists of thought and tempest of belief,

the splendid goddess knows herself

and such a knowing seems to be an evolutionary universe—

but is simply, purely, plainly, only Self-awareness.