the new sutras 6 - vegas of the universe

the only genius is the genius of love—

the whiches and warlocks melt upon unknowing—

swim in the waters of what you are—

in the heart of the sea of light—

memories not included…

the power of sense perspective is the glitz of yourself—

the rarefied senses combine into a single sense of legitimacy—

a rock of thought revealed to be some mere mirage

upon this contact with attention—appearances

in consciousness, the vegas of the universe…

either surrendering to the inevitable absolute

or resting in the emptiness of this unknowing—

trajectories of an eagle and its prey amen—

costumed chimeras wearing red hats and

hello kitty in the mirror cool…

beneath the story there's the power and

the glory of the indescribable blank page—

once you've seen you're the sky,

you know you're always clearly there,

no matter what the weather writes…

the new sutras 4 - ordinary hallucinations

high humidity

and intermittent birdsong—

the mechanical thunder of a cigarette boat

lighting up the river valley—

the ordinary hallucinations of fireflies

at the dark edge of woods

and giant moths

upon the picture window—

the persistent notes of a single

tree frog creaking

like the gateless gate

of great andromeda—

the mind is a name

conditioned consciousness uses

to call conditioned consciousness,

conditioned consciousness—

the mind fascinates itself—

the false is charming—

the mind is an actor assuming

the role of director—

sarvam brahmopanishadam—

the axe is not the wood—

the jug is not the water—

these words are not the truth—

no view is

the seeing point of view—

unknowing is the way

to knowing the unknown—

the new sutras 3 - slaloming on the river shiva

in the conditioning of an intricate olla,

the clay awakens—

this holographic energy radiating

in its space of consciousness,

the desert opens…

the absolute pervades all form and space;

so what belongs to who? let go and enjoy—

you can fight your conditioning for one hundred years

or you can surrender to the unconditional now—

reading the upanishads for the fun of it…

in the city of fear by the slayers of atman—

one brain sacred is another brain naked—

slaloming on the river shiva

over the wake of shakti—

lady maya in the observatory with a rope…

these raisins are unreal—

see that no one ever consented

to consensual reality—

just drop the unreliable interpreter—

always the silver screen and never the stars—

to simply watch the breath,

without any attempt at control,

seeing that which is breathing,

is a passageway to samadhi,

an i am that ahayah…

keep this one thing in mind:

i am the unspeakably real—

never the aum, always the dada—

keep your seeing on that which sees—

and they lived happily ever unborn…

the new sutras 2 - to sing the songs

a mockingbird climbs

to the top of a dead evergreen,

branch by branch,

to sing the songs

that are not her…

when thought is dropped, truth is there—

-isms and -ians and -ists, oh my—

truth is not a school of thought—

semper i—

only you can find yourself…

if you don't know who you really are,

how can you be sure

the you that hopes to help the world is

really you,

and not some inauthentic other…

to be consumed by the clarity of what i am—

indescribably delicious—

inexpressibly digested—

unspeakably gone, gone, all gone—

there's nothing for a person to do other than be done…

the burning spiritual desire

to experience a mind-blowing

cosmic mystical event is

actually accomplished

every night in deep sleep…

the phenomenal world

would cease to exist

upon awakening,

if the phenomenal world

actually existed…

to understand

the misapprehension of knowledge

and the nonapprehension of ignorance

is all the apprehension needed—

spontaneous diseducation of the heart…

love is to consciousness as war is to thought—

only love will do—

ignorance is not a cause, for illusion is not an effect—

the world will spit you out when you're done with it—

Aha! Yah! Ahayah Ashar Ahayah!

the new sutras 1 - notes to self

note to self: who am i—

an infinite sun doesn't see itself—

ishavasyam idam sarvam—

gone to seed

being here is not a trip—

rising nondalini—

motionless but faster than the mind—

the outer is always still the inner

every name is a mistaken identity—

attachments make the person—

the mind is the eye of the eye—

but the i is the eye of the mind