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.