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.