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

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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.