My First Untitled Symphony

Don't believe the myth of self. Deconstruct the world. It's Chinatown. Forget it. The only known is being. That's the only knowledge of the absolute unknown godhead that there is. But don't believe this either. Even being is conceptual. In other words, I'm like the razor's edge. One belief and it's the Fall of Man.

Since the only known is the unknown, I dream the knowing this in mythic style. Every koan reveals bizarro world. So forget logic. And don't get me started on western medicine. It's time to leave my Maya's cellar. Who are you? Lately I’ve been dreaming the marriage of William Blake and Julian of Norwich.

Since I'm here already, let's make this evolutionary self-awareness a city on a hill. Remember Alice. It's wonderland. Construction! Pure awareness being self-aware is the only story. Like boy meets girl except non-duality. I kind of like the sincerity of Old English over irony of post-modern, or shit, the lazy existentialism of the present. But hey that's me.

Good myths are all unthinkable but a great myth is unbelievable. So imagination is to self-awareness as self-awareness is to imagination. So manifesting is direct path as if this universe is the result of some big bang. A river runs through the canyon of the dead. I turn on. I turn off. Like some common loon if seen from shore. The walrus was Big Sur.

Eleven Apocalypses by Merrimack River

Fate is everything but love.

The conceptual dream is like a pinball game of Newtonian physics until body-mind is dropped and quantum love creates another unknown vector for another dream.

This is called reincarnation. This is called resurrection.  This is in the same genre as that of alternative universes.

What is called desire by the world is not desire. This so-called desire is like following a train of thought as fast as thought can go until I think I'm catching fire.

True desire is Intent's desire. This intense desire is at the speed of love, or light.

What the world calls desire, I call secret ambition. What the world calls crazy love, I call desire. I can hear her heartbeat for ten thousand miles.

True desire isn't catching fire. That's just an extreme thought. True desire is the fire. There's nothing to be got.

You cannot break the rules of pinball, or samsara. Remember, the pinball wizard plays by intuition.

Intuition is another name for intense feeling. Feeling is another name for intense love. Love is another name for intense desire, a colloquialism for Intent's desire, Self-awareness.

Like actual deconstruction doesn't break the rules; it gets to know them from both sides.

november river

no boats no docks no nothing

wild unborn water

Footnotes to Second Tantra. Koan of Myself.

Every word a king, every line a footnote.

Listen, Shakespeare deconstructed all the classics, including all of Shakespeare.

Like the opening of Lankavatara. Like the resurrection of Christ Consciousness.

Focus. Belief is to religion as love is to self-awareness.

Alice in Wonderland, Four Agreements, Einstein, Nisargadatta, Longchenpa. What is The Second Tantra of Manifestation?

A prophet without honor is like an actor in some movie, but every prophet is producer and director, so never mind.

Manifestation without self-awareness is like believing in a yin of projection or the law of attraction.

Synchronicity is to happening as desire is to ~absolute intent of pure awareness being self-aware~ shining through the early morning fog, bare trees, harlequin moon.

Second Tantra of Manifestation

Projection is the world. Manifestation is my self. Projection is obscure. Manifestation, lucid. Projection tries to teach the ignorant but manifestation reflects the wise.

Projection is the world of my conditioning, the comedies and histories of tragedy, the whole samsara of it all.

Manifestation is nirvana like the seven billion golden Buddhas reigning over seven billion universes of one consciousness alone, each the Christ of gloria in excelsis deo.

Projection thinks like some religious reincarnation doing the same thing over and over again expecting unbelievable Einstein. Manifestation feels like instant self-awareness.

Curiouser and curiouser that one realizing what the world involves continues thinking in a worldly way of thinking while wholly knowing that this way of thinking is insanity according to that same Einstein.

There's more than one way to skin a samadhi.

footnotes to a declaration

and when i get that feeling, i need that natural healing, like penobscot mountain in acadia, or simply being, sexually or not—

what if whatever the world calls health was not? what if bizarro superman was the secret coke of buddha? what if one manifests the dream as it is—lovingly lucidly luminous—to the power of ten-thousand Maya?

here's an inside joke. intuitive observation is the force. as if synchronicity is past seeing future now, and vice versa. the one called gurdjieff would call this self-remembering. real yin. true yang. like tao.

this is dedicated to some amazing places: Acadia, Big Sur, Monument Valley, Grand Canyon, Half Dome, The Atlantic, Pacific Beach, Canyon Del Muerte. like hiking in Enchanted Canyon on the the east side of barbed wire.

if I am That, then That goes I, power of three. here’s the darkest secret, all sex aside, there is no secret. all secrets are sexist.

the simple Zatoichi speech: deconstruct belief but don’t throw out the baby love.

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A Declaration of Electrical November

It's not exactly freedom from the game of life. That would be insanity. It's playing by original rules, but manifesting new ones as I go along. My game on Cold Mountain.

Eternal ash trees in New England winter woods aren't exactly bare trees as almost every branch contains one ethereal amber leaf. So don't throw out the love that held belief together!

If self-awareness is a fact of omnipresence, being is the knowledge, and evolution, story. All is necessarily eternal. Thank you, thank you, thank you. But don't drink the electricity!

Excuse me while I kiss the Christ! Chain lightning over Hopi! Talking consciousness. In other words, on the grid not of the grid. Beware electric blankets.

Talking Tree and Verse

Consciousness is like sapwood uniting ground to leaf. Jesus, speaking as Christ Consciousness, says a similar trope this way:  "I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.”

No amount of thinking gets the living leaf to ground, so death is not an option. Thus, to the world, experiential consciousness is quite the radical idea, but to experiential consciousness, the world is only an idea.

Simply said, there’s absolutely no one but my self. At worst, the world is my projection. At best, my manifestation. For I am the only poet! And if another poet once said, poet be like god, I am that god, I am.

Talking Self-reliance I Am Deep Sleep Truth

Social conditioning obviously stresses the importance of the social above all else. And so the world becomes all-important, its economies, policies, and philosophies. There’s nothing wrong with any of this. Through samsara I turn to nirvana.

But the world is only relative to the world and absolutely irrelevant to the absolute truth. There’s nothing in it for oneself. Self-reliance is not about a person working wisely in the world, but the experiential fact there’s only oneself and consciousness is the only knowledge.

Knowing this as absolute fact, along with those deconstructive corollaries of projecting and manifesting, is the only way to truth. Knowing this primal original knowledge is all there is—dropping like dreaming falling into absolute unborn deep sleep self-realizing.

footnotes on an island

what is awakening?

when kensho happens late in life but who knows what on earth this kensho is—maybe dementia?

what’s so bad about bliss?

here we are now. nirvana is samsara. imagine me?

what if aliens were enlightened and earthlings were not?

consciousness only. experiential always. don’t forget the pain of belief. always further. furthur?

to subtweet or not, is that the question?

My Private Island Stand-up Sutra

It's never what you think it is but it's always what you know. If every Buddhist killed the Buddha, there'd be no Buddhists—only Buddha. I mean it's not exactly dropping body-mind. It's more like renting.

Then again, what is body-mind if I don't think about it, sailor. The world is doing everything in its power rubbing the red dust of the world out of my eyes. Talk about tough love! Still, it's best to do some light reading—like mystery sutras—before one's eyes are opening.

All I know is consciousness. Like I was only told about my birth. And the senses tell me everything appears as attributes of energy—light, sound, smell, touch, taste—but everyone says the material opposite and I go believe them. I don't even want to think about their takes on death!

But Maya has a vital, crucial, consequential part to play in self-awareness. Many parts in fact. Everyone.

Imagination—when released from its conditioning—is free to picture self-awareness as it is—or as one imagines it to be—my private Lankavatara—off the coast of Maine so to speak.

As self-awareness is so self-evident, it's easy to forget the Dark Ages. In the blink of an eye is born a new belief. As they say, if you're not going further, you're gone again. Even if Hunter S. Thompson never said that, he said that.

Truthfully and experientially, all appears in consciousness. But once there was a great notion otherwise. Always respect your roots. The world scares you awake. Give thanks every night. Don't hurry absolution. It happens every early morning. Imagine self-awareness. As if I am the Light! Cameras! Projection!

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