The Epistle of the Personal, Self-awareness, and the Beautiful Truthful Universe

The personal is divided from the universal manifestation of the absolute and its world can never be at peace. The personal is war, period.

There's nothing wrong with this of course. It's just a phase in the evolutionary process of self-awareness. There's a flower at the end of every gun.

Note the social isn't universal and there is no future world to be inhabited by higher consciousness. Omnipresent being is now and going into it is paradoxically an individual endeavor.


Self-awareness isn't nothing and it's not an 'it' as well except for convenience of this communication. It's my omnipresent understanding of myself so full of pure potentiality

that within the ever-present process of itself, it appears to be this universe to the mirroring mind, which is a space-time work procedure intending towards such self-awareness.

Note, self-awareness is such an innate quality of absolute pure awareness, I'm like Nisargadatta's flowing life between everything and nothing, love and wisdom, unmanifest is manifest, manifest is unmanifest, gone gone, gone beyond.


Leaves fall. There is a tree! Trees die. There is an earth! The earth is deconstructing. There's the sun I am! Black whole. Texas tea.

In the self-reflexive universe, there's an intentional turning from material imprisonment to life, from thought-belief—be it scientific materialism or fundamental religion—to being, from unawareness to self-awareness, pure awareness, and so on.

Nothing in the universe is superfluous, even a dream. Everything intends to self-awareness, even the warring changes on the surface of the mirror of the mind. See flowers. Note stars.

Paraverse 2018

Grow your own myth or die in the one they gave you. The world is where the broken-hearted gather. Wisdom without love is just belief in nothing and belief is nothing to begin with.

Even denying being is a proof of being. Division in any universe is illusion of course, and those believing otherwise are unbelievable. I'm just a turquoise pen with sky-blue ink—are you nobody too?

May you stay forever apolitical. Let me spare you all psychology, spirituality, and science: death is fear; being is love; self-awareness is the seventh son of a seventh son.

I searched mountains for myself but I'm here. Dearest, imagine self-awareness; Love, myself. One not being self-aware is busy devolving—the school of transcendental luminism underground purple desert air.

So the personal has a shadow, do you think? Any expression other than love is slave to one's conditioning. One is love. Two is transformation. Three is self-awareness. Zero is unknown.

The Gospel of October As It Is

One's material identity is a most mistaken one—but quite believable.  For the mind perceives its own conceptions.  And not the one immaculate conception that's conceiving it.

Consciousness, although conceptual, is not conceivable.  Consciousness is like energy and the mind is like the transformation of this energy—or causation by mistaken identity.

It's as if that consciousness conceives the mind to be a mirror of memory for the absolute intent of omnipresent self-awareness.  But such mind gets lost in memories of itself and so on.

So there's nothing wrong with sentience.  And there's nothing right about belief.  One doesn't throw away the tool just because it's been dazed and misused for so long it’s not true.

Everything in the universe is intending toward that absolute self-awareness for the universe is that self-awareness.  Only in the misuse of a tool rests the real instructions for the tool.

One sees light only in appearances like turning leaves.  Even the sun is only seen in its penultimate forms like a ring of fire and autumn sunsets.  One cannot say that pure awareness is being self-aware although I am.

footnotes

1. an appearance doesn't see that in which it is appearing
2. make no mistake, the mistaken identity of mind is mind
3. the mirror is made from memory reflecting on itself
4. there's nothing wrong with memory but there's nothing right in what's remembered
5. one only learns by doing, that one is being done
6. mind is just the space-time cross-section of the beginningless and endless, boundless and depthless, omnipresent potentiality of self-awareness

The Eye Thru Witch

The instrument of self-awareness is so sensitive, it thinks it is the instrument. They say the universe is contained in a single drop of water;

I say that drop of water must be dropped like a tear. How many movies must I see before I know I'm not this movie?

Look—leaves fall, trees topple, earth disintegrates, the sun goes out, galaxies implode, the universe disproves the big bang theory. I'm that eye.


If the world is my projection, imagination works both ways. Is Sakyamuni holding up a living flower or does Mahakasyapa know there is no death?

It's easier to live in the future than predict it. If every cause is like a unicorn, love is like a goddess or a god or lgbtqx—

to the seductive sparkle and death of materialistic belief, medicinal deconstruction, and the subsequent eternal clarity of self-awareness.

footnotes

the users manual is learn by being done

my only view on movies is that that's a movie; the rest are just reviews

if pure awareness is the nameless, being is the word

put away your childish beliefs about the doings of gods and scientists and be done by love

being imagines self-awareness; thought is quite the tool when used as i am directing

deconstruction of samsara is nirvana of nirvana only

what me eckhart
 

The Ballad of Wu Wei and Kokoro

Although it's true there is no doing, love does undo. And as a poem is the undoing of that infinite potentiality,

consciousness is the empty poet. Yellow leaves are blown away by an early September cold front—inspirational!

The world is the childish thing that love lets go—One Corinthians Thirteen Eleven.

The meeting of the mind and revelation is like the smoke of pen and paper—remember to come up for being!

Ice, forsythia, fireworks, and transformation—thought does you and love undoes me. There is no personal doing.

Imagine My Moon Arjuna

Here across the sea of many craters from your love tonight, I’m looking at the brilliant crescent earth—knowing you are looking at it too.

On the moon, but never of green cheese—one never knows the unknown but one can be the werewolf that one is.

Beneath all rivers and mountains there lies hidden—the third moon of a seventh sun!


On Half Moon Lake when emptiness was empress of the waters once again and storms of form come beckoning like a city school of fools—

the social conditioning of scientific materialism is the old division. Deconstruction is the new math—consciousness only is avant garde!

You can never know the sun, you know. But if I try some times I find I am, the stainless moon—

consciousness only is the unborn mirror in which the absolute godness of pure awareness is spontaneously self-aware.

Imagination 8

And on the seventh day, there's idleness and adoration—float like a river, sting like hail. Wu Wei. Tao Te.

Across the river from here, white pines are attracted to the sun each day but point to the moon every night.

And around here, it's cats and dogs all day. But at night, it's owls and coyotes. Everyone ultimately agrees.

There's nothing to do and nowhere to go. Call it karma or surrender, it really doesn't matter.


I'm not responsible for my past; true love secretly did me. The way I see it, my job was to follow the script.

Maybe I should improvise! Thought is just a tool but affectionate awareness is the hand.

Bring them together as one in silence twice a day. If self-awareness is god, imagination is angelic.

Six days on the road. One night at sea. Dependent clauses. This, that, these, and those—demonstrative only.

footnotes to imagination 8

revolution nine is my absolute reference point. 1/9

i remember living by the mills and one day my friend's oldest brother appears from out of the streaming homeward-bound masses on my street, which i am showing off to my suburban cousin, to show off a recently acquired ted williams baseball card. "fucking jesus with a bat!" 2/9

the ferryman returns me to that three-mile strip of consciousness north of the merrimack

between whole and howl, an e is silent 4/9

no damn space, and no damn time 5/9

all the world's a stage and all the men and women my projections 6/9

embodiment is that between the seventh and the next octave calling 7/9

returning wu wei to i am is like the diamond wing of way 8/9

in the name of the further, enlightening intent, not of the dream. #9 #9 #9 #9 9/9

Medicine, Crow, Bee & Butterfly

As conditioning is deconstructing, one might see the world as a murder of conspiracy theories, as one subliminally discovers one is That exactly.

The primordial tool of thought when absent-mindedly lost in it's fascinating function of inquiring tool begins to play the role of a thought.


This is why self-inquiry a la Ramana Maharshi is a comedy of errors. The tool is ultimately conditioned to ask who am I

and I am That which playfully asks. Look, JFK's assassination was my father. My mother was the Gulf of Tonkin.


Cherry blossoms never fall. Winter likes to summer in New Mexico. Just imagine Ariel and Caliban! Maharshi, Maharaj.

My prescription is default to consciousness at least once a day and more if possible. While writing this, I noticed I was coming up for air.

My Letter from the River Valley

In mythic terms, the universe is like the god of pure awareness being self-aware.  That is a definition of evolution for any non-believer.  The world is not an error but an integrated work procedure of the undivided process.  One comes to nirvana through samsara.

When I was a child, I believed samsara and played its worldly games.  On opening, I am nirvana dropping all those childish things.  I am the fish that got away.  I am the silver striper dancing in and out of silver river water!

Any river valley resident can tell you that the river is the valley.  Lately everything along the river is that August morning mist from longer nights following concentrated summer days that still can burn the morning mist before you even know it.

In China, the Milky Way is called River of Stars.  It's the frontier source of the Yellow River: universe, earth, enlightenment.  The world is all about the turning: spring conditioning, summer heat, autumn understanding, first there is a winter then there is no winter then there is.

The primary reflexive paradox is a testament to evidence that every seventh substage requires a pre-existing first stage of the next stage in the overall process.  In Early Christianity, they call this dark enigma between the child and parent, Holy Spirit.

Love, Wu Wei

Thought,
when not
the tool of love,
unwisely thinks
thought alone can do.

Love just does—
there is no thought behind it.

So when finding oneself caught
within the whirlpool world of thought
and all its agitations of division and identity,
default to love—
this is what the world calls Being Only.