Grandfather Transformation

From a mass of bodies to the group mind to singular being, always further, always inner, always a divergent evolution towards self-awareness.

A bright red cardinal suddenly appears amid the last faint pellets of an April Fool's snowstorm.

I learned to love myself by loving others but I learned I am by being myself. For one must love oneself before being oneself. A hermit song.

Seeing my projection as my always open always free spontaneously-appearing ally and resource and not material source nor natural enemy.

It’s kind of like the early Seventies, after working the second shift at Western Electric, taking a midnight detour to Store 24 and finding Agni.

Surrendering to non-doing, wu-wei, takes the awesome effort of following intent, like dropping body-mind—

accept the transformation, butterfly, and act accordingly.

Being. Take Two.

Even the universe is

lesser than I am.

And I would love to sing

of what I am

but I can only twitter

what I'm not.

For I am formless

and without volume,

altogether far beyond

description or impression.

I am—

she never even wrote.

Divergent Evolution

After I am,

the deluge of conception—

every single concept is a lie

but all concepts in totality is god.

Two opposing opinions are closer to the truth

combined than each one separately considered.

This is not opinion but a fact.

My story is mostly predetermined

but for love’s spontaneous determination.

The world is my projection

shining through the filters of my thoughts

from my unclouded light of being—

change the filters, change the world.

Always I am.

Awareness Being Self-Aware.That's All She Wrote.

Evolution is not

a social science.

In solitude

the inner is the outer.

The universe is

my conspiracy

for enlightenment.

Being is my only objective.

The absolute unknown

is my sanctuary.

Self-awareness looks

like this manifestation

but feels like

that unmanifest

awareness.

The Testament of Organic Animate Enlightenment

i.

Swing low sweet tidal river valley spirit of the loving golden and eternal Tao.

Both something and nothing are phantoms of the operatic mind but being is the revelation of an inconceivable unknown.

And between this witnessing of being and that unknown pure awareness is the canyon of no mind.

Thus in this world the opposite of what one is conditioned to believe is often true as not.

O perchance deep sleep like pure awareness goddess god the godless origin and sourceless source of way and watercourse.

However, the seven expressions of this reflexive universe are light nuclear atomic rock-molecular organic animate enlightenment.

I once was lost in thought but now I am.

Like a feeling but not really. Like everything I see is me but not I. Like that energetic rush of peaking but here within this valley.

ii.

Tonight I am singing on the Merrimack the god of Daniel Webster, Jack Kerouac, Robert Frost, Anne Bradstreet, Greenleaf Whittier, and Son Rivers.

First the feeling. Like some holy connection of heart filling the body with its unknowable lightness of being.

Some call this happiness. Some call this bliss. Others have named it the universe. One could call its essential quality, lightness.

Second like this completely headless identification mindfully free of all objectification.

Three. Surfing Christ in the curl. Surfing Christ in the curl like a beach boy surfer girl.

Thrill at the continuing now without the mourning of some future or some past.

And the thought of sudden death becomes an eagle's cry of self-awareness.

For one second of self-awareness is equal to a lifetime of dreaming unaware.

idiot love

further is like everest every single day

but everest is always the same height

it's just the measuring that changes

memory processing and that unknown

absolute calvin is love at first sight

literally born again both to the x

but men to the y this self-evolving is

manifestly unknown but look for

the strangest of signs william

blake virginia wolff instant

evolution is killing you softly

so accept your own mutation

Ode to Ouroboros, Dad

Another name for separation is division is the politics of mind. 

However, eight limbs of a spider sail across this living room by a single loving thread.

Dad, they say you died forty-four years ago tonight but still I wait to hear the peepers.

You hated Richard Nixon with a passion but you missed the great Apocalypse of Watergate. All in vain.

But like Jesus says thank God we're only in this world—for nothing of this world can change it.

In this circle of Archimedean things, division always ends in more division.

But where love is primary school and universal consciousness, the deeper understanding, all division is just imaginary numbers.

It's either become a bodhisattva and save the world or Buddha sees there's not a world to save. There is no difference. Either way.

Does the head devour the tail or does the tail emerge from out of the head?