Moonflower Moonflower

Without the mind, there is no self-awareness. To the mind, self-awareness is crown jewel of evolutionary theory.

If self-awareness isn't, nothing is. Nameless awareness being self-aware isn't myth as much as primal mind.

If all is well, then mind is too. Face it, all ways lead to self-awareness. If the ground is earth, self-awareness is the flower;

if the ground is sky, self-awareness is a super moon. And as there is no place for love like earth, there is no place for wisdom like the sky.

Consider the night-blooming moonflower. Empire calls it ipomoea. Call it both ways now.

There's no need to polish a flower. There’s not a memory of last night’s new moon.

The Art of Way and Aviary Metaphor

Memory is a rabbit hole. Being is the way. Belief is like the manufacture of a way made out of memory.

Way isn't made of memory. Way is not a form. The way is natural, transformative, intentional, spontaneous, and self-aware.

The way is not a thought of some design. You cannot memorize the way but love it. You cannot objectify the way but be it.

You can’t even name the way without dividing way and the way is not divisible. Call this the first paradox.

The way is like the spring. First there is a flower. Then there is a metaphor. Last there is a name. Experience, art, and empire.

There's a bird of black and white at rest but orange flame in flight. Call it the valley spirit.

one who lives by memory dies by memory.

memory is the stuff of form. transformation is the stuff of emptiness.

instructors teach. knowing loves.

the name of original sin is any name.

art remembers experience. names forget.

empires only rise and fall. spirit is and isn’t.

Three May Way

Spring is nothing but emptiness tuning fiddleheads turning polypodiopsida polypodiopsida.

Birdsong, the universal consciousness of tree frogs, and Po Chu-i supply the harmonies tonight.

Nature knows no division. That's why we go to the woods. Escaping the politics of business becomes our only business.

I could have been somebody but nowhere man and my holy fear of some success is sucessfully stopping me.

The glass is full and empty. I can see the glass itself is a concept too. Listen, there's a boy who is crying wolf

as if there's a dream that wants to cry. In other words, nothing is known but the knowledge of being.

That which is unknown is conceptually unknown, a mythic concept, or this is tantric that. Know oneself as if there's no one else to know.

This Consciousness Song

If consciousness is the secret, thought is the box. Ipso facto, there's no thinking outside the box. The box is just a day of rain.

In a desert flower garden, there's a gateless fence and the memory of smell. For consciousness is what remains after all thought dries.

There's no describing consciousness. This is why there's song. And dance. Haiku business or Gregorian chant.

There's nothing but consciousness. Everything appears in consciousness. There's no such thing as unconsciousness.

And all that is not consciousness is the unknown godhead and unmanifest love supreme.

1. thinking outside the box is doublespeak for rethinking things.

2. in a desert flower would be more imagistic but in a garden would be more mythic—but the tropes of gate and smell require both. so desert flower garden is the great compromise of this particular paraverse.

one of the genius things about ryokan is his lovely commentary on living understanding being. he'd be great on twitter.

3. binary code behind this particular revelation: memory describes / being sings

4. an homage to the belfast cowboy.

5. maharaj and trane.

pervading oligarchy and democracy is emptiness no matter what you believe

there's an argument for either one to cut the losses

that's the hard thing about a zero sum game

love dances to a different drummer every day. because deep sleep.

coyote knows what you want but the guru knows what you need. so what's the difference?

believe it or not, as bhoga is to bhakta, scientific materialism is to yogacara

there is more than one way of looking at a blackbird, wallace stevens

time is always interesting somewhere

"it's my party and i'll cry if i want to"

projection is love

denial isn't

repeat after me

i am the antibody

First Love, First Word

Consciousness is cause and consciousness is the result. The rest is causelessness. Sun flurry May Ninth Symphony New England butternut translucent green leaf folk song.

Nothing is just another name for the nameless. Being is the only knowledge and that knowledge is nameless. Names are made to classify universal consciousness.

No classification is universal. Every classification is a language unto itself. For social conditioning is a matter of time, classification, and survival of the fittest memory.

The fittest memory is the one intending love. Those that don't are soon forgotten or repressed if necessary. God bless the child who never knew. And forgive them.


True poetry declassifies. There's a reason why taxonomy is in the language of the empire. And not indigenous to place. The indigenous names for nature are yet classifying love.

The classification of species is all about the classes. Plantae tracheophytes angiosperms eudicots rosids rosaceae rosoideae roseae rosa is a rose. What is the Algonquin name for fiddlehead, Dorothy Parker?

Love is the union of love with love. This is the greatest paradox ever told. Being is only consciousness. Love is the only knowledge. Child consciousness is the teacher.

As pure consciousness is the immaculate conception and awareness is no mind, unconditional love is now without a thought. Venus is further northwest tonight.

without consciousness, where am I?

only consciousness is the name of the nameless

the memory of love is not a memory.

when the going gets shaman, the guru gets reaL

geronimo is geronimo. jesus is jesus.

no guru, no scientist, no shaman.

Project Wave

Being is not a thought but it's the breath of thought. Seeing through thought and focusing

on breathing are the yin and yang of this fact. And the electromagnetic property of light.

Love or deconstruction—the road not taken makes all the difference. Listen, this is my secret.

Manifestation happens after the fabric of space-time has been ripped apart. Don't fight the fruit of its quicksand.

Understand this. Surfing on the waves of love and wisdom is a third way. Make the next wave.

manifesting is a misnomer.

it’s more like recognizing new waves quicker and riding them more creatively. with love and wisdom.

and there’s always a new wave unless one’s dead or in the samadhi mystic.


learning to multi-task is all about evolving toward third way.

it’s why windows made bill gates a billionaire. that's my myth and why i'm standing by it.

karma is nothing but the mechanics of waves. surfing karma is the breeze.


better to be a nonconformist than conform. best is emptiness and form.

politics is the art of seeing through others. deconstruction is the art of seeing through oneself.

deconstruction without being is comedy. being without deconstruction is drama. history is the refrain.


feel the next wave. emotion and intuition are the guides.

drop conditioning says dogen.

love wine sings hafiz.

Cherry!

O Hafiz, a cherry tree is not the bark of memory nor leaves of future virtue but blossoming being. Correspondingly, I am not the ash of body nor the mind of materialistic brain but I am.

That I am is the only currency of knowledge. All others pay with memory. Tonight there is this memory of a cherry tree, essential being, and that great unknown I am—the wholly trinity.

This morning there was anger at the world so words were said and all is now forgiven. That's the way it is with conditioned thought. It rises out of primordial memory and messes with unconditional love.

Emotion happens. Something there isn't tries to hold emotion in. Sadness is its birth. Anger is its death. On the verge of another mistake, I let my words out. My brother used to tell me to go play in traffic.

Like the morning after Ogunquit Beach 1976, Christine, when I drunkenly fell through a sliding screen door and turned to love within your secret mesh, an august sun is burning through the fog.