Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
Our Little Corner of the Kosmos
Curtain's pulled round
But the light bleeds out through the thin spots
Savage primal angst
Wearing bedclothes, looking for an audience
But the audience is one:
It's you, your capacity open and yes,
Ministrating to _my_ needs tonite
So I can go back, not take it so seriously again
And stir up the color you so like
In our little corner
of the Kosmos.
But the light bleeds out through the thin spots
Savage primal angst
Wearing bedclothes, looking for an audience
But the audience is one:
It's you, your capacity open and yes,
Ministrating to _my_ needs tonite
So I can go back, not take it so seriously again
And stir up the color you so like
In our little corner
of the Kosmos.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Friday, March 27, 2009
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Some evenings are diamonds
Memory suggests I've imaged it thus before, but if all the mind wandering in meditation is ultimately a pointer to THAT which is - ie: everytime you realize that your mind has wandered off somewhere, you have actually recognized the duality and are a step closer (for a moment) to the place that is always here and timeless (jokes on youme) -
and if each of those times can be visualized as a wave peak
then the closer together the waves get, the closer those peak experiences come to melding into One Taste.
And maybe the day and nitetime - routines and the sundries and tawdries of day to day life - responsibilities, chores, work - are the same peaks in waves that are much farther apart...
And on nights like tonite, when the need to do or achieve is replaced with an uneasy ache
And the ache is examined and found to be lounging on a pretty nice do-nothing do no-thing - BE no-thing,
It all shines.
and if each of those times can be visualized as a wave peak
then the closer together the waves get, the closer those peak experiences come to melding into One Taste.
And maybe the day and nitetime - routines and the sundries and tawdries of day to day life - responsibilities, chores, work - are the same peaks in waves that are much farther apart...
And on nights like tonite, when the need to do or achieve is replaced with an uneasy ache
And the ache is examined and found to be lounging on a pretty nice do-nothing do no-thing - BE no-thing,
It all shines.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Advaita Pez
Seagull flies outside the window, and I mistake it for a helicopter.
Not as absurd as it sounds, if you include the context - which is that said window is 24 floors above street level and that we live in the shadow of coastal mountains, and the collective exhale of those mountains creates a bridal veil of mist between there and here.
Thoughts of physics and light refraction and cognitive processing flood me as I settle into the fact that it is a bird. From there, how I should best spend my time to really, REALLY see what is going on in the world around me; how it all starts here, with me, and if my perceptual slate is not clean, how can I know myself and how can I help others?
Pez up, brother.
And I do. It's a monster Pez, this, so big that it cuts off the oxygen going down, it cuts off the life force going down, it fades me to ...
outside experience, where I realize that the images of self imolation in the ingestion of this were just that - images that I was watching.
Get it?
Me here. images there. Separation. Realization of separation, release.
Back to the computer, several hours of productive and non-productive activities braided together into a pyschic rope that leads me to Otis and the world beyond and THAT world beyond is
Hold it, world beyond. On the commute now, and trip up on the verbiage.
Pez up, brother.
And after the spirtual gag reflex subsides, I see
language is frozen thought, thought was that the world is beyond.
Separation, realization of separation, separation dissolved, release
...released into space of relationship, where the duality is so pronounced it's like emotional branding...
eyes, contact, move away (pez up!); anxiety, tension, move away (pez up!), distraction (from what?, pez up), qualification, judgement, pez Up!
And finally, like meditation where realizing I am away actually brings me here, the duality wave peaks get closer and closer together till I can hop from one to another to another, then lie down on them and BE the essence that only appears to bridge - because there is nothing to bridge and sleep into dreamless sleep which, upon waking, turns into another concept that separates and boundaries itself from me. Or I from it.
Pez up.
Not as absurd as it sounds, if you include the context - which is that said window is 24 floors above street level and that we live in the shadow of coastal mountains, and the collective exhale of those mountains creates a bridal veil of mist between there and here.
Thoughts of physics and light refraction and cognitive processing flood me as I settle into the fact that it is a bird. From there, how I should best spend my time to really, REALLY see what is going on in the world around me; how it all starts here, with me, and if my perceptual slate is not clean, how can I know myself and how can I help others?
Pez up, brother.
And I do. It's a monster Pez, this, so big that it cuts off the oxygen going down, it cuts off the life force going down, it fades me to ...
outside experience, where I realize that the images of self imolation in the ingestion of this were just that - images that I was watching.
Get it?
Me here. images there. Separation. Realization of separation, release.
Back to the computer, several hours of productive and non-productive activities braided together into a pyschic rope that leads me to Otis and the world beyond and THAT world beyond is
Hold it, world beyond. On the commute now, and trip up on the verbiage.
Pez up, brother.
And after the spirtual gag reflex subsides, I see
language is frozen thought, thought was that the world is beyond.
Separation, realization of separation, separation dissolved, release
...released into space of relationship, where the duality is so pronounced it's like emotional branding...
eyes, contact, move away (pez up!); anxiety, tension, move away (pez up!), distraction (from what?, pez up), qualification, judgement, pez Up!
And finally, like meditation where realizing I am away actually brings me here, the duality wave peaks get closer and closer together till I can hop from one to another to another, then lie down on them and BE the essence that only appears to bridge - because there is nothing to bridge and sleep into dreamless sleep which, upon waking, turns into another concept that separates and boundaries itself from me. Or I from it.
Pez up.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Friday, March 20, 2009
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Monday, March 16, 2009
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Friday, March 13, 2009
Kosmos Exhales
Long slow hike through waist high bloodgrass. Weimerammer-grey sheen lighting everything up in the closest you can get to light-shadow; that is, shadow made up of light.
Sun is constantly at 1:00 pm, up and behind my head. Turning up and around to try to trick it into an ocular appearance is fruitless.
Shimmer in the air; clearly summer.
Yet as soon as I make the mental pronouncement, snow falls from the cloudless sky. And as soon as THAT observation is made, the sky is an object without boundaries; solid...but not solid and
shit, too much.
I stop labelling and simply look, and this psychic sudoku stabilizes enough to give me a couple of choices. Three, as it turns out - in the form of handles coming out of the ground - one straight ahead, one to the left, one to the right.
No thought; that's important here; as soon as I gain focus, the world loses its, handles become more of the weimerammer grey and all mists up, ready to collapse into...
First lever down.
Aha, this is interesting.
Scene is there, but the Boundaries are gone. Like a giant canvas, where everything is reachable by the observer, but the observer has somehow been pulled into the canvas itself. Without boundaries, there is no subject and object. Without subject and object, there is no here and there. Without here and there there is no distance, and without distance, there is no time.
Lever up. That was fucked up. Beautiful, but fucked up.
Second lever.
Scene is there, boundaries are gone, but I'm outside the scene. I can see the no-time, no-space, no-boundary paradox splashed oil on cloth, but I'm separate from it. The inhabitants are trying to lookup, but there is no up. They consider reaching out, but there is no out. Nothing to do, nowhere to be. No experience, just Is, and me.
Third lever.
One more mirror in the mirror, there's a transition ~ where the 'space' that contains I watching Is in the canvas shimmers and dissolves
nothing left to say or do. No experience, no I, no Is, no no.
Collapsed into a pointless center that is everywhere; not finite
whisper sigh
throughout the Kosmos.
Sun is constantly at 1:00 pm, up and behind my head. Turning up and around to try to trick it into an ocular appearance is fruitless.
Shimmer in the air; clearly summer.
Yet as soon as I make the mental pronouncement, snow falls from the cloudless sky. And as soon as THAT observation is made, the sky is an object without boundaries; solid...but not solid and
shit, too much.
I stop labelling and simply look, and this psychic sudoku stabilizes enough to give me a couple of choices. Three, as it turns out - in the form of handles coming out of the ground - one straight ahead, one to the left, one to the right.
No thought; that's important here; as soon as I gain focus, the world loses its, handles become more of the weimerammer grey and all mists up, ready to collapse into...
First lever down.
Aha, this is interesting.
Scene is there, but the Boundaries are gone. Like a giant canvas, where everything is reachable by the observer, but the observer has somehow been pulled into the canvas itself. Without boundaries, there is no subject and object. Without subject and object, there is no here and there. Without here and there there is no distance, and without distance, there is no time.
Lever up. That was fucked up. Beautiful, but fucked up.
Second lever.
Scene is there, boundaries are gone, but I'm outside the scene. I can see the no-time, no-space, no-boundary paradox splashed oil on cloth, but I'm separate from it. The inhabitants are trying to lookup, but there is no up. They consider reaching out, but there is no out. Nothing to do, nowhere to be. No experience, just Is, and me.
Third lever.
One more mirror in the mirror, there's a transition ~ where the 'space' that contains I watching Is in the canvas shimmers and dissolves
nothing left to say or do. No experience, no I, no Is, no no.
Collapsed into a pointless center that is everywhere; not finite
whisper sigh
throughout the Kosmos.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Labmeister
Surprising, how it turned out.
Most of the time it would be circular script, end meets the beginning, differences blended together to offer a jumping off point that was really just the starting point in drag.
This time, however, things were amuck from the start.
The labmeister started by creating an environment that was just a blank slate FOR the environment. Awareness in a petri dish.
Into that, he dropped his erstwhile subject - me - in, but without most of the accouterments and appendages I was used to carrying into his real-life thought experiments.
Senses - limited to perspectiveless input and output.
Memory - extracted, not mine, just outside the petri dish.
In short, he dropped me, stripped of ME, into a timeless space to see what would happen.
The dump of the output that would have been committed to memory was sent to a system outside the lab dish, and ended up for the most part being pre-verbal stream of conciousness, although it attenuated quickly as there just wasn't that much to notice.
Still, the labmeister was interested in some findings, and after several minutes of detached observations, squeezed a few drops in.
...indignation - blue green and blood red algae diffused throughout the petri dish, shimmered, and dissolved agin. Monitor showed the colors
...rage - blood red storm boiled the petri dish down to a reduction of reduction. Monitor displayed images from a reptillain brain stem engulfed by but not taken over by anger
...happiness...sky blue with pink streaks across the horizon; monitor went into standby (without perspective, without qualification or memory, it just WAS without interference.
...love ... everything in the petri disk expanded and grew and dissolved even those boundaries and reached out and touched
Labmeister
Which is when the taint entered and everything just
broke.
Most of the time it would be circular script, end meets the beginning, differences blended together to offer a jumping off point that was really just the starting point in drag.
This time, however, things were amuck from the start.
The labmeister started by creating an environment that was just a blank slate FOR the environment. Awareness in a petri dish.
Into that, he dropped his erstwhile subject - me - in, but without most of the accouterments and appendages I was used to carrying into his real-life thought experiments.
Senses - limited to perspectiveless input and output.
Memory - extracted, not mine, just outside the petri dish.
In short, he dropped me, stripped of ME, into a timeless space to see what would happen.
The dump of the output that would have been committed to memory was sent to a system outside the lab dish, and ended up for the most part being pre-verbal stream of conciousness, although it attenuated quickly as there just wasn't that much to notice.
Still, the labmeister was interested in some findings, and after several minutes of detached observations, squeezed a few drops in.
...indignation - blue green and blood red algae diffused throughout the petri dish, shimmered, and dissolved agin. Monitor showed the colors
...rage - blood red storm boiled the petri dish down to a reduction of reduction. Monitor displayed images from a reptillain brain stem engulfed by but not taken over by anger
...happiness...sky blue with pink streaks across the horizon; monitor went into standby (without perspective, without qualification or memory, it just WAS without interference.
...love ... everything in the petri disk expanded and grew and dissolved even those boundaries and reached out and touched
Labmeister
Which is when the taint entered and everything just
broke.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Alpine Queen
While the Alpine Queen found it disquieting, there was nothing that could be pointed to that was quintessentially 'wrong', so she continued on her way - which was nothing more than staying put. Being a particularly large and volume-displacing sea-going vessel, this was entirely appropriate.
I, on the other hand, was not ship like, and _also_ noted a disquietude in the air. She was gone and forgotten quickly, apart from the tracer association lay quietly in my neural network.
The rest of the inlet commute was forgettable; docked and hopped ashore with little fanfare, and walked into the terminbus quickly to get out of the cold.
Second tracer: the termnibus was all but empty. Unusual, given the commuting day of Monday, the day where chiseled intellects and egos streaked through leaving their pyschic scents like an updated version of Hansel's bread crumbs through the labyrinthine passageways that connected them to their burrows which brought them home to work.
I stepped aside from myself for a moment, getting as close the nonlocal as was possible - there was a need to think here, and while surrender would have been pleasing, it was not practical at this point. The main point pressing on the pineal was whether or not this was a dream, and the answer was not as straightforward as it seemed.
There was the no-people thing, which was freaking me out a little; this would be hard to explain outside the context of a dream. And there was this ability pull myself into different parts of the termnibus with nothing but eye contact and a little will. Still, there was a subtle sheath here, a _something_ that was containing the freedom I knew from lucid dreaming.
Tracer three: The ability to sit stand half in and out of the nonlocal; felt like the point where lightness and darkness met on the moon. From here, I was able to point, pinch, and grab parts of the scene before me and move them like a magic nine squre sliding puzzle. Surely a dream!
But no, this toffee reality had smudges and blurs that were clearly attached to the sheath, there was no breaking through to another plane.
I moved up through my head, careful to latch my toes on the front of my crown center - gods knew where I would end up if I slipped up and out. I wasn't sure that this place was even on the gods' roadmap.
Final tracer as my head popped through the sheath and looked around at ... the not finite. Sparkler connectors bounced the protganists out away from the gelatinous bubble like bait on god's fishing rod, attracting others who were connected to their own rods into their own bubbles.
A strange bearded fellow bounced happily from orb to orb, latching my eye contact, pulling me with him; out of the crown and spread eagled into the not-finite;
which became the Alpine Queen
which was outside the train
where it all began.
Tracers path registered, and the day
continued.
I, on the other hand, was not ship like, and _also_ noted a disquietude in the air. She was gone and forgotten quickly, apart from the tracer association lay quietly in my neural network.
The rest of the inlet commute was forgettable; docked and hopped ashore with little fanfare, and walked into the terminbus quickly to get out of the cold.
Second tracer: the termnibus was all but empty. Unusual, given the commuting day of Monday, the day where chiseled intellects and egos streaked through leaving their pyschic scents like an updated version of Hansel's bread crumbs through the labyrinthine passageways that connected them to their burrows which brought them home to work.
I stepped aside from myself for a moment, getting as close the nonlocal as was possible - there was a need to think here, and while surrender would have been pleasing, it was not practical at this point. The main point pressing on the pineal was whether or not this was a dream, and the answer was not as straightforward as it seemed.
There was the no-people thing, which was freaking me out a little; this would be hard to explain outside the context of a dream. And there was this ability pull myself into different parts of the termnibus with nothing but eye contact and a little will. Still, there was a subtle sheath here, a _something_ that was containing the freedom I knew from lucid dreaming.
Tracer three: The ability to sit stand half in and out of the nonlocal; felt like the point where lightness and darkness met on the moon. From here, I was able to point, pinch, and grab parts of the scene before me and move them like a magic nine squre sliding puzzle. Surely a dream!
But no, this toffee reality had smudges and blurs that were clearly attached to the sheath, there was no breaking through to another plane.
I moved up through my head, careful to latch my toes on the front of my crown center - gods knew where I would end up if I slipped up and out. I wasn't sure that this place was even on the gods' roadmap.
Final tracer as my head popped through the sheath and looked around at ... the not finite. Sparkler connectors bounced the protganists out away from the gelatinous bubble like bait on god's fishing rod, attracting others who were connected to their own rods into their own bubbles.
A strange bearded fellow bounced happily from orb to orb, latching my eye contact, pulling me with him; out of the crown and spread eagled into the not-finite;
which became the Alpine Queen
which was outside the train
where it all began.
Tracers path registered, and the day
continued.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Monday, March 9, 2009
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Friday, March 6, 2009
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Inside Outside
It's all paradox.
He got it, _really got it_ , on a Tuesday afternoon walking from the store to his car, which, as grace would have it, was several blocks away.
The last moment he would know zipped up experience, twinkled, and winked out of existence. This was life, of course, not death. Time wasn't there anymore (of course it never had been); judgements ceased to exist (judgement meant difference, difference meant distance, distance meant space and time, and none of that was here). True to Genpo Roshi's analogy, the mind kept on churning out thoughts like the stomach secreted acid. But now, well NOW. He was here. Is here. Presence. Watching the thoughts come and go.
As he made the walk back, everything was at once the same and startling new. He was at the place where enlightenment and non-enlightenment were inseparable, because there was no difference; sensations rained then showered; crimson purples and lilac epiphanies all a glorious dance in now-here (so close to no-here) and tears streamed and arced and exploded in floral brilliance and the sky turned and the ground sang all of the mantras were ever becoming one because they were one and
The door closed behind him and contraction set in, so quickly it made his head spin. Which was confusing, because that presupposed movement, and up until the time he had entered the car, that whole pesky movement - distance thing was a part of the past oh SHIT! Time was clearly back, the language showed it now there was past again and he desperately wanted the experience back.
Time out, chachi.
Yes?
Step out of the prose for a moment.
Ok, what's up?
Well, you've gone seriously south here. And before you start, I'm your creator so I can talk about time and space if I want.
Fine.
So what's with wanting an experience? That's separation AND desire which is more separation and on top of that you are wanting to 'get' a state but you know - or at least you KNEW just a few minutes ago (when there wasn't time) that all of that dissolved in awareness, you simply were, there was nothing to get.
Right, and I get that.
Intellectually, right?
Right.
Almost more than intellectually, I can remember what it felt like, I just don't get why it disappeared when I got back in the car.
I can help with that.
And help I did, easy enough at this layer, simply reach into the monitor, pull the protagonist out via the scruff of his neck ala kitty momma and BANG he's outside the car and back into the backless.
How's it feel?
A kaleidoscope. No need to want wildness or drugs or booze or experience or feeling better or worse or anything. Everything wrapped in time and separation has fused, zipped, and twinkled out. It's all good. How else could it be?
Nice to see you back, but here's the thing - how do you handle getting back on the bus. Or in your case, back in the car?
Well, to start with, in and out are...
Don't worry about Lucknow disease, I'm god here, I get it.
Cool (smile). There's nothing to do when I'm back IN the car. I see how I was contracted, but that's gone, dissolved, i AM what watches that whole game now.
Cool (pluck, into car)
And the whole thing starts over again. A little attenuated this time, but the same presenting symptoms.
(Pluck out of car)
(Pluck into car)
You know, I think that this is basically making him carsick (literally) but it's sure given me a picture of very, very personal Samsara.
You mean the wheel that I need to hop off on?
Why yes, little protagonist, that.
You mean this one? (Pan up, notice many spired wheel over protagonists head, with whole galaxies and ghosts realms and heavens and hells all storming in a funnel cloud over his head and...
now this is strange.
Is it?
I've reached in before, but never had anything come back out of the monitor before
Any last words?
And with that, I see with Meister's eye that is god's eye looking back at me
Protagonist and I touch hands on either side of the monitor and there is silence as we both merge back into that which was there all along.
You mind if I wrap up now?
Don't mind if you / I do.
namaste.
He got it, _really got it_ , on a Tuesday afternoon walking from the store to his car, which, as grace would have it, was several blocks away.
The last moment he would know zipped up experience, twinkled, and winked out of existence. This was life, of course, not death. Time wasn't there anymore (of course it never had been); judgements ceased to exist (judgement meant difference, difference meant distance, distance meant space and time, and none of that was here). True to Genpo Roshi's analogy, the mind kept on churning out thoughts like the stomach secreted acid. But now, well NOW. He was here. Is here. Presence. Watching the thoughts come and go.
As he made the walk back, everything was at once the same and startling new. He was at the place where enlightenment and non-enlightenment were inseparable, because there was no difference; sensations rained then showered; crimson purples and lilac epiphanies all a glorious dance in now-here (so close to no-here) and tears streamed and arced and exploded in floral brilliance and the sky turned and the ground sang all of the mantras were ever becoming one because they were one and
The door closed behind him and contraction set in, so quickly it made his head spin. Which was confusing, because that presupposed movement, and up until the time he had entered the car, that whole pesky movement - distance thing was a part of the past oh SHIT! Time was clearly back, the language showed it now there was past again and he desperately wanted the experience back.
Time out, chachi.
Yes?
Step out of the prose for a moment.
Ok, what's up?
Well, you've gone seriously south here. And before you start, I'm your creator so I can talk about time and space if I want.
Fine.
So what's with wanting an experience? That's separation AND desire which is more separation and on top of that you are wanting to 'get' a state but you know - or at least you KNEW just a few minutes ago (when there wasn't time) that all of that dissolved in awareness, you simply were, there was nothing to get.
Right, and I get that.
Intellectually, right?
Right.
Almost more than intellectually, I can remember what it felt like, I just don't get why it disappeared when I got back in the car.
I can help with that.
And help I did, easy enough at this layer, simply reach into the monitor, pull the protagonist out via the scruff of his neck ala kitty momma and BANG he's outside the car and back into the backless.
How's it feel?
A kaleidoscope. No need to want wildness or drugs or booze or experience or feeling better or worse or anything. Everything wrapped in time and separation has fused, zipped, and twinkled out. It's all good. How else could it be?
Nice to see you back, but here's the thing - how do you handle getting back on the bus. Or in your case, back in the car?
Well, to start with, in and out are...
Don't worry about Lucknow disease, I'm god here, I get it.
Cool (smile). There's nothing to do when I'm back IN the car. I see how I was contracted, but that's gone, dissolved, i AM what watches that whole game now.
Cool (pluck, into car)
And the whole thing starts over again. A little attenuated this time, but the same presenting symptoms.
(Pluck out of car)
(Pluck into car)
You know, I think that this is basically making him carsick (literally) but it's sure given me a picture of very, very personal Samsara.
You mean the wheel that I need to hop off on?
Why yes, little protagonist, that.
You mean this one? (Pan up, notice many spired wheel over protagonists head, with whole galaxies and ghosts realms and heavens and hells all storming in a funnel cloud over his head and...
now this is strange.
Is it?
I've reached in before, but never had anything come back out of the monitor before
Any last words?
And with that, I see with Meister's eye that is god's eye looking back at me
Protagonist and I touch hands on either side of the monitor and there is silence as we both merge back into that which was there all along.
You mind if I wrap up now?
Don't mind if you / I do.
namaste.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Monday, March 2, 2009
The Want's Needs
Different, this time.
I had grown to the size of the mountains, crouched down with river systems tickling the bottom of my feet and was generally in a pretty good mood, apart from the yearning.
Yearning is distance - from this to that. Distance implies difference - between this and that. Distance and difference can both be reduced into a a-spiritual roux, that when ingested and eliminated can focus on what IS. And on some level of course, this was the root of roots.
On another level, I just wanted to get high. Really high.
Flipped the switch from rational to the space between not-rational and rational, a desert zone whose bereftness was perfectly suited to these times; when the animal yearning howled like a wolf, piercing the ear drums and bringing a razor sharp focus to the Want.
Knees poppped as I pressed myself up to standing and breathed deep.
Doh! It was in my best interest to remain somewhat aware of my surroundings - which could still be done in the desert zone. As long as it didn't get too personal or introspective. Case in point...I spit out what I thought were a couple of mite-sized no-seems or the like, and watched as their grey and white carcasses spun down through the sun into the woods and water below. Not big on taking life where I could avoid it (and given my size, there was clearly a lot that was NOT avoidable), clearly I had failed the grade here. One of the gnats piqued my attention just before it went down my village sized gullet - a distinct salty flavour. THIS made me look at another one which I had smacked on my forehead, and ... well long story short, seagulls were the mites paying the ultimate price for my absentmindedness.
Swore to myself I would be more careful for the rest of the morning, but that was before I saw the inlet.
My vision was a sharp as my size was enlogated, and as I took two thunderous steps (which skewed geological data right down into Washington state where several plateless tremors were registered and puzzled over), I was hooked.
The want was there before me in sharded beauty. Sun had bested the clouds and was illuminating the water east to west, and the carpetted universe of life running through it took my breath away. The bigger creatures - only a couple here this morning - killer whales out for a foray - stood out, but the rest just formed a massive, seething underwater community - a net of life that could never be captured, or even cognized, but could be recognized and breathed and, well, I thought, smoked.
Four steps down to where the inlet narrowed, and I was ready to begin on the Want's needs. Clouds had come over the sun a bit, and I lost a bit of depth perspective (literally). Easily rectified - I reached up and plucked the sun between my first finger and thumb and brought it close to the surface of the water which allowed me to see EVERYTHING. The closest I can come to describing it would be a massive kelp farm, which, as one got closer, decomposed into things that just made up the green pattern, which, as one got closer, turned out not to be as much green as things that made up the things which made up the pattern which was interpreted as green.
I flicked the sun into a long arc back up onto it's perch, cracked my knuckles, and started to roll the inlet up into the largest fatty unimaginable. Brought it to my lips and inhaled and then
The desert flooded, the Want was sated, but the Want and the desert and all the gaps between this and that were flooded with life, but beyond life,
Everything, was flooded by
Everything
And I looked down and saw myself become a reverse tsumani, body becoming self becoming water; me becoming everything flooding everything, into and of the wild as
swoosh
one.
I had grown to the size of the mountains, crouched down with river systems tickling the bottom of my feet and was generally in a pretty good mood, apart from the yearning.
Yearning is distance - from this to that. Distance implies difference - between this and that. Distance and difference can both be reduced into a a-spiritual roux, that when ingested and eliminated can focus on what IS. And on some level of course, this was the root of roots.
On another level, I just wanted to get high. Really high.
Flipped the switch from rational to the space between not-rational and rational, a desert zone whose bereftness was perfectly suited to these times; when the animal yearning howled like a wolf, piercing the ear drums and bringing a razor sharp focus to the Want.
Knees poppped as I pressed myself up to standing and breathed deep.
Doh! It was in my best interest to remain somewhat aware of my surroundings - which could still be done in the desert zone. As long as it didn't get too personal or introspective. Case in point...I spit out what I thought were a couple of mite-sized no-seems or the like, and watched as their grey and white carcasses spun down through the sun into the woods and water below. Not big on taking life where I could avoid it (and given my size, there was clearly a lot that was NOT avoidable), clearly I had failed the grade here. One of the gnats piqued my attention just before it went down my village sized gullet - a distinct salty flavour. THIS made me look at another one which I had smacked on my forehead, and ... well long story short, seagulls were the mites paying the ultimate price for my absentmindedness.
Swore to myself I would be more careful for the rest of the morning, but that was before I saw the inlet.
My vision was a sharp as my size was enlogated, and as I took two thunderous steps (which skewed geological data right down into Washington state where several plateless tremors were registered and puzzled over), I was hooked.
The want was there before me in sharded beauty. Sun had bested the clouds and was illuminating the water east to west, and the carpetted universe of life running through it took my breath away. The bigger creatures - only a couple here this morning - killer whales out for a foray - stood out, but the rest just formed a massive, seething underwater community - a net of life that could never be captured, or even cognized, but could be recognized and breathed and, well, I thought, smoked.
Four steps down to where the inlet narrowed, and I was ready to begin on the Want's needs. Clouds had come over the sun a bit, and I lost a bit of depth perspective (literally). Easily rectified - I reached up and plucked the sun between my first finger and thumb and brought it close to the surface of the water which allowed me to see EVERYTHING. The closest I can come to describing it would be a massive kelp farm, which, as one got closer, decomposed into things that just made up the green pattern, which, as one got closer, turned out not to be as much green as things that made up the things which made up the pattern which was interpreted as green.
I flicked the sun into a long arc back up onto it's perch, cracked my knuckles, and started to roll the inlet up into the largest fatty unimaginable. Brought it to my lips and inhaled and then
The desert flooded, the Want was sated, but the Want and the desert and all the gaps between this and that were flooded with life, but beyond life,
Everything, was flooded by
Everything
And I looked down and saw myself become a reverse tsumani, body becoming self becoming water; me becoming everything flooding everything, into and of the wild as
swoosh
one.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Deux ex Machina
The number was 17, the view unmistakeably graphic.
Wind rippled the the waist high grass, producing a sheen of light that flowed south to north like an ocean wave.
I stood on my pedestal, dressed impeccably for the occasion. Cufflinks new and polished caught and released the sun in honed brilliance; starched collar and precisely knotted bow tie at the ready for the performance. And dear god, what a performance.
I raised the baton to eye level and gestured just so - and all motion stopped. Clouds up above paused; birds hung in mid flight, at ground level rodents, ground worms, insects and microscopic dust mottles simply waited.
I tested
A quarter circle clockwise, lower left to upper right, and a watchful 180 degree eye as the audience - creation - moved again, then
Pause (at the top)
And they stopped again.
All good, it was set and settled, procurement had, for once, given me everything on the waybill, and I smiled in satisfaction. So many disappointments lined the cobble stone path from past to present, from desire to fufillment. To be clear, fufillment had not manifested yet, but this was the penultimate of aggregate penultimate moments. The tension between planning and production, want and manifestation, everything had led here.
Then why did it feel ... incomplete?
At the most obvious, it was because it wasn't complete. But that wasn't it, not entirely. It was just a feeling that something had not yet been drawn for this final scene. Or maybe it had been drawn, but it was not what was expected.
Tension within the tension.
Hoosah!
Sudden revelation that the release was not in creation, but that from which creation came from and dissolved into. And that the way there was not for the feinged-of heart.
I brought both hands down, commanding the grass to fall.
First surprise: It didn't so much fall as recede vertically into the ground, like it was being pulled from beneath by a million hands. And this was not so far from the truth.
Second surprise - what was revealed. 6 Billion heads, just the top of them at first, a sheet into the horizon of humanity. Or part of humanity. They were detached but not separated from their bodies, supported I supposed by the torsos that connected to the hands that pulled the grass down on my command.
Time was quickening now; the sun sped across the sky, pulling a circular quilt of stars and moon and itself in a dizzying cycle of mouth eats tail. The heads turned as one to look up at the display, awestruck as I was and then
The scene stopped again, moon, quilting spilling silver milk over the heads; mouths agape at the beauty, eyes as doubled pearls lit from without and within, light joining light, and then the awful groan of despair as the light faded and the heads forgot themselves
Need
6 billion heads needing succling, but not for nutrition or power, just hungry ghosts wanting more of the milk they didn't realize came from within in the first place and then
Hoosah!
grass up
insects - queue!
Bright sky, deux ex machina powered off
pen down ,
writer back,
forgetfullness forgotten
alone, in the net of pearls.
Wind rippled the the waist high grass, producing a sheen of light that flowed south to north like an ocean wave.
I stood on my pedestal, dressed impeccably for the occasion. Cufflinks new and polished caught and released the sun in honed brilliance; starched collar and precisely knotted bow tie at the ready for the performance. And dear god, what a performance.
I raised the baton to eye level and gestured just so - and all motion stopped. Clouds up above paused; birds hung in mid flight, at ground level rodents, ground worms, insects and microscopic dust mottles simply waited.
I tested
A quarter circle clockwise, lower left to upper right, and a watchful 180 degree eye as the audience - creation - moved again, then
Pause (at the top)
And they stopped again.
All good, it was set and settled, procurement had, for once, given me everything on the waybill, and I smiled in satisfaction. So many disappointments lined the cobble stone path from past to present, from desire to fufillment. To be clear, fufillment had not manifested yet, but this was the penultimate of aggregate penultimate moments. The tension between planning and production, want and manifestation, everything had led here.
Then why did it feel ... incomplete?
At the most obvious, it was because it wasn't complete. But that wasn't it, not entirely. It was just a feeling that something had not yet been drawn for this final scene. Or maybe it had been drawn, but it was not what was expected.
Tension within the tension.
Hoosah!
Sudden revelation that the release was not in creation, but that from which creation came from and dissolved into. And that the way there was not for the feinged-of heart.
I brought both hands down, commanding the grass to fall.
First surprise: It didn't so much fall as recede vertically into the ground, like it was being pulled from beneath by a million hands. And this was not so far from the truth.
Second surprise - what was revealed. 6 Billion heads, just the top of them at first, a sheet into the horizon of humanity. Or part of humanity. They were detached but not separated from their bodies, supported I supposed by the torsos that connected to the hands that pulled the grass down on my command.
Time was quickening now; the sun sped across the sky, pulling a circular quilt of stars and moon and itself in a dizzying cycle of mouth eats tail. The heads turned as one to look up at the display, awestruck as I was and then
The scene stopped again, moon, quilting spilling silver milk over the heads; mouths agape at the beauty, eyes as doubled pearls lit from without and within, light joining light, and then the awful groan of despair as the light faded and the heads forgot themselves
Need
6 billion heads needing succling, but not for nutrition or power, just hungry ghosts wanting more of the milk they didn't realize came from within in the first place and then
Hoosah!
grass up
insects - queue!
Bright sky, deux ex machina powered off
pen down ,
writer back,
forgetfullness forgotten
alone, in the net of pearls.
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