Sunday, July 31, 2011
Incomprehensible and beautiful: forgiveness.
http://ping.fm/hekx9
/07/31/iran.acid.pardon/index.html?hpt=hp_t2
http://ping.fm/hekx9
/07/31/iran.acid.pardon/index.html?hpt=hp_t2
Monday, July 25, 2011
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Friday, July 22, 2011
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Trinity Sky Minute
The music drifted through Soporfico's layer with a gentle - but certainly not obvious - telos.
I had boarded a real train at a real station in real time 5 to 10 minutes ago; plugged into media almost but not quite above my head 7 minutes ago; and drifted into the dragon's layer about 2 minutes ago.
Skin temperature had dropped, blood brought to the internal organs as I relaxed into an unknown wavelength somewhere between drowsing and dreaming and there
there the music came in; through a little crack in the gray borderland between here and here. And with the music, the changes.
My fingers impossibly stretched from the last car to the first car of the Express, and I Iphone pinched the whole beast into a toy version of itself. I witnessed and descended simultaneously, looking at the giant toy train before me; climbed the ladder and said hello to the conductor; did all the things I could not do in the non-dreaming state, finally laying down and looking at the clouded sky above me.
And that sky was the boundary from here to here. Just on the other side was the 'real' train, where I sat quietly drowsing and I could feel the rubber band, the psychic umbilical chord pulling me from the toy train
to the 'real train'
to the room at 214 where I put the feet up to nap when Soporifico is too strong for me to properly do battle with.
Three layers deep, this, like Inception, or the Perennial philosophy, or the gross subtle causal, or the Trinity
And with that, looking at the clouds, and thinking Trinity
A vision of a stool, with three legs supporting the supportable
Which stretched out and inverted itself and scooped me up, train, soporifico and all, and pulled us all back on the rubber band track to 214
So strong that it broke the glass and sent me 24 floors down towards the cement where finally
I was caught by the Iphone, captured, QR'd, and posted as a story for ghosts to read in the coming days.
Just saying.
I had boarded a real train at a real station in real time 5 to 10 minutes ago; plugged into media almost but not quite above my head 7 minutes ago; and drifted into the dragon's layer about 2 minutes ago.
Skin temperature had dropped, blood brought to the internal organs as I relaxed into an unknown wavelength somewhere between drowsing and dreaming and there
there the music came in; through a little crack in the gray borderland between here and here. And with the music, the changes.
My fingers impossibly stretched from the last car to the first car of the Express, and I Iphone pinched the whole beast into a toy version of itself. I witnessed and descended simultaneously, looking at the giant toy train before me; climbed the ladder and said hello to the conductor; did all the things I could not do in the non-dreaming state, finally laying down and looking at the clouded sky above me.
And that sky was the boundary from here to here. Just on the other side was the 'real' train, where I sat quietly drowsing and I could feel the rubber band, the psychic umbilical chord pulling me from the toy train
to the 'real train'
to the room at 214 where I put the feet up to nap when Soporifico is too strong for me to properly do battle with.
Three layers deep, this, like Inception, or the Perennial philosophy, or the gross subtle causal, or the Trinity
And with that, looking at the clouds, and thinking Trinity
A vision of a stool, with three legs supporting the supportable
Which stretched out and inverted itself and scooped me up, train, soporifico and all, and pulled us all back on the rubber band track to 214
So strong that it broke the glass and sent me 24 floors down towards the cement where finally
I was caught by the Iphone, captured, QR'd, and posted as a story for ghosts to read in the coming days.
Just saying.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Monday, July 18, 2011
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Not Fully Responsible (Sleepy Samskaras Run Deep)
Not fully responsible, or NFR.
Close to NFG, but that would be by those quite blind-stricken by the true events of the evening; those with a short memory or rather a lack of depth in things of the heart and spirit.
Some, but not all of those, would also be the first in line to call me a rambler; long with the pen and short with the facts. And in response to those, sigh; I can only give the facts; and those through the personality I am cloaked with.
Yes, it was my decision to run the mountain trail, with its quail and rivulets and Blair Witch sensibilities. Running from the open woods to the wet shrouded blanket of quiet life under the canopy, to the radio tower with its oblique warnings and buzzing hydro wires running east and west down the mountain.
Yes, it was my decision to eat at double speed o'er the years; well resourced in what a healthy adult should eat all that time - still, I chose the dollops of butter and mayo and fatty bits from the steak in lieu of greens and crisp apples and sweet rich yams, full of the stuff my body needs.
Why then NFR? Because sleepy samskaras run deep. No matter the progress, all I have to do is sit in a business meeting or a concert and let the lids fall to half mast. The mind follows suit, and the ghosts drop their gauzed, gilded blankets around my shoulder, sit down with popcorn and watch their show.
In those situations it is usually desire for unity with a loved one, so strong my body literally contracts in its presence, only able to emit a kind of wail through the heart.
Today, it's not a mental but a physical tiredness that has set in; that's come up from the rich wet ground, impaled itself via the roots and rocks that gave a little pain as a hint; splashed up from the brown cloudy puddles; washed away by the rivulets both heard and felt, only to return on the next technical climb, jump, or pulse-raising move upward.
The pulse has settled now, down from 180 to 130 as, Radio tower behind me, I walk slowly back and forth, hoping the blood-sugar will kick in.
But before it can - or perhaps because it did - i am impaled with light from five points and pulled apart.
It simply Is in the heart. This is not the world of logic, geometry, dimensions and time. There's no starting point or ending point. It is simply there in the heart. Wording it here is like trying to catch your reflection in the wind; nonsensical and impossible. Still, there's some value felt in the heart, and so the description continues:
It explodes through the legs, carrying them deep into the ground where they wrap around roots and rocks and minerals' grace.
It explodes through the arms, winding them around the hydro towers and trees and my fingers are the wet and dripping pine connecting the rivulets up mountain with the scaled bulbous food sources sea-side
It launches my head on a braid of gold through the clouds, through powder and dark blues to the carpet of stars that shower down around the senses like buzzing flowers, rooting themselves in god's bookshelves on their way down to earth. And then like fireworks the senses themselves arc and depart, leaving long trails of light behind them; hearing and heard; seeing and the seen; tasting and the tasted; feeling and the felt; smelling and the smelt
Awareness begets its ten thousand children. Deep in the ground, or dancing with supernovas, or running with river rocks towards a saline economic system. Or walking arm-in arm with the rambler with his too many thoughts and too many words and with *that* recognition his contraction
into to the runner heading back into the woods, and the rivulets and mud and puddles and strange echoes; realizing how Not Fully Responsible is just a pointer, a taste to the One-ness. How can there be volition or responsibility where there is no 'I'?
Maybe it's just too many words rambled out, which are in fact the perfect amount of words, when their source is recognized
as no-thing.
Namaste.
Close to NFG, but that would be by those quite blind-stricken by the true events of the evening; those with a short memory or rather a lack of depth in things of the heart and spirit.
Some, but not all of those, would also be the first in line to call me a rambler; long with the pen and short with the facts. And in response to those, sigh; I can only give the facts; and those through the personality I am cloaked with.
Yes, it was my decision to run the mountain trail, with its quail and rivulets and Blair Witch sensibilities. Running from the open woods to the wet shrouded blanket of quiet life under the canopy, to the radio tower with its oblique warnings and buzzing hydro wires running east and west down the mountain.
Yes, it was my decision to eat at double speed o'er the years; well resourced in what a healthy adult should eat all that time - still, I chose the dollops of butter and mayo and fatty bits from the steak in lieu of greens and crisp apples and sweet rich yams, full of the stuff my body needs.
Why then NFR? Because sleepy samskaras run deep. No matter the progress, all I have to do is sit in a business meeting or a concert and let the lids fall to half mast. The mind follows suit, and the ghosts drop their gauzed, gilded blankets around my shoulder, sit down with popcorn and watch their show.
In those situations it is usually desire for unity with a loved one, so strong my body literally contracts in its presence, only able to emit a kind of wail through the heart.
Today, it's not a mental but a physical tiredness that has set in; that's come up from the rich wet ground, impaled itself via the roots and rocks that gave a little pain as a hint; splashed up from the brown cloudy puddles; washed away by the rivulets both heard and felt, only to return on the next technical climb, jump, or pulse-raising move upward.
The pulse has settled now, down from 180 to 130 as, Radio tower behind me, I walk slowly back and forth, hoping the blood-sugar will kick in.
But before it can - or perhaps because it did - i am impaled with light from five points and pulled apart.
It simply Is in the heart. This is not the world of logic, geometry, dimensions and time. There's no starting point or ending point. It is simply there in the heart. Wording it here is like trying to catch your reflection in the wind; nonsensical and impossible. Still, there's some value felt in the heart, and so the description continues:
It explodes through the legs, carrying them deep into the ground where they wrap around roots and rocks and minerals' grace.
It explodes through the arms, winding them around the hydro towers and trees and my fingers are the wet and dripping pine connecting the rivulets up mountain with the scaled bulbous food sources sea-side
It launches my head on a braid of gold through the clouds, through powder and dark blues to the carpet of stars that shower down around the senses like buzzing flowers, rooting themselves in god's bookshelves on their way down to earth. And then like fireworks the senses themselves arc and depart, leaving long trails of light behind them; hearing and heard; seeing and the seen; tasting and the tasted; feeling and the felt; smelling and the smelt
Awareness begets its ten thousand children. Deep in the ground, or dancing with supernovas, or running with river rocks towards a saline economic system. Or walking arm-in arm with the rambler with his too many thoughts and too many words and with *that* recognition his contraction
into to the runner heading back into the woods, and the rivulets and mud and puddles and strange echoes; realizing how Not Fully Responsible is just a pointer, a taste to the One-ness. How can there be volition or responsibility where there is no 'I'?
Maybe it's just too many words rambled out, which are in fact the perfect amount of words, when their source is recognized
as no-thing.
Namaste.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Friday, July 15, 2011
Thursday, July 14, 2011
California governor signs bill requiring schools to teach gay history - CNN.com http://ping.fm/Wpty3
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Getting ready for a 15 km trail run with Marci #vff
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