Category Archives: open

works that are either open in structure, theme, or content

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Fr ee Move ment

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Bound less out side of time

Yes exist ence so clear ly bleeds

through all truth s

sim ultaneously if only

watching hap pens

happen stance ly marking s

open out the con straints

Gen uis in spirit

nev er separate d

not ever

fractal  f r a c t a l   f  r  a  c  t  a  l

what Brings it to get her

takes it a part

kin esthetics

This being Human

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This being human   is rather strange

in the pause   the gap   where this thing

we call time

turns upside down inside out

into itself upon itself

and dissolves

 

When time is out of the picture

what remains   what remains

timelessness not as concept

not as something

to achieve

or arrive at

or even as replacement

 

What of the ways you track

yourself   what

do you measure according

to marks and hours and days

time and money interwoven

under   over

what carries what

 

How can you meet yourself

outside of time   what other

references no longer hold

when toys are left to rest

in the toy box

as the heart calls you full to

find your flowering   being   flowering

 

 

 

Emptying out, emptying in

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Turning inside out inside out

like the cycle of clothes around

the column of the wash tub

like water cascading, interfolding

into a deep crevice of a stream bed

my cells, my being, my heart

circulate, become renewed, nourished

celebrating

holding nothing

needing nothing with everything

that is

as it is all that is

 

It is naked to not have anything that needs

building, reinforcing, protecting, controlling

 

Temporary disorientation

more abiding elation

returning to what is

what is     is what is

 

A new

anew

At the Portal

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Best description I have here is that I’m at or aware of some kind of portal. I drew this portal today, which is what tells me it has some presence, some existence somewhere in my being, in the psyche that I resonate with energetically, something of that order.

At this opening, sometimes there is a force pulling me in, sometimes it is something pressing out or visceral pressure as if pushing against. It can change in a millisecond and that’s when it’s most felt, in that fluctuation. A whole other array of energies come into play in that second, as if there is an acute sensate awareness of what is both above and below simultaneously.

Yes, it’s as if the two distinct realities have gotten mixed and some alchemical reaction occurs in that instant. So much information floods through somatically. My brain triggers chemicals left and right, consciousness is in its feasting season, the Beloved has appeared and disappeared both, leaving a wave of breathlessness, insight, exhaustion, and longing all rolled into one.

What feels so appropriate in this drawing is that what is pointed to is the portal, not that which exists or is sensed or felt on either side of it, above or below or even through. It comes to me why some religions have approached the subject of depicting the image of the Beloved, of God and been unable to come up with anything but outright forbidding of such a practice. That which is felt here certainly feels sacred, pure beingness, that which remains unnamed.

And yet, the draw is so very real, the draw to see, to know, to behold, to understand, and to reemerge. For me, these actions are beautifully interwoven, such that one without the rest is essentially partial, not complete. The work of this place is work without working for or towards something. Things happen, but nothing can be done. Things come, the work is resting in What Is.

I had a dream on the evening of March 31st that throngs of people were moving toward me through a narrow passage and I was making my way in the opposite direction. If I were to continue on my way, I was literally having to walk on, climb over others or over their legs and shoulders, squeezing through with some kind of drive that seemed pure spirit. The intensity of this convergence has marked me in some way.

Where is the surrender? Surrender to the drive of spirit, to the nearly inhuman urge forward, to something that seems so single minded or certain that it can withstand such force? And may it be possible as I become one with it all, each element in its place is an aspect of this extraordinary confluence of energies as perceived by this consciousness.

aBOUT wRITING

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This thing, writing, how is it really any different than thinking, turning introspectively inward, or even self inquiry? What is this stuff of light, frequency, felt sense, understanding ~ the body such an exquisite vehicle for collecting and concentrating all this phenomena ~ changing or not, differentiating or not, being discerned or not? The stuff of consciousness, Already Fulfilled and Not Yet Fulfilled, hexagrams 63 and 64 respectively, are like polar opposite contacts in an electrical circuit: the energy or consciousness stream depends on contact with both points, nodes, or touchstones.

Writing is the stuff of making manifest and fixing something that otherwise exists on its own in a subtle and mutable form, giving the impression that once fixed in writing, there is something real to be grasped. Thus the risk inherent in writing that makes the writing seem more important that what it is a trace of or what it aims to point to. These are marks. That fact can be pointed to easily by simply changing the order of the marks around such that something can still be read, but no sense or meaning can be made of it: t.xyoi liif s;lk  fielkb wor nd sook l llll fhk,k.

So what comes before or during writing? Does anything come after? Can what is being pointed to, actually be touched, felt, understood, perceived or is it merely a potential? And if writing is the making of marks, what then is the organization of those marks and what is the perceiver of that of organization, such that the matching of the order of marks may then open out the possibility for a new seeing or a new understanding of consciousness within itself, of itself?

Self Inquiry

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lo le wandy wandy ~ has na nanda coca do ~ yes na nay nay ~ pos le low

morta toti,  ann de do ~ no why nowhy ~ simply bo show ~ pause le lo

Giving Homage

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Surprised and stunned, almost, I am this morning as I contemplate something ‘that happened’ recently. Funny thing this, as everything is happening now simultaneously, the organization of reality, the way the brain and awareness join together to display this view before and all around me, including within me. And yet there is something I’ve so commonly accepted as real, something called the past and the ordering of the past. I stand in pause here in relationship to the nature of this emerging consciousness.

What is memory but a dancing of consciousness related to and organized in a way that somehow feels familiar in that moment? Can it be said that the past is memory? Can it be said that we can access the past, as if to measure something of the now against it? I found myself stepping into that field and recognized a Ticket Taker there, wanting a fee for passage, an agreement that how I remember something is reliable enough to exchange against, as if it were a store house that had every protection against any of the contents changing, diminishing, or perishing, as all tangible things do.

How often have I left something ‘behind’ me thinking, assuming, believing that it would still be there to lean into another time when I might need it again? Such is the nature of the conditioned mind. And isn’t a wonder that we rely so heavily on something that is completely unreliable?

I find I’m drawn to this image of the Ticket Taker. The word ‘ticket’ had some energy for me and I looked it up to find that it came originally from the word etiquette or ‘a list of ceremonial observances of a court’, such that a ticket is a ‘permit’ issued by some body or a set of measures to uphold. I’m intrigued how readily that this ticket taker archetype resonates with the feel of the conditioned mind. It’s as if there is a doorway into the conditioned mind that I could pay my ceremonial observances to in order to get entry or not. Thanks to the Ticket Taker today, I chose to pause and not to appease the court, this particular court of the recent past, leaving what is and what was to simply commingle in their mutual simultaneity.

On the Journey Between Two

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Relax. Into this. And this. Relax is something that permeates into an aspect of self and being where there is no longer two. Most of my thinking seems directed by a self, a will that the self identifies as its own and yet      … and yet there is another mind or one who experiences thinking within as the very nature of space receives all things. I have been treading this ground of late, this ground of seeing and seeing and feeling into.

This ground seems pocked by hot spots, surges of energy or activity where there seems to be a discourse and nearly a battle. But the battle only appears to be a battle and is actually an incredible dance of forces merging into themselves, realizing and actualizing the potential within the not-two or between that which appears and that which is without appearance.

To have such definition on this road, the road, in actuality, of space, the misconception so easily made is to give precedence to appearances and their seeming positions and volition. This take on what simply is is often a mis-take. What can seem to be one of the self primarily, the aspect of self that is organized around identifying with, may separate out the one from the two. In effect this separating out is saying ‘I direct this and you direct that’ and in that excluding virtually all the richness of what simply is existing or co-existing, using that word to not exclude the mind’s dualistic nature here, in unconditional space.

For the self that I have so often identified with seems to be one that has a capacity to direct, to parse out, to refuse, to orient to or not, to find difference with, and therefore identify with one thing over another. I sit with the energy of this all now, the energy of it as pure space or of it existing in unconditional space/time. Something else occurs there and then (funny references really, the ‘there’ and the ‘then’) for those very references or reference points drop away or no longer serve anything of truth.

The something else is relax. Back to the first utterance, at least of this blog, and pointing to, relax is in a sense no where to go, nothing to define one thing against another. And this relax may be different from within my view or perspective from another person’s individual consciousness. And even that difference is included here. Such a unique liberation for that self that I have been identifying with so strongly. Self continues on its journey even in the relax. Self doesn’t need to identify with, it just is.

Even the way the writing is happening today seems to have relax in it. Arriving without arriving, in a way. Not making or creating a position, just seeing now as seeing is happening and allowing a writ of that. Even the words that come are fascinating as the arising, in their arising. Writ large of the Relax.