Tag Archives: beingness

So…

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beyond comprehension

This radical

life

is so

simple that

it’s beyond a

comprehension

anchored in work-a-day

To be jobless is radical beyond

comprehension. We say in Perma-

culture that everything farms or works

And isn’t that precisely so such that how

can we use ‘work’ and ‘job’ synonymously

We are blind within What Is by filters of

our own making –own our making

our own making

How many

layers

deep?

What kind

of forest floor

is under your feet?

Will you lay yourself down

On that floor as a radical act

Of awakening to What Is

However prickly of a

bed that is seem-

ingly bereft of

the very

nutrients

(we are that)

that each of us

so thrive on: space

grace listening subtleties

Of being  Being of What Is

Did you ever notice that things

simply grow on their own and thrive?

So what’s this business we conjure up

each and every other moment of

the day today that is simply

the magnificence of life

unfolding as we are?

Comprehend.

You dig?

Let it

Be

Life

Itself

Beyond.

 

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Thank you Shareable. This poem is partly inspired by this interview on jobless living:
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[This poem is #2 in a series dedicated to revisiting poems that were written by me as part of my participation in a collaborative and experimental poetry blog: IMUNURI.blogspot.com. So… was written and first published 3 July 2013.]

oscillation of sight

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this is what I ponder

considering what it is

what I co-author*

sometimes without even

realizing the very footing

I take as my own

 
image

I look and I look out

looking out, might I

bar that very pristine

ground of being,

which I emanate as,

simply unknowingly?

 
image

when I look

and in the looking

I dissolves

that I mistaken

once as anything

other than pristine

 
image

and existence reveals

itself again and again

oscillating almost

imperceptibly between

and in that between

there I am

 

not necessary to

catch it (!) no

as it is casually &

(seemingly) furtively

carrying on carrying on carrying on

birthing / rebirthing

 

gently, as if

I am gazing

upon a newborn fawn

breathing in the delicacy

and knowing it

as myself

 

the pristine I am

the pristine we are

emerges as visible

spectrum out of

hum and spin

oscillation of sight

 

 

* to choose either the co-authoring of misery & unworthiness or co-authoring of joy and worthiness ~ I have Mario Martinez and his seminal book, The MINDBODY Code (Sounds True, 2014) to thank for these profound insights and deep experiential touching into this “healing field”

 

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.

So Many Reflections Through This Form

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First, it’s the music ~ music is one of the deepest reflections there is for me. A reflection in the most visceral sense where within me a recognition is stirred of the primordial nature of what I feel to be my very core self or essence. When I experience this kind of reflection, it’s as if I have access to the formless nature of being through the form of my physical self, the simple within the complex, and the vastness of the timeless within the present moment. It’s not as if I’m listening to music, but I am the music, the awareness, consciousness, and the embodiment of the music. ~ 10.7.11

Another is simply being one with nature ~ interesting, this one. Of course, I am one with nature, as there is no separating that very core aspect of this form existing in nature, as nature, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to perceive myself as ‘being one with nature.’ What occurs more than not, however, is that I am in some organized structure, a house, a car, something constructed out of nature, but one that creates more of a separation from nature than not. These structures and dwelling in them seems to me to be similar to the mind dwelling in a concept ~ there is some ‘safety’ or ‘protection’ there in the concept, but ultimately an artificial boundary.

Stepping outside of these structures, I find I meld with or join my timeless and natural state of being when just surrendering the form into natural landscape. I walk and walk up into the hills only to immerse my nature in the nature of these surrounding hills and forests, laying supine on a grassy slope facing the western sinking sun. I experience the closest thing to this ‘pre-mind’ nature in my ‘post-mind’ consciousness.

Eckhart Tolle describes nature and animals as being ‘pre-mind’ and humans as ‘post-mind.’ (In his CD collection called the art of PRESENCE.) What I take from this is that even though we, as humans, have been front and center so overly involved on an evolutionary level with the development of the mind and thus the preoccupations of the mind, we are actually at a time when we have the opportunity to step into a new ‘post-mind’ relationship with being that has an interesting relationship with the ‘pre-mind’ state of being we can witness in animals and nature. “Connecting with being,” he calls it “connecting with your body, it’s more than body, the invisible life that animates the body, the intelligence field.”

‘On the Shore’

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~ fifteen minute timed writing with a found starting phrase during a writing jam hosted by Daniel Ari, Richmond CA ~ October 23rd, 2011

On the shore, lapping up, the waters, amongst the grit of the sand and other things that are under foot. The grit under foot ~ stay there. It’s a visceral experience of staying with right now that feeds me, that calls me, beckons me to not divert the energy through thought, but to stay with experience, the connection with sensate beingness that is ground, ever present like the heat in my face now. A kind of flush that rises up as I sit with my own tendency to shift all too easily and quickly with what is, to what could be and now I recognize how dissatisfying that really is.

The questions are right there waiting, waiting to pop through, bleed through, but this time I’m experimenting with not giving them energy and instead going back to the shore of what I’m sitting with right now, the grit, wet and cool and coarse, under my feet ~ now anticipating the bell [the end of the writing period] and remembering we have more time in this round. Ah, I’d already gone into just a hint of measuring myself ~ good to see that it arises in me, too, not just others putting the measure out, putting the measure on me.

These grains of sand on the shore are right here under foot. Sand crystal touching cells of my skin communicating with no meaning needed to be conveyed, just being there. I stand and my legs meet my body, torso, heart, and the cosmos simultaneously. The peace of just being with, this feed me so deeply. Little else seems to feed me in this same way.

I am released in this release of being anywhere else than where I am right now ~ the belly both alive and on fire with itself, with the emotions there waiting to be digested, felt, and what else? I cant thing of how to say or write it, but I keep writing just as I stay right with what is calling me to be present here on the shores of feeling. And the questions lap up again and again, but they are gentle waves, not overwhelming. I can hear.

Vunerability Within

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29 September ~

My writing calls me, calls me here to place words outwardly that otherwise are fluid within. Vulnerabilities within anchor me, without hand holds, to the vastness of space within my heart and beingness. Sometimes this spaciousness is so vast, I can feel lost even when there is no where to go.

My contemplative fire within burns as an ember, low, gently warm, waiting to be rekindled in this autumn moon. It feels both awkward and tender, to write now. Coaxing something of that which is waiting to revive. I read the words of others, tenderness arising as the recognition of spirit in the life lived.

30 September ~ the following morning ~ The sun is softened, softened by somewhat heavy skies. The morning has a timeless quality, still under covers. I wake later than usual and my body/mind has a harder time sleeping late. It’s as if there is some deep confusion between waking and sleeping. The body aches, which gives a feeling to stay in bed. Staying in bed brings a different kind of weight, which impacts the whole. The house is quiet. I’m not the only one sleeping later today.

I long to write about the simple, everyday things on the material plane. I often write from the more subtle regions of the consciousness, the awareness of all that is. Then the object of awareness becomes the expression and the way of expression through language. This object is not so satisfying to the actual, physical life, the beingness in the body and of the body. And yet, these two are inextricably joined.

Instead, I take up a book with words written in the way that soothes and nourishes my soul and being. I can enjoy these writings. Maybe I don’t have to be the one who writes in that way. I live that way, so it’s there; that day to day touching in, with tenderness, to the material plane. I feel the elementals there with me. I love to acknowledge that connection. I don’t always acknowledge them, but when I do, I really love it and there is communion instantly!

[The song In Everything (Momosona) by Chris Rosser comes up on Pandora: https://www.pandora.com/#!/music/song/chris+rosser/in+everything+momosona ~ check it out, if you like.]

engaged in this

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what comes   is what brings itself to   this

what rests there and what moves on

these are  both  a part of the same stuff

the stuff of emergingrecedingpausing

bring your feeling sense to what I am

pointing to if you will, if you feel to

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there is an ’empty’ state or open, spacious,

receiving, nothing being grasped for or at

that pervades the formerly preoccupied

ground such that ground becomes being

being breathes just as awareness is quietly

cascadingshoweringbathing itself ever anew

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things get done yet no doing ~ on and on

spontaneously refreshing, involuntarily,

with and without innocence both

nothing you can or need to do about it

but be in and as the receiving,

the flowering of this, engaged in this

 

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this window, this ground, this being

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• • • • • • • • • • • • •
the window that lives
in the flesh and
pulse of my
energy
is a
torus
of energy
that opens out
only after condensing
and tightening around the
pure narrow stream of expansive
isness carrying the touch that is awake
to itself beyond any frequency of identity
that can change or contort the very aliveness

that is that simply is that is that is that simply is

so tight that only that which is empty full empty
moves through a kind of feed zone where the
cognitive semblance of what is perceived
has only the breath of the breath as a
ride to its own ecstatic turning in
to itself and back again all in
the very same moment
as the torus itself,
the inner and
outer curve
of space
being
space
being
opening
and closing
outward inward
spreading narrowing
arching out concaving in
the delight of movement as itself
no other not needing any identity but
this augmentation of harmonic dissonance
freedom pure freedom clear of intention clear
choiceless such as beauty itself rises from and cries

this one this all open out condense in penetrate emerge

such that blooming dying birthing arriving surrenders
and tempers the form through this window into itself
sourcing itself feeding itself through and through
as through and through attenuating its very
nature back into itself as the essence
that it will once again arise from
returning to itself returning
as both the rising and
the falling tastes
the measure of
the other
as the
other
falls
against
the rise and
rises against the
fall of spread open
wings, wings which taper
as they lift touching air to space
space to air to alight only to fall again
to the ground of beingness, this ground here
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©janice sandeen 10•11•2010