I come to this moment, dressed with immediacies as my impressive attire. I come to this moment with inappropriate backstories, rumored and surrounding. I come to this moment, feeling like roadside litter, dated and abandoned of meaning. I come to this moment, feigning familiarity yet presented with the actuality of this as the foreground existence of a foreign land. I come to this moment, deeply buried behind the pride of my blundering rituals on display, knighting everything that I need as if I was my majesty, as if lights go on and I am immediately at center stage, with an indifferent reverence for what is around me to behold, bathed in impartiality for how all things work for my benefit. I come to this moment as inept and unkempt, possibly as a first time tourist to the subtlest states of presence that I am aware of, as a child of my untruths, as these revelations both hound and haunt me. I am all alone in this moment to moment as only my wardrobe of consciousness knows. Each moment opening, there upon, and then closed. I am this carriage as presence for the show. Yet, I’m in the dark of my own light to tell you. I sleepwalk these dreams that make me real. I have fainted into momentary awakenness often, only to fall back into this monumental monotony that paces me onward. I am given to appearances that besiege me. I am provoked into encores from recognition, to stare at repetition’s repugnancy facing me. Some people would have this as their drunk face in a gutter, upon awakening or a cumbersome swallow, in a I-hate-myself moment or a havoc of tears with no physical outlet of reprieve, but no, I have it as my mind’s eye view with power point, talking back to me. So, I come to this moment, shockingly, without frame. I have been my own embers, making it momentous. Of itself, this moment is a palate of silent serenities in flow. This moment, disrobed of time, shimmering beyond what mass can contain or represent. Myself, disrobed of time, is much the same, as if a mind can grasp beyond itself, and be freed of recount or memory. This moment, an aperture, evaporative of itself as frame. This moment, the last thing now known to me, to not be of the eternal embrace. Honestly, I have no parts, no me, no doing of a me. No moment comes that is not already here and I am not any more of this coming . . .
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
Monday, April 28, 2014
Understanding, as an ongoing process, beyond the cognitive grasp and the mental retention, needs these elements in this sense of order: orientation, engagement, actualization, and immersion. Said in a slightly different way, working knowledge, as an ongoing process needs these elements in this sense of order: contextualization, familiarization, participation, and passion. Said in another slightly different way, doing, as an ongoing process, needs these elements in this sense of order: mental involvement, functional integration, self-action, and presence with cause. Thus the wisdom of understanding is conscious being, being conscious . . .
Sunday, April 27, 2014
Saturday, April 26, 2014
See if you can go beyond the experience of high. Be in the first person of high before the experience of high. Can you source yourself in the highless high? The high that has no arrival or departure. The high that permeates unto itself high. The high that is an endless wave of flat ocean high. The high that is all of ocean joyously embracing earth high. The high of the palate of oneness high. Be of the outpouring of high as the sacred intimacy of your being. Be of the nameless high where experience is only heresay. High like this has no space consideration. High as this, has only one identity, and it is coming through you, on high. . .