The Dark-ish Night

In my boundless ignorance I find myself in the infamous Dark Night of the Soul
Of course there is no me that can be anywhere, but still
It is happening, or so it seems
Of course it is all illusion, part of the play
the dancing What Is, the Queen Everything

The Dark Night is not dark at all, that would be better
Dark, better yet, BLACK is something to deal with
to fight or fall into, an enemy to test your strength
The Dark Night holds the promise of Daylight

What my I experiences is better described as
The Grey-ish Dusk of a tiered Soul
It is not horrible but uncomfortable
It is not hard but effortful
It is not pointless but questionable
It is not cold as death nor hot as hell but tepid

Every apperance of form is partially dissolved by emptieness
Every open space is cluttered by the pieces of broken form
Things are what they used to be, only less present, 
Nothing has not yet been allowed to whipe out
the remains of form, conceptual form
Illusion if you will (watch out for the You and the Will)

All is less present to the remaining Self, even the experience of Self
The thinning of Me, slow illusory death
Nothing to fill the gap
But nothing comes without effort
Doing nothing, emptieness appears
Do something and things appear

All this being a terrified ego’s attempt of looking away
by pretending to understand
Standing knee deep in confusion
it is all perfect nonsense
A brilliant mistake, made by no one

So while the little me is experiencing this grey-ish dusk of
a reality once real
The big me experience nothing
being everything

36 lines, none the wiser

May all be happy

The first of advent
Waiting for the saviour
Celebrating the promise
of life eternal

The endless event
Never saved, never lost
Celebrating the happening
of life and death eternal

May all be happy
Being what they are
No matter what
Tomorrow it is all
yesterdays news

The Beautiful Bird

The mind picks up the image of a bird
First the image, then the picking up
Once in the minds hand, the image can be understood
The image is given a name
Bird
The image is given a value
Beautiful

The mind picks up the sound of a bird
First the sound, then the picking up
Once in the minds hand, the sound can be understood
The sound is given a name
Bird
The sound is given a value
Beautiful

Thus, the mind understands
The Beautiful Bird

Without the picking up
Nothing is understood

Only the image and the sound remains

The Total Consumption of Something

Exhaustion is not a choice
it is a happening at a certain point
A consequence of other happenings

Exhaustion is the end of effort

Possible only after effort is done
Not small effort, not big effort
But just as much as there was energy
to make the effort possible

Trying to achieve is a choice-like happening
Letting go of effort is not a choice

Letting go is just another form of effort
The “trying to achieve nothing”-effort
which easily turns into
The “not trying to achieve nothing”-effort
which easily turns into
The “letting go of not trying to achieve nothing”-effort
which easily turns into
The “letting go of the letting go of not trying to achieve nothing”-effort

That is The Path

The Path is designed to burn up the energy
driving the desire to become:
Wise Egoless Compassionate Knowing Empty-Minded
Atman One With All The Original Self
Free of desire to become

When all out of fuel
The seeker collapse with the seeking itself
When all out of fuel
No effort is possible
No letting go of effort is possible
The hand can not hold onto anything
Nor can it let go of anything

The concept of desire cannot be dealt with
The concept of aversion cannot be dealt with
The concept of illusion cannot be dealt with
The idea of dealing or not-dealing with anything
cannot be dealt with

When out of fuel there is no way in changing anything
Changing is not an option
and finally change is possible

 

　

Cascades

I’m told to keep my door open
To greet every guest with equal curiosity
No one is to be prefered
No one to be judged
as being good or bad

I’m told that the open door and the open mind
will allow the endless stream of visitors
to flow unrestricted

This is all good and well
but I keep asking
– Why this endless stream of visitors?
– Why do they keep coming?

The answer arise
seemingly out of nowhere
They come to my house
asking the one fundamental question:
– Am I desired or unwanted?
– Am I good or bad?

Answering them as they appear is a mistake
Not answering them is even worse
Say No to your guest and he will occupy your space
Say Yes to your guest and he will disappear
But every visitor, thus dissolved by your acceptance,
will soon come back
Unsatisfied with being erased

The proper way to treat your guests
is to accept them as they are
before they enter your house
before they become yours to care for

Do that and they will find no reason
coming to you for allowance
Do that and the walls surrounding your house
will be what dissolves
Without the walls creating the illusion
of host and guest
No one has to be let in by anyone
No one has to be kept out

The river, once running from here to there
cascades in all directions
I am no longer responsible for the
free or restricted flow
I am myself free, just as the river always was,
to cascade in all directions

Now There’s Only Music Left

I used to be a singer
a songwriter and a player
My songs meant a lot to me
and I practiced my playing skills
I was weary about the audience
and their reception
of my efforts
So anxious that I decided
to give it up
just to be free from the
strain and pain
of exposing my self

I cried at the thought
of My music being silenced
by fear and anxiety
My fear, My anxiety
Not good enough

Today I am the guitar
Everything writes the song
Life plays on my strings
The world is my audience
and there is no fear

Now there is only music left
Where everything plays itself
for itself
and I play my part
by just being my self
Finally, I resonate

In The Prison Of Liberation

In the prison of liberation
Your mind did you in
The world is outside
Waiting for you
And relentless effort
is the punishment

Through a veil of
steel bars and barbed wire
You see birds passing
-Ahh, if I could only fly
like them and express
My True Self without being
chained to this monkey mind!

The birds knows nothing
about anything
The birds know everything
there is to know
about everything
Not free, Not bound
Just birds with knowledge

-Ahh!

Let’s Not Talk About This

As long as there is thoughts as words
There is no way out of reality as a concept
As long as there is no thoughts as words
There is only reality

Navigating The Windward Passage

Sometimes you stumble upon your self, expressed by someone else. This song has been around for a while and I’ve listened to it a hundered times. Today I found out what’s so compelling about it. It is pointing to the relief in letting go of the desire to be someone you’re not. It’s the middle finger response to confusion and mistaken identity. It’s the force of “Being As It Is” telling “Pretending To Be” bye bye. It’s the manifestation of unbound, wild energy. Just like everything else. But this particular expression is pointing directly at itself. Dig It. Be It

 

Drinking deathwish
Nights can’t save this.
Glasseyed slackjaws
Scream from safe homes.
I’ve got it wrong.
Time and again,
Song after song.
You’ve got answers:
Killing to please,
Swooning disasters.
So inventory me,
Drop me in your fishbowl.
I’m dying to breathe
Through your tight pigeon hole.

A dead man in dead dreams
When I’m gone you won’t miss me.
You’re dying to fist me

Out of the closet
And into the fire.
Out of these dumb
Little quips that inspire.
Outright outrage
Enrages you now.
You’re lifeless and sticky.
Kicking dead cows.
Fuck you sound.

One shot, all wrong.
One lie, all gone.
So cry for yourselves,
I’ll die with my own help.
These words are mine
And this grave that we share
Time after time
Chokes my life out
While you ask yourselves
What I’m crying about.
Well, these tears that are falling
Are wetting deaf ears.
You cry for your protests
And say I don’t care.
I couldn’t care less
I don’t answer to you.
I couldn’t care less
If you’re repulsed
Through and through.

A dead man in dead dreams
When I’m gone you won’t miss me.
You’re dying to fist me

Out of the closet
And into the fire.
Out of these dumb
Little quips that inspire.
Outright outrage
Enrages you now.
You’re lifeless and sticky.
Kicking dead cows.
Fuck you sound.

When it’s all said and done,
Did you really think
That you were the only one?
You were here before you,
You’ll be here when you’re gone.
Just another lemming
Humming protest songs.

Out of the closet
And into the fire.
Out of these dumb
Little quips that inspire.
Outright outrage
Enrages you now.
You’re lifeless and sticky.
Kicking dead cows.
Fuck you sound.

I Do Not Desire

I do not desire
It is desiring
Desire arise within It

There is no one separate from It
No one able to control It
From the outside

I do not resist desire
It is resisting
Resistance arise within It

I do not act on desire
It is acting
Action arise within It

There is no one separate from It
No one able to control It
From the outside

It is All-a- Happening, without Me
It is All-a- Happening, within Me