Tag Archives: awareness

So…

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.

 

Thank you Shareable. This poem is partly inspired by this interview on jobless living:
[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.]

Aperture

[This poem is #1 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. Aperture was written and first published 31 December 2014.]

 

These that are things and not things both
They pepper the landscape
The landscape that is so and not so both
I walk amongst them
The I that is not an I after all, yet somehow is

It’s not that I wonder about this apparent conundrum
As in feeling troubled or some kind of loss
Rather it is there or with it that I belong
Nothing of this casts me aside
All things that I am and am not Rest here

Whose favor would I garner
To look upon this any differently
Seeing is a communion after all
That each and every one of us
Has within the very fabric of being

Ultimately there is no such thing as compromise
And yet how often is there a sensation
Of All of This somehow tangled
Around my ankles that I possess
The I that has no counterpart

As we see through this aperture
Closure is a function of clarity
Focus celebrating the visual spectrum
Saturating this field in the unseen
An exposé of brilliance and crystallization

oscillation of sight

 

 

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”

 

Coyote Blue

We walk our usual traces

along the back fields, now quiet

 

Once we had conversations

of a bovine-canine nature

 

Blue amongst the blue

sky and young ruminants

 

But today  there you stood

catching my eye and my breath

 

And this conversation was all

there needed to be    In pause

 

–I stood with you in kind

What order of listening is this?

wpid-wp-1447101059056.jpg

 

 

 

When you chose to take leave,

I found you had left something

 

With me  –a grace that not only

touched but held my own Wild

 

While Blue reminds me of the life

shared within walls I call Home

 

You today –show me we walk together

what once were walls, dissolve into vastness

 

|T͟His| |kəˈlīdəˌskōp| |mīnd|

kaleidoscope – ORIGIN early 19th cent.: from Greek kalos ‘beautiful’ + eidos ‘form’ + skopein ‘look at.’

 

Liken to say, this mind is none other than a kaleidoscope perfection

Yet we are smitten as we hold it in our hands, forgotten the play,

The game of it and perhaps become lost in the grip, such that hardly

Can we imagine it as apparatus and instead have taken it –mistaken its

Images, patterns, colors, forms, fragments –appearing oh so beautiful–

 

As ourselves. Yes, we are Beauty, we are Awareness. We appear as form,

Yes. These fragments are ever changing, the mirrors and advantage of

Perception affords great visage; what is it that holds on often desperately

Within some fleetingly grasped image and makes that a home, a dwelling

Of such import? It is more of a cataclysmic order than actually discerned.

 

We have our reminders, however quickly we cast them aside, not even

Momentarily pausing within the recognition of this vast and luminous

Undisturbed emptiness –the very emanation of Beauty we are. Beauty,

Formless as breath, sure as spirit, belongs to no one thing, and seems

To hover in the midst of these objects that we think, we spin into existence

 

Borrowing the least palpable matter for that split second alighting upon.

What is it that compels the grab, hovering as mistake, again and again?

What is it that seems so lacking that we persistently gather at its feet as if

It actually exists separate from us? Are we not twisting something out of

Existence that we have made up, an impostor of the grandest order?

 

What is it that you are playing at? Just in this moment, see it plainly.

You, author, conductor, composer, director, is it feast, famine, crusade,

Epic, adventure? What aspects of life have the spotlight? Is it thought itself?

Is it death? Is it physical suffering or perhaps, elation? Is it powerlessness,

Betrayal of everything you/we are? Does creative spirit take the bow here?

 

And as quickly as the kaleidoscope turns, so do the images, appearances,

Along with the notions of who and what we are somehow separate from

Everything else in existence. Pause, take the apparatus in hand, look and

See that which is looking, holding the focus –not to denigrate or disparage.

Celebrate the kaleidoscopic perfection and rest, rest easy, rest as Awareness.

 

Absolutely all and everything is on your calling card, any order, any dance

Partner is available and already dancing with you. How magnificent the

10,000 things! Any one thing is all of these combined without any fixed

Combinations, nothing locked into place. Simply fathom this myriad! Play.

And breathe beyond recognition, simply experiencing What Is. Carry on.

 

San Cristobal, NM

28 February 2015

A Letter as Separate Self Dissolves

Things are just as they are

The many paper doll covers drop away

 

That which Plays does not leave, however

Only the kind of playing that was borne

 

Of striving, play acting, a wish to stand out

Somehow different, as if what we truly Are lacks.

 

No more pretending called for, although pretense

Arrives from time to time, leaving its calling card as

 

Residue, the way sour milk leaves its trace on the glass

The I can momentarily forget that it is Luminous, Empty,

 

That which Knows –and if it wears anything, it is stitched

Together entirely of Love and glows simply as Experiencing.

 

 

San Cristobal, NM

16 February 2015

 

If This is It

I scour my dreams and other unconscious strata
As if there in that matrix rests that piece of me
The one I would know if you/I stumbled across it
Something about it –perhaps a certain shape or
The way it upends everything upon gazing on it

I might call it a gem, a treasure, a hobgoblin or
Better yet leave it unnamed as that is part of
Its alchemy and how it works –filters through
This strata then the next and then the next
Like a gaseous light a din a fragrance a chill

I have a special apparatus that knows how to track
This this It this wonder this knot, untying itself
Unraveling more than the traces it’s known in travels
Uncharted beyond and outside of time penetrating
Dense matter insinuating itself in likeness, similarity

And yet the very complexion perplexing disparity
Of its presence is what serves as leveraging whisper
Intoxicating tissue bone all that can be agitated
From its stance and form liquefying spine upright
Collapsing again and again simulacra –what upholds

It has looked like this –a plea, subjugation, crying out
It grasps at its subject of affection/disaffection
Target aim narrowing down to focus coddle foster
And yet this is its guise to act as something other than
To stand alongside waiting mentoring flummoxing

And bewildered I am with eyes and heart opened
By this raw wind searing through all persistent cracks
The draftiness of my being is somehow a grace, in which
The delivery of that which is unborn has yet been bared
Comes to its fruition, a soaking in of radiance undeniable

San Cristobal, NM 7 January 2015