Clarity seems
to be missing in the
Clutter of inner traffic..
The clutter loudly insists
When we strive to
Escape or remove..

Somehow
the need arises to
Recognize Clarity as foremost
Lurking behind all clutter
And allowing the clutter to
Dance its short dance on
Clarity's bright stage...

Seems
to be missing
In the clutter
of so much traffic..
And loudly repeats
When we strive to
Escape or remove..

Somehow
the need arises to
Recognize Clarity
As foremost..
Lurking behind all clutter
And allowing the clutter
To dance its short dance
On Clarity's bright stage...

The 1619 Project
Changes history's focus
Beginning 400 years ago
When a few slaves arrived..
Some are fearful
Of a subversion of
Our national narrative..
Yet is this a crack
Which may open
A floodgate
Showing  immense
Variations of stories
Originating in our
Common Source and
Growing our Freedom...?

Re-cognizing
Splitting for clarity
The meaning springs
Knowing and perceiving
Again and anew..
And a recognizing
(that word again)
That recognizing could
Have occurred long ago..
This is how we
After life's sinkings
Finally Recognize
Our Self
Again and anew...

Is
The great liberation
The Recognition of the
Overlooked admission
I don't know..
It is the answer
A darkened glass
Stained with confusion
Being wiped clean
Our image uncovered...

This word of the day
An experience of time
The briefest sort..
I wonder
If this old word
Contained a hint
Of time's illusion
When seen and heard
Standing alone
With hands and bells
On a village tower...

Why is it all good..?
This has been proclaimed
By many who have delved
Into the lives which
We apparently live..
Scriptures say so and
So do many teachers
We might name..
How to make sense
When perceptions arise
Which shout otherwise..?
Or is this another
Recognition of the
Illusion of separation
And of the Luminosity
Of real existence...?

The ego rises
And Awareness fades
Some might say departs..
And suffering enters as the
Ego becomes fearful
Its freedom diminished..

This is our main story
A story of our
False identity
Searching for freedom
Where it cannot be found..

Then with fortune
We Recognize Ourselves
Made of the freedom we
Had so earnestly sought..
The ego retreats
Dissolving in our
Infinite Identity...

Thy will be done...

There is the belief
(Standing for centuries)
Of those colors seeming
To appear in vistas found
In this and that place..
In this season..perhaps
We might Recognize
Real joy comes from
Dissolving the distances
And simply allowing
The rise of the colors
In our Openness...

We await The Recognition
Of the role of each of us
As a Portal between Self and
Our imagined small self..

Our small self aches for
The Freedom and Grace from
Recognition of its illusory frame
A dream character made of the Self..

We awaken by Recognition of the
Portal within..known from
Ancient days as:
I Am...

I Am Aware that
I Am...

In our voyages
Since infancy                                
We have ridden
many currents..
To Recognize..at last
All of of these currents
Seem to hide
Who we have been
All along...

Inquiry aims to discover
The vessel of our voyage
The ship on which
We have stood thus far..
We have seen many lands
And had many loves
But inquiry asks now
What is this vessel
On which we stand
And have stood so long..
Only to now recognize
A sinking and a rising
Of our real Vessel
Plying infinite seas...

How
Is this imperative
Possible in our very
Conventional lives..?
It likely is
All about Recognition..
Recognition that Love
Is more than personal
More than relating..
Is the make-up of
Each one of us
And all that is..
Including that one we
Separated out as
Our enemy...

We are not
that evident person
we have
life-long assumed..

That assumption is
a thought which
allows negotiation of
life's twists and turns
but which also forms
hardened beliefs and
suffering..

The thought recognition
of its flighty nature
ignites the Expansion of
the evident person
and the birth of a
new You...

What we all desire
Scripture writers and
Constitution writers
Writers of many stripes
They all know well
To play with this word
In their compositions..
Their implication is
(Those many writers)
We need their advice
To reach that freedom
Of which they speak..
And  apparently many do
Need those pointers..until
A sudden recognition
Out of Simplicity says
I am Free now...

Freedom IS
And ever has been...

This storage bank
Is available 24/7
And is accessed by
Recognizing that  any
Object is not an object
But an experience
Of the mind and senses
(Thinking and perceiving)
And is made of
The Self which
We all are...

That simple...?
Try it  on waking...

When we reflect
On our life
We might resemble
A train passenger
Riding and attending to
Clocks and destinations..

The rails on our train
Reveal and restrict and
Guide beliefs in the
Severed nature of things..

As a passenger we are
Rattled by a whistle
High notes we exalt
Low notes we blanket..

Until the day
We step off the train
Into the station
With its permanence
Recognizing arrival
Finding our Home...

Walking
and a photograph of a
sunlit cloud seemingly
next by a tree
with similar features..
This is Subjectivity
expressing itself
in Similarity..
We see things
as we are
not as they are..

Looking over
Old photographs
And letters sent long ago
Family exchanges mostly
News and advice flowed
By slow methods of then..
And seemingly a portrait
Of those daily shadows
Unhappiness with situations
Lingering physical ailment..

Although we have done some
Rearranging..there remains
A familiarity with these
Parental generations
Folks who have passed..

There is the equality in
Who they were..their Self
The same as mine..

Are we closer today in the
Recognition of our Self..?
And if not...?

When we recognize
Time as illusion
As mind created
Same goes for space..

Then we rely
On direct reporting
From our senses
Just the is-ness
Of it all..

Is-ness is 1st
Then the mind
Climbs aboard
Naming and claiming
And is-ness fades
Into the background
Once more and
Once more...

Grace
is the substance of
All that is
In our tendency
To see separation in
All that is
Grace appears as
Suffering
Coaxing  a new
Seeing...

Beliefs
Stand shattered
By those searching
To quench desires on  
Unfulfilling old paths..

There is a path..however
Older than old and
New as the present moment
Which stands ready
For our recognition..

Recognized it appears
As no path at all
This is the Recognition of
Sages and searchers
Startled to find they were
Already that for which
We all search...

It is an old truth
That there is
From a universal
Slant on things
An acceptance of all
Whether good or not..

Many have difficulty
With such acceptance
Wishing for interference
When acceptance seems
Not to their liking..

We need only
Recognize Ourselves
To discover that we
Are made of Acceptance
Yet appearances of the
Not so good
Require our attention
Always proceeding from
Our  Recognition...

The cup label said
Let us add a bit of  Joy
To your day..

This is a message
From our culture
Informing us of the
Experience of Joy
To wit..Joy is available
Here and now within
This very cup..

Presumably then as this
Cup is consumed
Joy ends and we are
Sent on our way
Until another cup offers
A bit more..

Perhaps the Sacrament
Suggests we need look
For a cup in which Joy
Is much less fleeting...

When we observe
The human experience
As a roller coaster
Times in the loft
Times in the shade..

A question shouts
How to remain
In the loft..?
Until a whisper
Time creates a
Masquerade which
You have attended..

The shade has always
Disguised the loft...

Apparently
We all need to inquire
Today or tomorrow
Earlier is better some say
The question in question
Points to current beliefs
Of who we are or
Of the river or mountain
Or of traffic jams
Questions galore
But the one Answer
We must recognize
Lies hidden in each
Question...

We are immersed in stories
Until it seems to most
The story is real and I
Am a character in the story..

Yes..however
What if we were told
that a story must be recognized
as a story..?

And recognizing story as story
Is the key to the Freedom
You have been seeking
Until now
But only if...

Old and grain bare
Weather beaten
A touch of sadness
Claiming attention just now

Seeming to say
Focus on me..just me
I have been here for years
Noticed and unnoticed

All objects seem assertive
Declaring their independence
Alone in that outer world
With a history and future

Until I Recognize
This fleeting appearance
In the fictitious out there
A wave denying the ocean...

Do you notice
the blank space
above..?

The words
you are reading
diminish
the message
above..

Here are
more words and
more
diminishment..

You are invited
to erase the
words and
Return...

This is
the mind obstacle
That those on the path
Find tough to encounter..
Some continue on a bypass
Over and around..

Others gently penetrate
The toughness itself
Gazing around
Finding intense coloring
But no diminishing of
Wholeness by that
Threatening something..

Returning to the bypass
These others are routed
Directly to knowing
That which they and
Everything are
Uncolored and Infinite..

These are two paths to
Uncover the Joy that
Seemed to be hiding
Until now...

We journey the world
With diligence and hope
Overturning many stones
Seeking a situation
To end our desire
Our desire for home..

It is open to question
Whether this one or that
Will end their desire
With a simple
Self-Recognition...

All is well
All is love
Made of love
So..what's the worry..?
Or..the outrage..?
A quandry arises
The above seems both
True and False..

We witness suffering
And cries for help
Not to be ignored..
Resistance rises
Action asserts
But now something new
Ancient separation subsides
As Sacred outrage
Blossoms...

gently
and find yourself
in a dream..

going with
the flow..
effortlessly..
paddles  stowed
singing of a dream..
then of a sudden
singing As a dream..

recognizing now
boat and paddles
stream and you
are the dream..

Who is dreaming...?

A three letter name
With meaning multiples
Hero to devil..
Advancing:
A dream of creation
Introducing illusion
When the dream
Dances alone...

Lives on..
With rapid-fire multipliers in
The tales of two cities which are
Now in our frightening focus..
As divisiveness thrives
In a numbing atmosphere
Plurality declares independence
Here and then there and then often..
We are exploring dark extremities
No longer serving better creative
Expressions of our Whole..

Recognition of our veering
Means of expressing ourselves
Is sharply implored...

Let the thought float
Observing it whole
As a fish or plane
In the sea or sky..
Now change focus
To the sea or sky
Allowing the thought
To dissolve as
All thoughts must..
Bring then notice
to that remaining
which we must Be...

In our early innocence
We live with appearance
Appearance of an
Amazing plethora
Coloring our innocence
We are doves..

Then we forget as
Appearances declare
Their independence
Introducing the ego
Dove to Serpent

Then the discovery
Serpent is what Dove
Does all day long
Serpent is Dove in action
Dove is Serpent at rest...!

What do you find..?
Discomfort rampant
Freedom under lock and key
Passionate dark discourse
Desperation on borders
Spiritual aridity
Wonky and heady proposals..
That's enough..!
What of a new finding
Coming from simple
Recognition..
Recognizing that in which
All findings appear..
Simply that...

Division seems the certainty of our days
Seldom questioned from birth to death
Upon waking we go forth on our stage
The stage we have always assumed
With its hidden dangers and our fears
Fears based on the ending of our show
But sometimes an intermission is reached
A gesture interrupts our performance
A divisive trance is suddenly shaken
We Recognize what always has been...

Now I Know..

A blank gaze
Of a pitiless Sun has
Ignited a flame exposing
Painful perceptions of
Separation and anarchy..
These vexations of centuries
Are now visioned
As garments clothing
My rough beast
Slouching toward
Bethlehem for a
Flaming reentry and
A naked recognition
Of what I am...

Now I Know...


This is a response to:

The Second Coming

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
~~William Butler Yeats, 1919

that is the question..
whether to hold tightly to a belief
or allow it to sink into unbelief
to which all beliefs are prone..
To recognize belief as settled thought
seemingly permanent..but
alas..always temporary..
Now to recognize our dependable
experience..and fall into that space:
the space without belief but
filled with an ultimate joy...

It is the same
and vast
for everyone..
It is prior to the
sights and sounds of
this morning..
It is within the *******
events of the day..
It is the Self
stirring in suffering
waiting in shadows
to be born...

Perhaps there are types..
inventions of mousetraps that
catch with compassion..
celebrating the inventiveness
of the finite mind..

but what of those appearances
of brushstrokes or words
which seem from afar..
as from the whiteness of
this page..
or the sudden juxtaposing
of nature's dissimilarities..

those sudden types
seem available to all..
do not depend on our
diligent preparation in
schooling or craft..
or culture or beliefs
but only upon a
recognition of ourselves
without  the opaqueness
of a masking resistance...

thoughts
pass in review..
temporary shapings
within and made of
our only real Self:
Awareness..
then arises a choice:
am I a thought
or am I Awareness
or restated:
am I caught or
am I free...?

thoughts
pass in review..
temporary shapings
within and made of
our only Self
Awareness..
then our choice:
am I a thought
or am I Awareness
or restated:
am I caught or
am I free...?

is an overtone of
the quotidian..the everyday
the mundane..as is said
"same old same old.."
seemingly there is belief
of an inequality
showing up on occasion
and labeled as exciting or
not so exciting..
yet..
the root of our boredom
as with our fears and angst
is the concealed culprit:
an unquestioned belief
in a life lived in separation...

in nostalgia we wish

for a return to those

imagined wonderful days..

but might we say

our morning memory

of those days is

more wonderful still..?

considering those days

residing in our youth

we were living without

the context of our

remembering experience:

recognized coloring of

Now..

This is the imposition
of practices rooted in
all seeking..
whether seeking falls
in Sunday church
in Monday yoga
or Tuesday webinar..
please honor your seeking
yet know what you seek
is always here now..before
fixing yourself...