Thought is adept at producing a

Story of me..an identity as thought..

This severe restricting of IDentity

Does not rest easy..thus a scramble

To find a missing piece to return the

Wholeness seemingly diminished  

By that ravaging thought..

To recognize..finally..the thought

We are not..but the thought is OK

Un-divorced from the Wholeness

We are...

Perpetual Inquiry

There are so many claims
For our attention..
Some cause us to linger
With tastes and feelings..
Some may be delicious.. until
They obscure Who we are
And cause a forgetting of
Our real fulfillment which
Only arrives by recalling
The rich rewards of
Perpetual inquiry...

Not eyesight..but clarity
beyond words:
The illuminating clarity
which one finds inside
and discovers in another..
Whether beggar or wealthy
the common light
is spellbinding..
Not to be understood
apparently
by those whose clarity
remains befuddled and
dimmed..

Energies

Boundless and contracting..

Apparently most of us

Live the contracting

Fearing the Boundless:

The energy we Are..

The contracted matrix

Brings pleasures..coupled

With a nagging pull..

The pull is the Boundless

Call from Home...

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...?

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...?

The Symphony I Am..

And we are..

Each of us..

Is shaped by instruments

Of the noisy quiet world..

Our inward stage

Where the music plays

Cacophonies and arias

The clash of cymbals

And  pregnant pauses..

All allowed and welcome

For their brief stay..

As we note their

Composition of the

Symphony I Am...

A day recalling

Past doing and achieving..

And demanding of decency..

Working and supporting

Abundance speaking..

Ideal colorings bringing

Nostalgic happiness..

Enter the pandemic

With stirrings and fear..

Yet..perhaps pointing to

Our unknown Livelihood:

Abundance unbounded...

Our Self dresses
In numerous guises
And the guises reflect
Our knowing of Truth..

Some apparently
Live lives immersed
In guise belief..of their
Identity thus described..

So..from time to time
We need to undress
To experience the
Light of permanence
Our Self recognized...

We know of progress
And we don't deny
Those relative comparisons..
The measurements distancing
The start point  of slavery..
But..we must hold a
Systemic lens to Recognize
That the patchwork of history
Has not reached the depth
Of Freedom for all..
This we can know only when we
Recognize the Truth of our
Own Freedom..which lies
In a discovered Silence.. to which
Words..patches and systemic
Can only point...

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...?

The arts do it..

Knowing two as One

Is a saving Joy..

Add a third and more and

Form seems to approach

Formless..suggesting

One..

The arts point and invite

A journey's End...

Start..being the Sun

Being the Light within..as

Illumination alone..

We know..As the Sun knows

Before gazing outward..

Now..A new Recognition:

Our Light projects within

What appears as out there..

We have arrived..our

Light being everything...

We see clearly Now
Those many years
Have rippled through
The Love we share...

Namaste

Observing a fallen tree..
Such is the appearance of death
And such will be ours as we
Remain in the grasp of the fall..
Yet the fall is only appearance which
Begs for our remembrance of All...

Consider:
just a recognition
that this page is white
and the print thereon
seems to declare
a difference..
appearance is different
but the difference melts
when it is noticed
the print is in and of
the white page..
difference is appearance..

Consider:
might this recognition
this brief metaphor
replace all religions
in the world's story?

The mind resists
What seems to be
An entryway into
Emptiness
The cloak of Fullness..
Fear pulls us back
Into comfy norms of
What we know so well..
And that seems the end
For many explorers..
The leap not taken..
But the invitation
Remains..in a
Blooming flower
A sideward glance or
A crushing defeat...

The poet speaks

Of unspeakable horror

A rabbit's scream in

The owl's clutches..

What to say..?..let's say

There is No-thing exterior..

Yet we suffer the rabbit

As we do..our perceptions

Of war..division..plague..

Yet..All is within and

No-thing exterior...(?)

~~CC



When the owl is less than exquisitely swift and perfect, the scream of the rabbit is terrible. But the scream of the owl, which is not of pain and hopelessness and the fear of being plucked out of the world, but of the sheer rollicking glory of the death-bringer, is more terrible still. When I hear it resounding through the woods, and then the five black pellets of its song dropping like stones into the air, I know I am standing at the edge of the mystery, in which terror is naturally and abundantly part of life, part of even the most becalmed, intelligent, sunny life — as, for example, my own. The world where the owl is endlessly hungry and endlessly on the hunt is the world in which I live too. There is only one world.

~~Mary Oliver, Owls and other Fantasies...

We are taught that
A line of time
Is the dimension which
Orders our lives..
This school lesson
Assumed and forgotten..

Until experience rebels
When we are shown a
Cross-section of a tree..
With radials and circles
Appearing here at Once..
Experience delivers relief...

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...

On our many pathways

We look for the endpoint

Which defines..we think

A lifting endearment

In itself our worthy wish..

But no..satisfaction fades

To a new endpoint which

Seems the new real thing..

Until..the endpoint is

Revealed as..yet one more

Corpse...



See Gospel of Thomas

(56) Jesus says:

“Whoever has come to know the world has found a corpse.

And whoever has found (this) corpse, of him the world is not worthy.”

solid..local..limited
we live our lives
with confined beliefs..
experience of truth
expands
and transforms the
quantities of limits
to qualities of
movement..
we depart from words
and find vibrations:
unhinged..and
describable only
in primitive ways..
words resurrect...

When our mind is aware
Of a stretch of land
A map comes forth in
Many variations
Of measurement and
Enumeration..
Maps are masks which
We do not recognize
Until a nagging something
Asks what can be known
By removing the mask...

The intimate Knowing
Of the Reality we are
Is expressed by those
Three little words..

As it is
Is the experience Now
A joyful Knowing
Of no separation..

Which surprises those
Who have lived with
As it is..believing
A bedrock truth of
Separation's stories..

Another surprise:
Appearances of separation
Remain intact
As beliefs dissolve..
Creating an always New
As it is...

This is a
Recognition
Of a priority
Which is not a priority
Or a sequence which
Is not a sequence..

Recognizing our
Self as not locked
In the grip of time
And of space
Brings the Freedom
We all seek..

Allowing Freedom
To act freely to
Declaw illusory
Beginnings and
Endings...

when these words occur
we imagine the place
from which they emerge..
since time long ago
this place has been assumed
as within the body
we have so long occupied..
evolving now in spurts
is a new day of realizing
that the thought arises
in a place much vaster
in a new "I" which
loses its ****** bounds
and with this loss
the soon fading of I...

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...

a troubling juxtaposition..?
troubling due to the seeming
strength and longevity
of a scientific model
which..after centuries of success
is exhausted by challenges which lie
beyond and subversive to the model itself..
at the root
the model does not recognize
its limited qualifications to
understand the unlimited reality of
NOW..

the NOW experience removes  
science's bedrocks of time and space  
and presents a fuller reality..
what of evolution's timeline
and the fossil record appearing in space..?
a troubling query
relieved only by a new perspective..
the perspective suggests that NOW is
now the reality..and always has been:
the wholeness truth
colored in a variety of ways
by this science model or that...

The stacking of stones
Appears in many forms
They present assurance
Along life's trails..
That this trail will end in
The destination we seek..
But let's consider
The vertical stacking
Pointing to the possibility
If one is ready~~
Whether discouraged or sad
Or perhaps gleeful
To the better Destination
Not the end of the trail..but
Here and 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...

This apparent urge to
Erase the markings of history
Which appear to stain..
History..a story appearing
In our reading this moment..
Often justifying past doings..
But..alas.. assumptions of
Division cling and remain..

Statues..toppled in
Widespread places..may be
(Whether recognized or not)
A turn Inward..collectively
To cleanse the divisions
Hiding our inner Vastness
Out of which all history
Emerges and is made...

We view with admiration
This creative approach
Of artistic expression..
It seems quirky to some
But might we not say that
All art is composed of
Found art objects..?
The object may be
Something on a beach
Or a pile of trash
Or a sudden thought
Seemingly from nowhere..
Might it appear as the
Next brushstroke or a
Word on this paper..?
It seems that all real art
Is 100% made of
Subtle or not so subtle
Objects found in this
Moment...!

Despite beliefs contrary
Our culture's message is
Death is a frightful end..
There is unwillingness to
Consider that we stumble
As we walk in the darkness..
Gripped by handcuffs
Of  illusory separation..

Disregarding many hints
We weep as we hold a finality
In appearances of life ending..
We all await that moment
Whether lengthy or brief
To discover that Life has
No beginning and no end..

Who are we..
This seeming person
Doing that which we
Seem to be doing
In this moment..?
Do we see
That "seeming" is our
Ticket to Recognize
Ourself as character
And ourSelf as Stage...?

If we imagine a scale:
on one end we are unfocused
and the other focused..
(subjective and objective
if you like..)

The needle seems pegged
on focus for many centuries
and may be stuck..

Focus has brought us much
but has..alas.. compressed our
peace and happiness..

We may now be entertaining
the possibility of moving
the needle toward unfocused..

Perhaps sliding the needle
all the way.. removing
all focus and form..

Moving the needle may
show us we can slide it
bringing new freedom..

Finally.. then to know
the needle is made
for sliding...!

A New Era..

A sudden Recognition

Experiencing of Permanence

Seems occurring

In these days of chaos

Anxiety and pain..

The externals we carried

Conditioning our lives are

Absent or do not satisfy..

Some have questioned

Others have surrendered

Heralding a new Peace..

Recognizing

A New Era...

We all have
This sensation
From time to time..
That something larger
Holds the sensations
Of body and mind
Walking..
Might we assume that
Our larger Self is
Expressing  Itself here..?
The experience expands
To our being dreamed
Being thought and to
The joyfulness of
Being here and now...

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..

These simple words
Mark the nexus between
East and West..
This is the universal gospel
Burdened sometimes with
Too much commentary..
This gospel is available
To everyone everywhere
At all times..
Just sitting quietly.. proceed
Directly to recognition of
The vastness of..I Am
Without all of the
Encumbrances which usually
Attend...

Paradigms have
shifted
and replaced
thought-built edifices
which no longer house
our searching lives..

We search
for understanding
for happiness..
for a paradigm
of new thoughts
to fulfill..

History observes
past visions of earth
in old paradigms:
thoughts serving
and departing
as anachronisms..

Dysfunction
in our time
invites a Paradigm
which boldly burns
all thoughts of
separation..

Beliefs
and illusions
many centuries old
burn as we recognize
what we Already are
and Always have been...!

Thus some pray..
Jesus saw the apparent
Separation of wills
And the raggedness of
This frightful belief..
A belief supporting
For eons of time
Life's sufferings..
The shift to One will
Resurrects who we
Always have been...

There is a
Seeming permanence in
Pikes Peak..we see photos
From a century past and
What stood then stands now..
Yet..geologically we are told
The Peak is doomed to crumble
Rendering it's permanency
As temporary..and taking a
Place beside the Lilac..
Readily known as short-lived..
But Nature Herself stands
Proclaiming Her Silence
Within which Peak and Lilac
Enter and depart..

schedules arise within
time's seeming presence..
placed with  projections
of time's spacial future..

our freedom is at stake
as the schedule separates
and controls..

until we recognize
these thoughts and
projections are all
made of the
Wax of our Being...