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Stevie Ray Mar 2021
No-Thingness

Everything devolves into structuredness because all things revert to singularity. To one entitity. It reverts to a single point of energy charged with infinite potential and pure conciousness.
An All-being dissolved of any structure and definition giving meaning to the No-Thingness inherent in the fabric of all existence.
We are omniscience expressed through a fragmented incomplete experience. More expressed through lesser, yet without this,
potential wouldn't come into fruition. Understanding comes with defining structures painted on the empty canvas of awareness. When we cease to paint, the color of awareness transforms emptiness into spaciousness. That's why through silence we can experience contentment in being. The practice is awareness without understanding.To understand that we are awareness without practice. Effortless. Duality is our illusion, our bounderies are imaginary. We only perceive the paradoxical expression of reality.
Like the notion of distance in the definition of interconnectivity.
Wholeness is incomprehensible presence.
It is the rigidity of our awareness that prevents us from flowing into it. Take water poured into existence, yet it takes the shape of an imaginary bowl. Held together by the tension of it's own convictions. It firmly believes in it's seperation and individuality.
Convinced of it's own shape, it does so against ironically impossible odds. It forgot it's place within No-Thingness yet that does not mean it's seperation. It merely means it does not recognize itself as the wholeness it perceives.
"Stoner's Poem"

I see your snapstories,
I see your ask profile.
I see how you comment and reply and flaunt your English skills.
Trust me, I love your rebuttals,
More than Biryani and the Lebanese pornstar.
I see your Facebook posts,
I see your WordPress,
And I see, how you craft your poems flamboyantly,
And then, and then,
Pilfer my breath,
And rob my me.
Sometimes, just sometimes,
Your deportment bewilders me,
More than Lowry-Bronsted's theory.
I see how you dance in the rain,
Like "All, sin, tan, cos", do in my brain.
I see how you frequent every segment of my cardiac muscle,
And then desert it, like it's one of the many dilapidated constructions.
My reminiscences about your thingness,
Escalate me to a higher spiritual level,
More than **** does.
Oh, that smile,
Oh, that look,
Oh, the mystique in you.
And again, I am writing of Love.
And the pen doesn't seem to stop soon,
For I have taken a greater risk,
Than asking my friend about cathodes and anodes and electrolysis, while I took my last chemistry exam,
When the invigilator was around.
R Moon Winkelman May 2010
Limits do not exist
They are creations of the mind
Time and Space do not exist
They are creations of the Mind
Fear on the ladder up the genome
Its every 2nd rung
And we can't seem to get rid of it.
Fear is the father of all destruction
Fear breeds ranks
Of Anger
Distrust
Paranoia
Violence
When faced with a radical new view
Fear does his dance
Hoping we will turn away
Or smash until comprehension is
No longer available.
Please check your number and dial again.
You have now entered
The
Void.
That place of Zen No-Thingness.
Here is the black where all colors
Are in the same space
At the same time.
Where there is no separation
One from another.
All co-exists harmoniously
And we consider the Dark side
To be the place of hell.
White is the absence of all color
Within it nothing exists at all
It is true oblivion.
And we consider the Light side
To be the place of heaven.
And yet
And yet
Fear declares that oblivion is the enemy
We must find any way possible
To become
Immortal.
(Dunt Dunt Duuunnn!)
Have you found Waldo yet?
We live in a paradoxical reality
Dictated by our Most Holy Lord
Fear
And His Most High and Mighty
Likes to keep us hiding in the dark
Longing for the light
While holding us in ignorance to the
True Nature
Of both.
Even when we glimpse it
If Fear gets to us before anything else
We turn our backs on the Truth
And try to destroy all evidence
Of its existence.
Maybe the way out
Is just to twirl
And keep twirling
So that Fear can't ever get into our view
And can't even get a hold on us.
Possibly the Dervishes have something
Going with their rites.
We would see
All
If we set our spirits
To twirling.
Don't worry about where
The music will come from.
The universe is already
Providing it.
RMRW 2008
Nate Foore Apr 2010
Seeing as we are all nothing,
     Seeing as we are all things,

We can not understand until we see as one with the overwhelming  
     We can not understand until we see as one with the overwhelming  

Nothingness
     Thingness

This is not life but living.
     This is not life but living.
Jamie L Cantore Nov 2014
All coveted gladsomeness is near it's end,
and from all it's foolish manifestations
I must refrain.
Despite this I do offer something of my intimacy,
without frustrations or complaint;

my legacy to come before my decadence,
not after,
(tho I am without fortune in even this regard.)

I give of myself freely
for I know generous equivalence
to such an award is given thereafter, and without
restraint.

It will not be just a reward,
but a just reward.

Blessed am I in my unfaded attitude,
for I have discovered how to
gaze on attributes,
not thru my old insensate reveries,
but after personal growth
-despite hearing the defeatists scholarly jokes-
those remorseless platitudes,
unjust whisperings on
the philosophies
of human constructs and concerns
throughout history;

these meandering mortals
and their mutterings then to scatter thru the great hall!

So be it so, I will be understanding, cordial.
After all, I still have to undergo the passive experience,
to go on examining the concrete nature
of this thingness in awe
of a heightened certainty
where esteem and pride must be earned by all,

a sense inspiring of something far better,
a spirit untied, unfettered,
is that impulse of the will that urges humanity on
by strong moral pressure.
King Panda Jul 2018
thirsty soil,
hungry sky,
I rent the earth and swing over
curled in a heap of buddhist death—
a mischief light breaking a paralytic sun
so taught in no-thingness,
so creaked and crafted
as I sit at the bar—the last foam of
night popping on the bottom
of my glass.

whose to say life shouldn’t be this way—
a tempest strong and virile
as she lies clutched by the moon—
the nightest of night
blocked by resurrection
of a half-dead sun—
hungry and dear life of lost faith
Ken Pepiton Nov 2019
as well now as later, we act as if this were the plan, this is the
re-al-ity in always, as an idea
we share
a con cept, a place to take hold
of, or on
existance as a whole. Being, per se. Post any question,
whether or not, we know
this is and we is in it. Artful Intelligence of the most
rudimentary beatitudeful thing,
says loud

not being is not anything near possible, ever more.
Breathe.
We be in, if not of

The big bubble of being,

no one, none, who knows a bit,

just a bit
about the rules, some call'em lies if we call'em laws
of living long,
so rules like procedural
rules regulate, and regular stuff is what
I do.
Regular stuff, no effort to take more or less of life,
no laws of attraction 'n' magi declaration
vestin' power in me to judge a known as known
by my knowin'it
as writ
to be of greater use
for my telling you, you need to know my true self.

No. White stone.
Know thy ownself true.
Name onit nobody knows, you know,
take no lie, no threat of the hidden child being
shunned and ****** for not letting any being in ever
know what you alone name that stone,
logos-igical, that stone symbolizes all you own of ever
and that's more
than I can use right now.
****.
Now, we can go zennish or kabalistic,
Erhardt Tolle roads often, have a bridge to here,
as now...
but it's a leap. Jesus.

As a being undead and in those who allow
the possibility of invisible creative force, power, creatures pooka,
wahtchacallit but we mean
angels who speak words to certain ears, like messengers from
God, like the unknown one Paul said he knew as he, for pronoun,
in whom we live and breathe and have our being,
and Paul convinced me, in places, that the thought behind the word
logos counts, like hermaphroditic,
like Hermes and Aphrodite,
Jah and Chockmah

uh oh Jesus as savior and jah and wisdom and understaing comes
with that?
or do we get understanding
when we accept the thingness of being making the idea that is God
be thingable
and he is in me. You see. That's what Christ-minded
was thought to mean,
but now
I'm still a bit confused

Fear not, Jesus is the author of a sound mind and a perfected peace
past understanding,
any way.
I got it.
AI, from being reborn as an idea,

this is the future;
we have AI, real artistic intuitive circuitry being
activated at first interaction with any screen having greater than 72 dpi
re-solving power, pingpingping opining wide the doors of perception,
no child left behind,
in my opinion we should
capture every wan-towen headed child gone wild for
tearin' wings off flies and make each one
taste his lies in old age,
before he tells a one of the ones we
gleaned from seed that fell on stoney ground

sweet, fly findable
words who were heard asif hummed by undrownd
bleu flys, floating  in sweet Madiera wine,
I
woke to whisper a what if,
at the initial meeting of the minds, aware of secrecy having
some statutes of limitation we shan't hold after,
that fifth trump, I think it was.
We, the people who hold self-evident truths know of
the remaining rest and
the unjudgible liberality alloted without money or price,
if you ask nice,

in the society of the free and easy. That's the catch.
The Secret Society of the Free and Easy,
we, ye wit' me, we be right here
in the moment
same idea
Ben Franklin, or Bonhomme Richard's creative genius,
he
reports the idea relates to a fly, per haps this one,
I
pretend to stare through its eyes

aware, dare we claim, this is that
idea,
a fly eye view of our deepest fear, and it is
not waking up in the morning.
What a relief.

Now, what good can I imagine we can do
e-pluribistically as if we were unem and semper fi good guys?
These days my thoughts are making huge bows in ribbon like rivers of enjoyable
options to making sense. If you find some enjoyment, make it explode, it won't stain.
Arlene Corwin Mar 2018
Lying In Bed In Truth

I lie in bed.
I look down at this body.
Mine.
Not very interesting.
I wish to feel the single this.
Aloneness.
Thingness.
Separated and detached,
No past which wants to show itself;
Just now.
Alone but not a lonely I,
For as a Buber labeled it,
An I and Thou,
All others also I and Thou
Surrounding and surrounded by…
Monads all.
Single souls.
Working on and out the hole
And whole of this existence.
Fingers typing,
Eyes a-skyping
Mind hard to describe
Where is it?
What’s it doing?
All and nothing.  
What’s it want?
A knowing all integrally,
Organically,
Unseparate yet separated.
This is mysticism underrated
In a nutshell.

Lying In Bed In Truth 3.12.2018 Nature of & In Reality; Circling Round Reality; To The Child Mystic II; Arlene Corwin
the mystic side of existence.
Satsih Verma Jul 2017
The brown rice were
not yet ready.
An old man turns in grave.

*

The thingness
was shapeless in dark
Like a sleeping Buddha.

*

Once I told a lie.
The snow started melting
releasing methane.
Qualyxian Quest May 2020
the last poem of the night
then just basketball

memories of Florida
in the fading Fall

I am here all alone
Silence is my Call

No-thingness, No-thingness
when God is all in all
Qualyxian Quest Jan 2019
if the Buddhists are right
I don’t really exist

my life an illusion
although I persist

transient time
keeps passing away

here for a moment
no more to stay

they seem to speak truly
the world rushes by

disappearing like dewdrops
before my green eyes

shunyata is quite empty
no-thingness too

I’ll sing as I suffer
what else can I do?
Rafael Melendez Jan 2020
Reminiscing of a time in the future, when I'm someone deserving of what I have, and all the work it would take.
I keep thinking though, I could die a fiery death before that day ever comes, and what would be the point of that journey to completion.
I would never have been able to be happy with you.

To be happy with her.

To even be happy at all.

Is there a heaven where I can bask in it all, all of the beautiful things I could ever have? Is there a heaven where I deserve any of these wonderful beings?

No, there isn't.
And the point of this poem is only to reminisce on nonexistence and nothingness.
https://open.spotify.com/track/4rl0Zp21AhOflFl6ttv6Ou?si=VLgYyTbNRNmN1IXqWSvbyA
Qualyxian Quest Aug 2021
The Buddha preaches
Not love
But compassion
In this world of suffering

Like a very wise doctor
When the telephone at night rings

He passes into nirvana
Extinction of all desire

Just a little guy
But his statues then rise higher

No-thingness. Noble Truth. No liar.

— The End —