Intention

My gratitude is stillness. There is a big difference between sitting still and doing nothing.

The hardest thing to do in life is to do nothing with intention as it takes the most out of you as a person mentally and physically.

Some people say nothing exists. I do nothing everyday.

I smell roses. I swallow fresh orange juice. I engage my senses in direct, immediate, raw, emotional experience. He cannot save me from my destiny. He can only allow the process to flow.

One day he brought me apples, oranges and mangoes. He spoke with non-speech. He imagines our passion is a glimmer of potential emotional security in the long now. Inside my deep-eyed mischief, strangers comfort each other without discrimination.

I am a singularity.

Sensing passion we decipher riddles forecasting speechless tongues. We accept mindfulness with gratitude in quicksilver’s desperate wandering. Boredom carves a niche in my soul.

He is a Lone Wolf with a variant of DNA comprehending my inherent instinctive needs. I hang laundry near the street.

Memory’s lie is tempered by talking monkeys. Two boys harvest trash. One barefoot boy plays silent music with a long thin bamboo fiber. The other carries a plastic bag, twirling a walking stick used for prodding garbage.

Local people mill around. Milling around is an art form. They exist with a pure innocent childlike wisdom. Passive is their inherent Buddhist nature. They’ve suppressed their ego. Ease god out.

Others voice imaginary alien freedom ideas. I am an Other. I live in my heart-mind luminous universe.

A sofa on wheels with a roof towed by a motorcycle carries fat white Europeans to see 9th century Angkor temples. A young handicapped man named Eternity wearing his new skin-tight artificial plastic left leg and foot shuffles through dust. He walks home. It is everywhere and nowhere. You can’t go home again.

I don’t know where the real ends and the artificial begins.

My lover-friend was away for six weeks. He brought me pineapples, a yellow mango and passion fruit. I washed clothes in my silent world. My hair tinted golden hued. I am ebullient. He touched my spine. Soft. I turned, smiling.

My silent world and calm joy are disguised potentials. We share a silent clear intention. Our private time contains no fear. It is a gentle passion, soft and slow. My awareness is trust and authenticity. I am resigned to remembering everything.

I paint my nails a shade of red-pink. My old thin brown fingers are tired after a day scrubbing clothes. My infinite silent no voice is all. He watches my intense angelic face focus on nails. One-by- one. My heart understands his sense of eternal loss.

I sign: I hate the French spies next door. He and his fat wife run a restaurant. He spies for Thorny. They are creeps. Before he left Thorny gave me money to stop doing massage. I agreed. The spies keep an eye on me.

In my silence only my voice is missing.

shatter the blindness

"Finally I am coming to the conclusion that my highest ambition is to be what I already am. That I will never fulfill my obligation to surpass myself unless I first accept myself, and if I accept myself fully in the right way, I will already have surpassed myself."

 - Thomas Merton  Read more…

"When you sit in silence long enough, you learn that silence has a motion. It glides over you without shape or form, exactly like water. Its color is silver. And silence has a sound you hear only after hours of wading inside it. The sound is soft, like flute notes rising up, like the words of glass speaking. Then there comes a point when you must shatter the blindness of its words, the blindness of its light."

 - Anne Spollen
The Shape of Water
bufflehead cabin  Read more…

silent bliss

describe laughter 

in the hour of bliss

sensation is all

languages ignore tongues

dialects and shadows whistle

in the darkness 

of sound

Mind movie

Dear Edie,
I have a lot of things to teach you now, in case we ever meet, concerning the message that was transmitted to me under a pine tree in North Carolina on a cold winter moonlit night. It said that Nothing Ever Happened, so don't worry. It's all like a dream. Everything is ecstasy, inside.

We just don't know it because of our thinking-minds. But in our true blissful essence of mind is known that everything is alright forever and forever and forever. Close your eyes, let your hands and nerve-ends drop, stop breathing for 3 seconds, listen to the silence inside the illusion of the world, and you will remember the lesson you forgot, which was taught in immense milky ways of cloudy innumerable worlds long ago and not even at all. It is all one vast awakened thing. I call it the golden eternity. It is perfect.

We were never really born, we will never really die. It has nothing to do with the imaginary idea of a personal self, other selves, many selves everywhere, or one universal self. Self is only an idea, a mortal idea. That which passes through everything, is one thing. It's a dream already ended. There's nothing to be afraid of and nothing to be glad about.

I know this from staring at mountains months on end. They never show any expression, they are like empty space. Do you think the emptiness of space will ever crumble away? Mountains will crumble, but the emptiness of space, which is the one universal essence of mind, the one vast awakenerhood, empty and awake, will never crumble away because it was never born.
The world you see is just a movie in your mind.
Your eternal old man,
Jack
The Portable Jack Kerouac  Read more…

calm joy

My lover-friend brought me pineapples, a yellow mango and passion fruit.

He was away for six weeks. I wash clothes in my silent world.

My hair is tinted golden hued now. I am ebullient. He touched my spine. Soft. I turned, smiling. 

My silent world and calm joy are disguised potentials. We share a silent clear understanding.

Our private time has no fear, no hurry. It is a gentle passion. This is my awareness of our connection on a heart-mind level of trust and authenticity. I am resigned to remembering. 

I paint my nails a shade of red-pink.

My old thin brown fingers are tired after a day washing clothes. My infinite silence no voice is all. He watches my intense angelic face focus on nails. One by one. My heart understands his sense of loss. Accept loss forever.