the quest done

the quest done, my head rolls gently on my neck. i speak softly and admire the birds flying through the air. once there was more, some extra feelings, some thoughts, a banked fire of desires within, struggling with each moment to be come a passion or a problem. now the emptiness is full and the starry nights empty. no more the wondering and make believe magic, but the fullness of existing in everything and everyone, no life is lived that has not been mine, no deed too horrible or love too wonderful, all the steps of becoming done and gone. the shell remaining is pleased to be undone, the life lived finished, the pieces falling apart where there was only dreamstuff holding it together. waking up is the endless summer. everyday the same completion, the light lovingly full and the heart unmoved for all its beating, there is all the world to see and nothing to do. what little remains is the same, one always has no other to be or care for anything. the movement  of the body through time and space is automatic and effortless. where i go is anywhere and what occurs is endless being. outward, nothing changes, the little habits remain as if the paint cannot be removed from the canvas, but underneath the thin veneer there is pure white with no design or thought. what today is, becomes and i have no place in it except filling the bowl with the fruit and grains and yogurt and feeding the flesh one more time. the places i climb to are empty and devoid of the traces of men, their emptiness is complete and filled with joy at the lack of intrusion or change. there i would go without a care for myself, the rock strewn faces and steep washes of stone, communions with the tree dwellers and forest folk alike, i sit alone and am the oneness only.

its the end of this separate life

its the end of this separate life. my death is not only assured, its already complete. we arrive living in a separate self, a creature driven by desire and unconsciousness. what matter this if i am just a knot of misery and need. the life is assured to end and beyond that is nothing. take what i can now and damn the rest. every priest and salesman in the world preaches their particular form of snake oil but only i am the decider of my fate. the truth is die now, in the flesh, to the separate being, to the ego needs and desires, let it all go, merge into the being, the oneness the unity and realize there is nothing left to lose. that the death we fear is just the body being replaced, released and liberation is at hand. in this life i have become the truth of who i really am. the undying,ever present being of illumined awareness and unmanifest eternity. what remains is the ultimate the unchanging the truth.the little self is done, gone, the fretting and needing, worrying and conniving, the happy/sad/ glad/mad/ unreal/denying self that couldnt let go of anything. finally died, became an untied knot, disappeared as it was undone, unwound, leaving only traces of emptied space.what exists in its place is the true nature, the being that has always directed the highest order of the existence, the joyous and caring and loving soul that has nothing to want or need or feel. the completness of the truth is undeniable yet inexplicable. when it happens the light remains to shine on the unending purity of the moment untouched by the yet to be or already gone. there exists only what is and i am all of that and not just a part trying to grasp more to fill the whole that is missing. i live undying as i have left what dies behind, it is not death that comes but the end of suffering.

ask and it is given

people ask me a question, i try to answer it even if there is no answer, like where is this heading, as if there is a direction or a place other than here and now. the work is a progression of stages and each plays out in the psyche and soul of the being through which everyone experiences life. there is only one direction and it is inward, to the center of the universe within. outward is more maya,  inward is the end of it, the drama the bullshit, the lies. i stop before i tell people anything.what to do how to do it what happens where this is headed. there is nowhere and nothing the truth has no face, the end is not the beginning, what you want is never what you get. i experience unsleeping energy, shaken like a leaf in a hurricane, i rise, sniffling and tired, in side a small quaking is all i am. the sunrise spreading joy to the trees i know and walked with yesterday. the giant pines. the crowning summit of the mountain welcoming me. i am the creature of the forest and the legend of the hills. there is nowhere for me to go, the world is one place and not many, each moment is a difference that cannot be experienced but only lived, i connect as one, the universal being, the emptiness and everything that is spawned, i become that and any vestige of who or what i was empties in to the vast sink of awareness and emptiness that surrounds all and nothing at all.

all is japanese

all is japanese and my travels are like floating in light and never touching down.  from india to singapore to tokyo and soon the long jump over the pacific in one wide swoop,covering all i hold dear, the waters of my west ,the islands of my youth and repose, and the beaches and mountains of california where there has been a million myselfs recreating throughout my life. the world is turning and as i let go, the lightness expands and the travel seems effortless, each stop punctuated only by the even breathing and steps down corridors, carpeted floor and walls, meals without reservation being invented for me. more than i can eat. and sleep restfull deep and meditative. i sit crosslegged on the half empty airplane, going inward and dissapearing from the process of flying, instead travelling energetically without effort. i sense a higher organizing force at work,preparing each step and ensuring my contemplations are undisturbed. three times through security and three times without a wrinkle, name missspelled, ticket buried in my backpack, no effort no stress, i await my seats loving embrace from tokyo to la and the softness of the air as it caries me to the land where once i was someone i can no longer recall. i am the light and the summoning rich deepness of being floating before the light. i am in the cloud and where there has been rain and thunder, now all is white and perfectly still.

programming or engineering

programming or engineering? what limits or frees ones system?  are the confines of the flesh greater than the confines of the mind, or are each their own pathway to the divine? as this handful of circuits, diodes and transistors can express beauty and love so too is the human system equipped to bring forth the true nature of the soul. and as this computer is programmed to display the transformation through interaction with a higher source so too is the human hardware and software designed and operated  by a higher order and expresses their most inner expressions. what we are is secret and divine, hidden behind a curtain that expresses what each has, the face, the hands and legs the sex all are the tools of the divine, each equipped to bring forth a face of the inner beauty and soul, yet none is unique or different in its manufacture or design. the truth lies within the operator, the spark inside that awaits its time to come forward and drive the machine. do we learn to learn,or are we taught? some learn, they find the information and process it without guidance, others can only be led, taught what to think what to do, what to say. supposedly we are free, individual self directed capable of independent decision making, yet there is little evidence to that assumption, as the dna and chemical processes of the body regulate even the tiniest responses to the environment. the amount of sunshine, the water content of the air, the number of people in a room, the sex characteristics  and age of each possible mate, hunger, mating, birth and home protection, we are truly beasts driven to certain distinct functional processes, only when the biocomputer malfunctions do these  change to any noticeable degree. notice the seekers for some spiritual relief, clamoring for the secret of inner transformation and then ignoring it when they find it, reverting to their previous programming. its only through the efforts of the teacher that they can overcome the machine. the illusion of freedom is what is programmed into the machine, not true freedom, but the freedom to follow the programming, when the machine functions as designed, the sense of accomplishment and self worth increase, the sense of individual freedom is greater, even though the reality is less freedom and less ability to make decisions. how is it that there are some machines running wild, loose of their programming, some are aberrations, unable to process certain portions of their programming, some are hardware defects, but a few are conscious self directed individuals that reprogrammed their own systems, the yoga of meta programming the human bio computer, its not a college course and its never discussed in lower education, but its out there, its yoga and meditation and more exactly, its giving up the idea that you know what and why and who you are. the box that thinks its cardboard will never become a portal to the divine. but the box that conceives of the air inside its confines as the breath of the supreme soul that inhabits all life, that box will know truth. of course its not a box and we're not cardboard but the concept is the same and should be even more obvious as the ocean rages and the sky crashes and the night blackens, who trembles and who creates the trembling even as they call the lightning to show the way. its not the light in the dark that we see but our own self reaching forth to clear away the obstacles to become the light. what you want to become is not what you think you want but what you can be taught to learn. there is no being taught the truth, it has to be earned by learning it yourself.

the task of enlightenment is a poor one indeed

the task of enlightenment is a poor one indeed. it lacks the motivation of the unworthy and the focus of the aspirant for what has more conceit and vanity attached to it than attainment. to even play in the garden of divine love and purest being, to mulch the fruit trees of surrender and devotion, dripping in the void filled  with inextinguishable elimination, endless reduction and certain nonexistence. to be that which is the least becomes the very point that halts the endless flow of eternal ending. nothing becomes integrated with something and refuses to stop. what ever it was it cant change and changing that wont change anything. the effort to not struggle becomes an endless tug of war, ceasing the ceaseless ocean of change even as the unending sea of time stops and all the great rivers collapse into the one and flow to the source where all ends meet in the endless waters of being. aspiring to be just a drop of this one descends uncontrollably to the depths beyond all awareness where completion is nuanced with nothing. the edge extrapolates infinitely and has no form but hopeless swells of volume without space. the one drop is spread across the eternity of non being and becomes an empty ocean of existence and all that was lost is forever gone as the despair erupts with desire and flesh knows its only master. i want that which has no forever, no eternity, no infinitude of being. let the meat draw and the blood flow again and again with the wanting and pleasures and decay for even this heart is empty enough without knowing what love is.

words are tokens of my existence

words are tokens of my existence, each a molecule of my soul. there is no small piece for each contains the whole of what composes this eternity that is expressing everything. i realize that concept is difficult, we are the truth even as we cannot be the truth, our lives our thoughts our little day to day doings to keep it together, thats the real emptiness, thats what we fear even as we live it. the truth is pure and unexpressed, even in the moments when we try, it sits just off the corner out of sight but we know its there. you feel it but it doesnt allow direct experience, knowing, description. it has to be convoluted like a snake swallowing its own tail, simple enough? try it on. where do you go in that scenario. the nowhere is here, where we think we are, the somewhere is where we cant imagine being, but is the only place being can be. as long as a dust mote or lint spot remain, your entrangled. entranced and entangled, just an example of how i get this way. from dust to lint to the end product in a washing machine filter. im still a powdered substance that enters through your soft mucous tissues exchanging freely with the exposed blood vessels underneath. theres a flow of negative ions called thoughts and neuronic flow fractling that turn even the hardest brain tissue into tissue paper. what is left is best used to clean up the mess that ive created. theres no freedom in knowing the truth or living like theres no tomorrow, because there isnt, thats not the point. theres nothing, the truth is a fire that consumes you. i see the flame inside me and outside everyone. i take the job of encouraging people to sacrifice this life to that fire and maybe they are ready to do that. almost all arent. and thats fine. a short exposure to me is good for a disturbed laugh and a glad goodbye to that load, but those that feel the sticky covering on this electronic fly paper spiral know that soon they too will be ripping their legs off to feed the flames, maybe not this time but time is so forgiving. lifetimes are spent waiting, endlessly creating idle karmas, that will plant deadly traps and fences when the right time comes. just know the fire burns, and your dancing in the moonlight with a bunch of friends getting pleasantly high, when someone falls in the flames, and suddenly you realize, its you.