Our Eternal Slumber Party; Promises Made

campingjg

If only there were something I could tell you,
That you don’t already know.

Like in the night we lie awake in a tent in the backyard,
Flashlights towards our faces.

We pretend to be scared, but giggle instead,
While parents sleep, in a room.

We are out there with the crickets and stars,
Sounds and brights fill up the space.

We are children in a wild short night of summer,
Tentatively committed to losing…this.

That’s what we tell each other in that airy encampment,
Pinky-swear we will never forget.

We imagine boys, girls, cars, the Beatles, and houses with sticky children,
And scrunch up our faces, like grandmas look.

Till we fall asleep, somehow, between the hoots of an owl,
And dream of a time before Adam’s silly rib.

Someone, maybe a kind but unruly God, or the Owl Himself,
Puts the little rib back where it belongs.

Though we sleep, we never really lose ourselves this night in Gemini,
My twin. We have a deal! To remember.

You are always a terrible liar, but a great pretender,
And promises we keep, with imaginary friends.

Remind me of this starry night where we make it all up,
Never-ending, as per our agreement.

Together, we are back in that night of freedom and audacious crickets,
Where we imagine, to make a world out there.

You tell me; did we ever? Were we ever?

See Beauty, Hear Harmony, Taste Freedom, Touch Peace: Wake Up! Smell the Coffee

The intent of these videos is to change the mind, shift the attention, towards the peace and freedom that is here, always, inherent as the true nature of this that you are. May your eyes turn toward the ineffable joy, win your heart and engage your fullest attention.

Music by JC Lemay.  You can find more at deepsound.net.

Thanks for watching.

Videos, Part 5: Nothing Separate, A Visual Pointer, and Part 6: Space and Time

 

This video was originally posted on YouTube with some audio distortions. Those distortions have been fixed. So I’m reposting so as to do justice to the song, Hymn For The Greatest Generation, by Caspian. Because it’s a lovely piece of music, and should be heard in it’s original form. Here’s to easier listening, now that the audio problems have been fixed. Thank you for your patience.

 

I’ll be making meditation mp3s for all of the videos, and will be offering them here on the site, when available. All 6 Deepest Peace videos can be found here. Thank you! And happy viewing.

Context: Many Teacups for Sipping Sweetness

il_340x270.478965392_iar6In a prior post, I wrote, the “seeing becomes the teaching,” meaning that what is experienced goes beyond any teaching. Experience here, is the thing–not the context, the words, the method, or the framework. We can read Wu Hsin, the Bible, Adyashanti, Nisargadatta, or any contemporary teacher, and what we have is context, the shell around the kernel. All of this, as experienced, is outside of and in many ways, limited by, context.

What is the experience of watching a radiant sunset? Of spending time in play and foolishness with children? Of reading a finely-crafted poem? The intoxicating smell of lilacs? These are the true pointers. In fact, they are not even pointers, but the experience of–what seems to be something other than self, but is nothing but Self, knowing ItSelf.

Words may point to this, but too often the mind, or the me gets involved, a context is created and appended to, and the experience is overlooked. The experience of knowing the words, not understanding, but being in that place where something is touched, where any sense of division falls away, if only for the moment:  Seek no further. Continue reading

Olly, Olly, Oxen Free!

homeImagine having nothing to look forward to,
Random images called the past, fading, gone.
Imagine the speechlessness,
Of finding this here, without a word to name it.
Never repeating, this moment.
No other moment impinging,
Upon the sense of it all.

Imagine.

It is not a different moment than this.
There is nothing else.

Tag! You’re It.

Dreamer in a Dream: A Somnambulist’s Reverie, as Told to a Bird

Benny the Dreamer in SH13

I’m dreaming this dream within a dream, where I’m seemingly lucid within the dream, and scurrying around between life-like characters, shouting, “Wait, stop! Look! Wake up!” Many of them are moaning, from emotional and physical pain, as if there were a war at the beginning of the dream, and this is the fallout. Some of them, however, are happily riding bikes, making bank deposits, reciting poetry, and so on. Apparently, they were not in the beginning of the dream, so they’re oblivious to the mayhem.

Good thing. I leave them to their bikes, banks, and poems. This is triage after all. Finally, out of a feeling a bit like sheer exhaustion, I guess (all tired out, in a dream!), I see that even screaming “Wake up!” is a bit silly. The dream goes on, in spite of my exhaustion.

Like zombie lore, perhaps I figured that to see one is to know one, that this is how zombies gather together–safety in numbers, secret handshake, and all that. And we’re all zombies here! But very few are actually paying any attention to me. (I do get the occasional wink and knowing smile, but these characters just appear, more like the face of the Cheshire Cat, and disappear as soon as they are noticed.) The moaning and the poetry readings go on at the same time, in the same place. Oh, my gosh. What a beautiful, full, rich dream this is! Colorful, loud, dramatic–with a kind of neorealism feel to it, like The Bicycle Thief. Not in black and white, though. Not this one.

And for a moment, in this dream, there is the thought, “Just be sarcastic, that’ll do the trick. Sarcasm does wonders when it comes to snapping people out of a somnambulist reverie, right?” And so sarcastic comments flash through the mind, as I walk and look upon the wounded and the oblivious. But I haven’t the heart, or the stomach. Or, the mouth opens, but nothing comes out. It’s like that, sometimes, in dreams. And, these images are starting to fade around the edges anyway, and morph into something unrecognizable. I can’t even see my own body, come to realize, and don’t know who or where I am, just the viewer of this dream, apparently. Is that moaning coming from me? Or, do I love poetry, too? I watch the disappearing and the morphing (or, it is observed), and seem to have lost my objective here, all that shouting and screaming. So what’s the point, I think, sarcastically?!cardinal_mask_2

Oh, to wake up. It’s a dream, silly. That’s all that I can recall, for the moment…

Wait! I find myself looking out a window that opens out into a miniature garden, telling this dream to what appears to be a very attentive, very red cardinal, resting patiently on a budding branch. Like he’s really listening.

Oh, crap! Dreaming again! Like Wiley Coyote and the Road Runner, the game never stops.

Nothing Separate; A Visual Pointer

You’ve heard the words “hiding in plain sight?” All around us is the obvious, only overlooked. Somehow, we manage to pay more attention to all the pain and suffering, in favor of the wonder, the intelligence, the inseparability, of everything around us. It’s here, waiting to be recognized. We have only to be willing to forgo the seduction of, the addiction to, the drama we call our lives…just look around!