Thought for the Day: " One can't believe impossible things, "Alice said. "I daresay you haven't had much practice," said the Queen. "When I was your age, I always did it for half an hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as 6 impossible things before breakfast."
~Alice in Wonderland ~

All Too Serious

I see the world as two children playing,
My left hand and my right hand.

Everyone is going places, leaving, arriving,
With only one foot foreword, one behind.

The teacher and pupil, doctor and patient,
Need each other to find themselves.

The potter molds his own soul into matter,
Because creation is growing limbs out of the creator.

Tips of mountains and ocean floors, there is one way.
Throw away your razors, everywhere is their edge.

The hilarious are me, the tortured are me, all in-between.
Children, don’t take my dream too seriously.

"We have to function in the world. So don't walk around trying to be smart. Instead what we do is function in the world as ourselves. Be yourself. If you are yourself, then you're safe. In other words, you're not trying to be anything. Just be yourself.

What does it mean to be yourself? To live spontaneously. Most of us live from the past, as you know, and we worry about what we are going to do in the future. If you learn to forget about the past and the future, you are safe. If you live spontaneously you would have no have time to think, and that is when you become the witness. Thoughts are simply about the past and the future. True? You want to act in the moment. When you are acting in the moment you can not think because you are acting. Therefore, your thoughts are only on what you're doing and that stops other thoughts. Then you go on to the next thing. You should not try to analyze the thing at all. Everything will work out whether it's good or bad, whether you're making something out of it or not, whether it's in your favor or against you. All that has got to go."
~Robert Adams~

I Will Know When

I’m beginning this message my self,

To the self that is listening: why did we

Ever separate.

My message writes with the ink of all my thoughts,

With each sunrise and sundown spent inscribing

Hemispheres to ask the question

Of completion.

The slower I act, the more action is delivered,

Delivered in parts.

What it is, it tries to tell, describing dichotomy.

For my cause, I look to the world and that old world is

Just new words asking me

For its cause.

What in return is ever written but absence of experience? To pretend

To be that which I am not is valuable enough.

A process by eliminating experience to know that

Which I am.

When no longer have I plagiarized points of view, I will

Seal it.

When no longer I search for the address, I will

Post it.

And when I know my message is me,

I will open it.

Piece of Wisdom for Peace
Which parts do we see, conditions arising from other conditions, our own projection as to what is real? What exists of itself? We build things from materials, those materials come from somewhere else; the mind thinks of the plan and sets it forth, so where does it exist first? The raw materials all come from outside us. The tree is wood, which was grown from carbon that was taken from our very breath. A breath given from that tree releasing oxygen from the process of growing, so where do our bodies stand? What do we have to prove we inherently exist, riddle me this. We eat an apple and parts of the apple become us, we break it down and use the molecules to create energy. When it comes down to it, we trick ourselves into believing our separateness – this person, that blade of grass, the energy of the sun, the cardinal sitting in the dogwood tree. We isolate these experiences and filter them into bipolar vision – the ‘this’ and ‘that’.
To understand this concept is what Buddhists call emptiness – which means things do not exist in and of themselves. Emptiness does not mean, in Buddhist reasoning, that nothing exists. Rather, everything is a compilation of causes and conditions which appear to us at this point in time to be ‘something’, but we rarely contemplate their parts, how they got to be, and what made them that way. When we start out on this question, we find that everything is causing everything to happen, and when we put ourselves in the equation we begin to dismantle the illusion of who we think we are.
Everything is constantly changing; every moment is different than the previous one. Is there anything that remains constant? Contemplate this, and expand your awareness a hundred years, even a thousand years if you can – you may find realize that the phenomena which you perceive daily is likely to be different in the future. The body ages every second, cells die and are regenerated, mutations occur, our bodies do not stay the same. Despite what commercials are telling us, even a diamond will not last forever; it too is subject to impermanence and change.
It is our consciousness that creates it that way. The way we think creates for us this world which is merely a product of our ignorance brought to us by karma. It is the ignorance of not knowing who we are, and the karmas we create by acting out of ignorance – this cycle perpetuates itself – we continue to create from ignorant action and that action shows us an illusionary view of the world, which we believe to be true. We may be happy one moment, then sad the next, desiring love then repelling it; it is hardly satisfying. So why still grasp to the phenomena of our own creation, when we know it can never bring us lasting peace. We may seem to suffer, but the reality is that suffering is even part of the illusion. What may be pleasure to one, may be pain to another. What is delicious to one, is repugnant to another. Show me the dessert that I can constantly eat without getting sick of it. These things are not in and of themselves satisfying, it is only the thoughts that we hold of them to be; if they were then they would always provide satisfaction no matter how often we partake of them.
The question then remains, what view will bring us peace, what way of thinking can we adopt to remove our illusions and ultimately allows us have a deeper state of being? At any moment we have the potential to be fulfilled, satisfied, content, peaceful, joyful, blissful and in harmony – it is not some future state dependant on external conditions. This path of thinking starts at the only point we can be, in the moment. Awareness and a determination to just fully be allows the illusions to fade away. When we are not grasping, we are observing. Without attachment, sufferings have no where to stick, and we might find ourselves expanding in the moment. Gaining the wisdom of peace is this consciousness which is content in all situations, all places, and with all people.

"To be a human is easy, to live a human life is hard; to desire to be a human a second time, we fear is even harder. If you wish to be born into the Happy Lands, there is one easy way - say what is really in your heart, then you'll reach your goal."
-God's Chinese Son, pg 45-

Haikus

Resting as a corpse,
Rocks become smooth in the stream,
Leaves give up purpose.

Clinging on dead twigs,
The sun reveals every color,
Bubbles are lifetimes.

Rapids create sound,
A mind lets go of hearing,
The rain from last night.

Liberated seeds
Wind reveals its true nature
Geese take advantage

Itching in the past
A mosquito memory
Sacrifice the now

Peeking from tall grass
A strand of spider’s silk shines
It’s not just a rock

Clouds swirl overhead,
A breeze enlightens pine trees,
The sky becomes clear.

John Fire Lame Deer in "Lame Deer, Seeker of Visions":
"A medicine man shouldn't be a saint. He should experience and feel all the ups and downs. The despair and joy, the magic and the reality, the courage and the fear, of his people. He should be able to sink as low as a bug, or soar as high as an eagle. Unless he can experience both, he is no good as a medicine man.
"Sickness, jail, poverty, getting drunk - I had to experience all that myself. Sinning makes the world go round. You can't be so stuck up, so inhuman that you want to be pure, your soul wrapped up in a plastic bag, all the time. You have to be God and the devil, both of them. Being a good medicine man means being right in the midst of the turmoil, not shielding yourself from it. It means experiencing life in all its phases. It means not being afraid of cutting up and playing the fool now and then. That's sacred too.
"Nature, the Great Spirit - they are not perfect. the world couldn't stand that perfection. The spirit has a good side and a bad side. Sometimes the bad side gives me more knowledge than the good side."

Stems

When simplicity courses
Through blood and sap,
A tree connecting biology
Of man and simple thoughts,
Life becomes one. A white
Wall is the written work
Of man and simple thoughts,
The consistency of novels
Never made. How to progress
On a circular path, the addition
Of man and simple thoughts,
Defies the dimensions of one.
Just to be, casts out society,
Breaks down the education
Of time, let it be known
In blood. It is the heart and soul
Of man and simple thoughts.

My Motor

When I was young, I took
apart many toys to learn
the workings. The gadgets
of a child explored, to put
back together again, a drive
to know how and why
the wheel spins and speakers beep.
The motors of remote controlled
cars found new use in coming apart,
in concepts coming together,
I never stopped asking and testing
magnets, coils, motors, all foiled
to only know why was the easy
part, giving up was twice as hard.
Moved on to teenage fascination driven
by an image, hooked up Hondas came to pieces.
expensive education of tow truck drivers,
mechanics putting back together
my questions, my riddles. Pieces
of engines became gears in my mind,
turning for why, turning for how. This
classroom of a garage was greasy, I
spent more time reading, tinkering, bleeding
with frustrations and cut knuckles,
the chuckles of family and friends
misunderstanding why I why, to fend
off my own enemies, concepts and theories
never satisfied hunger, thirst, the hole
in my thoughts that was shaped for only one
question. Now, my training in probing, asking,
seeking lends me science to figure me out,
why am I? The taking apart
of thoughts, the pondering
of the self that ponders, I look for the motor
and trace to the Source of Power.

be the only you,
i'll be me
and reflect the you
in me.
the eyes are a mirror,
the seen and unseen,
what you view by me,
your loves and fears,
critiques and praise,
it's yourself judging self,
why not just set it free?

Tathagata

Thus come, thus gone,
What is between?
Nothing obtained.

Thus come, Thus gone,
How many times?
Never lived it.

Cricket chirps in night; existing.

Thus come, thus gone,
Did you see who?
Nobody there.

Thus come, thus gone,
Why do you say?
Never named it.

Rain showers over grass; nature.

Thus come, thus gone,
When is it so?
Not serious.

Thus come, thus gone,
Will it return?
Never dreamed it.

Cup of green tea brewing; emptied.

Nothing obtained, never lived it,
Nobody there, never named it,
Not serious, never dreamed it.

Thus come, thus gone; Tathagata.

Backstage

A change of form, different colored
Clothes and thrift store masks, creation
And re-creation. Do we weep with the changing
Leaves, do we lament when they fall
To give life to the earth? Understand the everlasting
Principal, to have no attachment eating your drumsticks,
A best friend dead and you’re swatting at flies, when
People starve in silent African lands and people blown
By the falling of a silent bomb, understanding a change
Of form, nothing dies but concepts. It is selfish to ask
Monotony, it all stays the same but never in front of our
Eyes. It’s just a change of form, from the wardrobe
Of the seasons, it’s creation and re-creation.
When children become the teachers, when grandparents
Complain it’s not how it used to be, they don’t
Really see that it’s always been the same, in and
Throughout all things, the undying principal eternal
Makes puppets and divine plays for itself, poor
Become beggars, rich become presidents, a swan stays
In the pond, a chicken is caged and slaughtered,
A murderer is euthanized, a child is diseased. We build
Monuments out of fallen forests to glorify
Fallen heroes, yet never glorify this fallen moment. We
Are creating and we are re-creating. The self
Hums to itself, the self knows only One Self.

I AM THE SUN

I AM THE NEVER SETTING NOW,
I AM THE SILENCE STANDING THE HORIZON,
I AM THE ALL PIERCING RAY OF AWARNESS,
I AM THE THOUGHT UNLIMITED ALWAYS NEAR,
I AM THE DAWN AND DUSK IN EVERY BREATH,
I AM THE BURNING FUSION OF SELF REALIZATION,
I AM THE SOURCE, I AM THE SPARK, I AM.

Ablaze

I search the freezer with mind, Sweat bubbling
On the tips of baby hairs, air sweltering and stagnant,
The wind cures embers, pavement black, flesh
Buckets burned, evaporation wounds, mind
The freezer found, Opened to let the cold condense into a thick
White rolling fog, a crisp plastic bag frozen
With soy, let the rambling blood cease, the snow
Flake door with suction
Magnetized, sealed to skin on my shoulder stung with
Ice, tap-water white, medicinal and potent, Dropped
In a chasm at poles, snapping dynamics, dry,
Compressed, conditioned, at the moment I have
No unit, ablaze with chills.


To Peel a Banana

An elongated elation
Banana with a crunch in whole grain cereal
Banana as a quick pick me up of insulin
A cramp defender packed with potassium
Sweet and salty with Peanut butter protein
A tropical climate brought
A peel, a peel, a peel
Banana mashed in cooked oats
Banana sliced to company fellow fruits
Over ripped bruised to blend, bake, and rise
A secret banana in pocket
A locket for taste to remember
The taste of tropics which the eye never sees
A bite of hard shelled green boomerangs
Antiperspirant on the palate
Banana splits into three
A fleshy Tri-chotomy
I’ve held finger sized bananas
Bananas in yellow bunches
Thai fried in coconut batter
To peel a banana is a process
Begun with a seed
In the ever equatorial sun leafed jungles
Bananas are regional
Yet the stomach draws no borders

Angles or Demons

Angels or demons,
Can’t we just be?
Look at paws
To see a part of me
Dissected.
Who can I see,
Reflected,
With a veil
Shading?

Adding to the list
Of limitations,
Charting the path
To imprisonment.
Where is the problem
In letting things be?
All things be or else
They wouldn’t be.

Isness I AM.
This business
Of boxing
Squares
Leaves no room
For circles.

Entities from One,
That never defines
Should and Shouldn’t,
None be evil,
None be good.
Man sets his
Standard
To stay in suffering.

As all is divine,
In the thought
Is where we
Confine
Connection.
Dismissing selves
Miss the path,
Of no path
But being bliss.

A Birth to Night

I recognize my God,
To not employ faith
Anymore. The reflecting saw
How to accept the vain
In a leaf as its own.
I drawl my inherited
Claim. Sleep no more
Takes me with outstretched arms
Pleading to let a dream
Rest at the wake. I bless
A transition into the right
Light of thought, to kiss
A dimension of twinkling
Dirt and blackened root. A mess
As birth smiles.

The Last Asking

She called me again with wanting

Stinking on her breath, this time
Was the last time, I was asleep
Until the dream desired more,

I am angered
That she only sees me

As a tool and banker, I still give
Her time, a Friendship pulls
Buckets until the well of response

Runs dry, once more I have

To give out of sweeping love
To hollow my heart larger

To know there is
Enough.

As It Is

Flowering
To connectivity takes petal
To petal, an expanding
Of chest, a breath
Of giving, being all
In a body emerging without
Suckling, another breath

Of giving, reading the world
As an autobiography
Of a seed, cycles of yourself
As a creator and gardener,
With moments

To fertilize, and one plant
To care for, our earth
Is round, our bodies
Are round, our spirits circle
Enslaved neurons, life dies
As we see it, immortal
As we live it.

See, Answer.

How many births, how many
Deaths must I see before me,
Before I will see, as stillness,
I count time in numbers before
The Roman Christus calendar,
How many risings, how many
Settings, look up but to see the orange
Fettered cloud whitening, one
Before, one behind – grey
And curved for darkness,
A shimmer of one more
Gone, a reflection of past again,
So I say how many until I
Weather, loosing grip willingly,
To the core of my eye where
I will see,
A day in perspective,
Elephant, mosquito and
A turning away and to,
A revolution not counted
By them, yet number to us,
What are the additions for, when
We can multiply the living
Of a second and get the same enduring
Answer.

Peach Memories

My palm holds the
Texture of security and
Sent of endless summers
And nectar squeezed from
Lips of passions past.

But now I hold the memory
Before I entered this
Flesh dance of destiny.
How about this peach, forever
One letter away from peace.