The Path of Suffering

The path of suffering:

of suffering-  and there are many promises to escape, offering a bypass through this certainty of life. Many paths have this as their stated goal, some more immediate, and others in a life to come, or a well earned realm free of earthy cares. But this is about the path of suffering. It's the only truth I'm able to write about with any real conviction. 

life is the path of suffering. 

not always, and sometimes not even often - there have been long stretches of peace, contentment, and happiness in my life. I've been blessed. Yet throughout suffering was always near, for me a presence of bleak depression that asked to be drowned out by drugs and alcohol, and too often I gave into this request. Twenty years of sobriety later and the voice has grown softer, asking for less, no real expectation of receiving. But still persistent. And the depression remains, perhaps less intense, an easier visit now and then. But still present. 

of course too there is always the tragic events of life and I won't offer my list of here - they are similar to yours, everyone's. They are an inescapable aspect of life. They cause suffering through loss, pain, and drastic changes. They're unexpected, crashing existence without notice. Even a life blessed will know these events all too well. It's just how life happens. 

so the promise, as it seems, is not about escaping pain, but to no longer suffer - that suffering is a separate cause from what hurts and can be avoided through some offered path. It's a well traveled path, and one I've walked for long. And still I suffer. But life has brought me to a new path and it leads only to what's present. Sometimes it leads to suffering. There is no sense in choosing another path, a different way that only leads me exactly here, again, and still find the same suffering I wished to leave behind. The path is suffering. 

it's not chosen.

it's also not bleak, life isn't a dark path that always leads to pain - it's varied, full, and seamless in way that reveals how suffering belongs. It's an aspect of life without bias. Suffering is the path because of what it offers, because it truly won't be avoided, and it is simply the only path that's found. I walk this path with you, together, and through this we provide a common light to guide our way. It's not a lonely path, it's ours. 

it's life. 

~

Love, Eric 

No True Idea

No true idea:

with no true idea of what's to come, of what idea will makes itself know, or if a theme will play out and tie these together. There's just the writing, a pause for words to make their appearance, and then continued writing. No plan, no agenda. But there is a certain faith that words will make their way to me, will find their way to fill this page. It's how my morning unfolds, a creative trust that serves me well. I see each empty page as full of promise, my role is to listen, and then convey.

it's an easy process.

and it's the same with life - I have no true idea of what's to come, my day begins with the same creative trust that life guide me through it's course, that what I really need will find it's way to me. I have a certain faith that if I listen, if I pause and listen - life will whisper my belonging, a secret often missed throughout  a busy world. This too is an easy process. I see each dawn with the promise of an empty page, my role is to listen, and then to simply live. 

life itself fills everyday.

so a theme has emerged, as I write a story of life and creativity. I am an imperfect listener, and often make my own way across the page with words that I prefer. The theme then becomes misguided. It's similar too with life. Yet none of this is practice, what I write is a continuous correction, words given through intuitive grace replacing those I choose in preference. What's done is left to the page in testament to the moment, my own imperfect listening to grace of given words. There's no need to practice for this moment, life still continues, creativity flows, and another moment follows. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Sense of Minimalism

Sense of minimalism:

as for me, my own sense of minimalism is of interior intent, that I hold my thoughts lightly, and value silence found through letting go of what my mind used to hold. It's not about possessions, what's cherished in the mind, through imagination, binds more than what is owned. To be free doesn't require an abandonment of anything - things come and go of their own accord, through the flow and then ebb that life offers. 

even freedom can't be acquired, it's never found through seeking, and not a sense that comes from giving up the things I own. My true freedom is known through recognition of myself as life, that I belong as fully in its ebb and flow as any other aspect shown. What's let go is not my sense of self, but the ownership of this self, my cherished notion of all I hold myself to be. This sense of minimalism shows me how cluttered these beliefs are, gathered through years of collecting ideas of what I am. 

letting go happens completely on its own. 

it comes from seeing, to simply be aware, and to see myself in this awareness. It's seamless. Nothing can be owned here, everything belongs by virtue of appearance, and just as easily goes when its stay is done. There's only freedom, effortlessly so, and a true surrender in current course of flow. Through infinite space - everything appears in minimal order, belonging exactly as it is, for however long its stay. As I see now, as come to this letting go...there is only spacious wonder. 

already, I've been surrendered.

free. 

~

Peace, Eric 

A True Smile

A true smile:

to smile - and it's what I offer to the world, my own vulnerability displayed in a trust of what we share, a genuine greeting from my depth to yours. A true smile is soul seeking connection, it's my innocence in chance encounter of another's. It's an exchange between us, a telling sign of my capacity to hold you exactly as you are, and that I see this same capacity offered in return. 

to smile is to simply be aware.

my smile is made ready, from early on it's how I greet the world, from first wonder and then with every moment of new discovery. A smile is my original innocence shown, unafraid to peek from layers of hurt, and sorrow added through the years. It's vulnerable, and spontaneous, and always given in certain faith that this innocence is the true nature of the world. Through this I am never disappointed, for every response is a trade of some sort - as if we recognized our shared spaciousness, trusting another to hold a deepest fear, or grieving ache. A true smile is an invitation of trust, and we receive just enough for each exchange to be a moment of love between us, a healing encounter, no matter how brief in offering. 

a true smile is to give my deepest self.

and the truth is, the world always receives me - this alone is reason to smile. That each day I am welcomed in my every mood, never censored in beliefs, or how I greet the day. I'm accepted as I am, never questioned as to what I offer, and not measured in any sense of worth. It's enough for me to simply be, existing in common bond with every other aspect of the world. My smile is genuine, it's a knowing smile of being loved even in the strength of doubt. This too is how we receive each other, it's a bypass of mistrust and fear, given in faith of our shared innocence. We trust each other in glance and smile. It's also how we trust the world. 

today, I give my smile to you. 

Love, Eric 

To Be Worthy

To be worthy:

just a life lived worthy of itself - that I deeply appreciate my existence, this opportunity to simply be alive and thriving with each breath, and a body that functions without my conscious effort. To be worthy of this, and so much more, is the easy task of grateful being. Nothing else is needed from me but to live in thankful wonder that I'm alive, aware, and fully knowing of these gifts.

it's all by virtue of existence, to be worthy is to be alive with possibilities, mystery, and a world given to support my every breath taken. There is no doubt of my belonging. No question of my worth. Truly, I am as essential as any other aspect of the world, as natural here as a flower and just as brief in bloom. My value isn't measured in accumulation of any means. 

to bloom, is to give myself to the world.

and that's my true measure, effortlessly shared, and creative by design - my life has been a continuous bloom through every point of my existence. All that I am is an offering in return to all that's given, a flowering of deep appreciation. Life has made me worthy through initial concept all the way to this moment, and all this with nothing to prove, no argument to be more than this tremendous gift being alive and aware that this is so. 

I am worthy because I am. 

really, it's that simple, everything but bare essence is a bonus - life only asks to be lived, continued through my fullest bloom. It's an easy giving of what I am, natural, and the effort is cared for by life itself, without my slightest concern. My role is to be, and it's also all I have to offer in return. This process is how life unfolds. And I am part of this unfolding. 

worthy, through no effort of my own.

~

Peace, Eric 

To Be Fulfilled

To be fulfilled:

trust more - and for me, this is the quality of emptiness with most promise, that the page holds mystery that will reveal itself through words, if only I am patient. So I trust that every page is ready to be fulfilled, that we meet now in shared space, my own emptiness matched to its promise. 

both ready to be fulfilled. 

in truth, emptiness holds no qualities but my own, it's unconditional in the reflection that it offers and I bring myself in every fault and glory to its hold. To see, an honest seeing, is to come to certain terms with what's found - and through this I find that it all belongs. Emptiness is my own honesty, no less my true reflection as any quality brought before it. 

it is simply myself before reflection.

and after too, it seems - for there is no quality that's removed from the emptiness of its surroundings, no meaning without a silent understanding. I exist as emptiness fulfilled. And my fulfillment, my life expressed in unique personal, qualities - is not separate from its empty hold. It's all one thing, emerging, and the silent wait for what's to emerge. 

something and nothing at once. 

it's not a paradox, but only reality in working order - spacious fulfilled and always room for more, never ending in the creativeness of its expression. This is what I've come to trust, that I am of design to be creative, emptiness given voice and pen and that something of value, if only to me, will come to be expressed. 

and so I write - my trust fulfilled. 

~

Peace, Eric 

No True Lines

No true lines: 

life only appears to linger, proceeding from a certain point of note, and then reaching to another seeming moment. But there are no true lines, time not divided to segments for my convenience. It all continues, seamless, with nothing ever remaining just the same. 

to this, I come to deep appreciation, knowing that the moment isn't lasting, and that each instant witnessed is something precious given. It's not about memories, but more to live this exact moment as a gift, mindful of its fleeting nature, delicate, and that my own participation is essential for it all to be just so. 

with no true lines, I belong to every moment.

it's the way of life, continuously shifting to a new appearance, overlooked in subtle qualities until it's viewed through time. But every moment is experienced, lived, and deeply part of what I am - I have changed too with those subtle shifts, altered in imperceivable and infinite ways as life continues. I belong to the seamless, having no true lines.

in some way - I am continued.

there is no afterlife, only now, with each moment in constant rebirth, another shift to a new appearance - but always simply life, with no true lines, in the sureness of its motion. The real gift is to be aware of my participation, an easy knowing of my own belonging to this flow. This isn't the mindful weight of attention to every detail, nor a constant note of life in the present moment - this is all given through the grace of being aware. It's about life, and to know that I belong.

~

Peace, Eric 

True Beauty

True beauty:

to hear of beauty, to be transformed through description, and offering hope as a promise to be witnessed - yet still I would find myself removed from the actual things of the world, true beauty being elusive to all but presence. Even a poet offers only hints of this, no matter how insightful or artfully arranged, words fail in the sense of any real understanding.

but there's still the urge to try, a wish to give voice to something greater than can be told. This too belongs to beauty, as if it's reach continues through an artist's touch, grown fainter but still demands for it's expression. The sorrow of every artist is the sense of losing this touch, realty never quite captured through the symbols of their work. 

true beauty is in the experience.

and yet, perhaps, it's all experience - that the role of an artist is to be transformed by beauty and carried on through it's vibrations. Not to capture any single, beautiful scene but to simply, and always, be a continuation of its expression. True beauty is seamless, inter-dependent through landscape all the way to the artist's mind, and even than to all who view their work. 

it's all continued beauty. 

to hear of beauty, through words, or any means - is a sirens call of nature, urging a return to the truth of simply being. True beauty is life, told in all it's sorrow and wonder. It's always being expresses, and I find myself in an easy surrender of grace and words.

part of its continuation. 

~

Peace, Eric 

These Common Wounds

These common wounds:

to tend these common wounds, different to each, unique, and yet shared in a certain bond that we ache in a silent part of life. I know my wounds, and through this I surmise the hurt of others, that by virtue of how life unfolds that you as well have been wounded. 

at this point it's not about details, there's no wish for anything but space to share, to lend myself as capacity for others to simply rest in company. I want to tell you that you're not alone, your pain is shared in essence if not detail, and that we break and heal together. But not with words, as helpful as they often are - let's both be held in a silence of true company, the courtesy of allowing ourselves to just be open with our pain without need for it to be altered through the use of words, tending to ourselves, to each other, with the gift of being present. 

through life these wounds are protected through layers of projection, guarded, and kept from public view. My own wounds were all but buried through years of denial, by false fronts, and an offered sense of strength through every storm. There was little space to simply hurt, to tend to wounded needs. There was no space shared with others. 

no true space. 

a true space is empty of expectation for healing, it's not meant to alter how we feel. It's just provided, my own capacity offered to you, and it's yours for whatever wish you need. Through this my emptiness is fulfilled. This is the service of company, our gift of together. I know we share a common wound, my own deep ache tells me so. This, right here, not these words but the space that follows, is what I offer...

my capacity to hold you through this pain.

~

Peace, Eric 

True Generosity

True generosity:

this true generosity, the world given with every glance and no effort to achieve the view. It's all immediate, everything, and what seems missing doesn't yet belong. This is the birthright of simply being, my privilege of existence, and I take none of it for granted. 

for all that's given - I am grateful.

it's all so perfect, that my breath is drawn from the nearness of air, and in release it belongs again to the world, circulated for the need of other forms of life. Breath is truly my continuation in some invisible way - that I breathe now the very same elements of all who came before, and others in lifetimes yet to come, will breathe my soul again. 

it seems, in some essence, that I continue.

so I find myself too part of this generosity - a circulation of breath, my body once more returned as earth, and shared again as some aspect of the world. It's a true rebirth. Everything I am, in some important sense, will continue through so many ways. This is the essence of belonging, that every part of me is recycled dust, elements, energy. In this generosity, I am given too, not a breath wasted, nothing that doesn't somehow serve the whole. 

it's true generosity. 

and I am of service to the world, as it is given so freely to me I return it's favor by my very nature, again with no effort needed. To simply be - is to give. I am generosity of spirit and form, not just of breath and body, but in formless capacity as well. Selfless, I serve to hold the world. It's the generosity of belonging, every aspect, no matter how small, lending itself in continuation of the whole. This is the real sense of what I am - a lending of emptiness and form for life to be continued. 

a selfless generosity. 

~

Peace, Eric 

A Divine Revelation

A divine revelation:

and of course than, it's the face of God shown - my own gaze turned back to its source and my absence found. It's a divine revelation, that there is an emptiness without demand, simply an allowing space that gives rise to all the world. This too is where I find myself, at once this endless capacity to hold, as well as the details that emerge. To find the face of God is my own direct revelation, my gaze turned towards my true self and shown in grace and wonder. 

it's a metaphor, really, God, source and even true self - what's revealed is simply life, seamless, and continuing. But it's a life so full of mystery that only certain words will do, words that hint of an incalculable nature, infinite, and to invoke a sense of awe. 

yet there's intimacy too.

and this seems to be the big reveal, that the face of God is empty of all but reflection - to turn my sight away from the world, only shows more world where my face should be, it's emptiness fulfilled, and my own capacity serving in its hold. To search for the divine is to find God in endless direction, both ends of the view offer a divine revelation of what's true. It's the intimacy of seeing, that it's all seamless, the view unfolds as seer. 

just one thing.

so here's the face of God, found as view and the source which holds it - it's my own revelation of course, seeing the divine flow from emptiness to detail, selfless and then self too. It's the experience of life, now told as metaphor. 

but always, simply, lived. 

Peace, Eric 

Of Wonder

Of wonder:

it's an equal view of wonder - first the world in vivid detail, and then to turn towards the source which notes it all. It's to see myself as capacity for scenery, emptiness to serve, and fulfilled in my promise to unfold. It's one view, and my inclusion as seer lends it a seeming duality, temporary, and a chance for full participation. 

life is the opportunity to explore, and to find myself amidst the world, belonging as an aspect of the whole - presents it all in new light. This is the true end of seeking, energy shifted from a belief in an inner world that holds a secret to simply life in all it offers. 

this is where I belong.

right here, whatever arrives, however life unfolds - I belong to just this moment. I suppose that this is an awakening of sorts, an ordinary belonging in an extraordinary world. To relax from any pressure of escape, an allowing sense of each moment as it is, without expectation of being free from the weight of any expectations. 

to just be.

to see is to belong, to be included as the view. That's the secret, fully evident, but somehow lost through constant seeking. Seeing is the path. And it's here, always, whatever's seen, whatever presents itself, is my path of wonder. What's here, shows me I belong. There is no search for the present moment, and this frees me to explore all that I find myself to be, with no need to seek further proof of my belonging. 

it's always been right here.

~

Peace, Eric  

Availability of Simply Knowing

 

Availability of simply knowing:

of the senses - that there is the wholeness of first sight and sound, sensations known in the immediacy of their moment, and there is no break between it all, from experience to the one who is aware of what's happening. It's a world before translation, the availability of simply knowing without the weight of knowledge and expectations. 

it's the yoga of first experience. 

this is in the true word of yoga, of union with the divine, and with it my original sense that's called to know, to remember that the world is first experienced through the senses. To know isn't a means to acquire facts about the world, it's direct, deeply felt through bones of my existence. I know in initial contact - the view shows me I'm aware, a line-less sight of my own stretch of being. Then listening, and what's heard is seamless too, a note without break from silence, just continued in vibration of sound and hearing. To know is to feel the world against me, skin offered in receiving, that I am made available to the touch of air and carried breeze, a very real sense union to divine. 

it's all the experience of one thing only. 

my senses offer me this knowing, and it seems a duality of sorts, that I am one who knows of these sensations, a viewer, or the one who listens. But all that comes later, just after first experience of the senses. It's the interpretation of a moment through the lens of time. There is only initial happening, the now of right now. My senses are the knowing. Everything that seems after is only a translation, a memory of past moments. 

the availability of simply know, is always now. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Full of Meaning

Full of meaning:

my world is full of meaning, personalized through my own years, as well as what came to me from others long before. What I see is a story, a fictional account of reality. It's a translation of first view to suit my mood, and my beliefs. My story isn't wrong, it's just not complete, only telling me a version of the truth to fit the comfort of my needs. 

to give meaning is a beautiful thing, assigning value to my daily view - of what holds a certain loveliness, or an aversion given to protect. In a sense the world is seen through an artful lens, a discerning taste acquired through studied years. But at best it's my own meaning assigned to the world, and lesser still would be the unexamined views that I've accepted. 

the meaning of the world is just my story. 

art belongs before value, it's the innocence of initial seeing, and then all meaning follows. It's really how the world is seen, a first shock of wonder at this seamless view, my own natural belonging to it all, and only then a rush for meaning. My original view is always complete, it's whole and without story. It's true seeing. 

yet my stories belong as well, they're earned through the grace of living, an expression of life through the lens of my account as self. They are true to extent that I believe them. In this light, and at this point in life - I hold my views lightly. My life is a story based on what I held as true in certain moments. It's still unfolding now. 

and yes, it's full of meaning. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Certain of this belonging:

to know just one thing, only that I belong, and that in an infinite world of possibilities - this is no small promise. It's finding myself at home, present, and certain of this belonging. More so, that I belong without effort, my own sense of comfort being natural to each moment. 

and that nothing is excluded from this - I am not forced from this comfort for any state of discord, nor am l limited to a specific peace of mind. My every mood belongs. There is nowhere else that holds me. It's simply an embrace of my own presence that once seemed so foreign to me, but now is true in the welcome that it offers. 

this seems more than mere acceptance of myself, a dismissal of judgement, and coming to terms with who I am - no, this, than, is an allowing, something greater, that provides room for me to reach, to rest as who I find myself through every possible moment. 

it's finding myself at home within the world. 

not just home, but again a certain belonging - that this is all exactly the only way that things could be, and that I am absolved of any past belief that the world had to be a special way to suit me. It's a true, and real sense of presence, of being, and that life is unfolding as my own expansion, my participation as an aspect of the whole. 

that I am certain of this belonging. 

~

Peace, Eric 

My Own Jacob's Ladder

My own Jacob's ladder:

of my own Jacob's ladder - that my life is touched deep to earth and yet as well extends infinite in it's reach, reality being far more than it seem, but always belongs rooted to this present moment.It's not symbolic of a meeting point of heaven and earth, but that both exist right here, found only now, and within my own sense of being.

 in this light there is no need for a ladders reach, no rungs to aid an imaginary climb to something greater than my life. To dream of Jacob's ladder is my own realization, seeing myself as complete, here, within this moment, and that there is no true way to climb any further. 

my ladder's reach is always now.

it was once believed that heaven existed, that rungs were offered in pursuit of something other than this moment, a ladder was needed to reach the highest levels. I dreamed of Jacob's ladder while asleep to the reality of life, carried through my day to day existence. Living in a trance of what it offered. There was always one more rung to climb, another rung to reach, and the promise of a final heaven. I found my life given to the climb. 

but I am my own Jacob's ladder.

every dream ends with waking, illusions parting to the reality of this world, to this present moment. No ladder is needed to find myself awake. Just light, and open eyes. My dream of a ladder is now replaced with my own sense of presence, that my climb was always an illusion, each rung offered me my own completeness.

if I would only stop climbing. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Of Experience

Of experience: 

from the senses - the world comes to us through sensations, a first purity of experience before translation to categories of events and time. It's our original language, spontaneous, and without description. It's the sound of wonder, innocence, and awe. Yet now it's mostly unspoken, experience muted by common belief that it's all been heard before, that every sight a repeated scene, and that even something new must be described within the mind. 

we've lost out first language.

or perhaps we've just forgotten, maybe unsure and not trusting of our initial response in how we meet the world. We hesitate to give voice to our natural expression, relying now on labels, filling silence with words that only tell a story of a previous moments happening. To speak of the present is the language of magic, of mystery. It's a myriad of sounds, gestures, and allowing silence to be stretched to the full length of its expression. All spontaneous.

as if mystery could be planned. 

this is the language of experience, of first sensations, and is always to the present moment, always now, and still the initial voice we give the world. Only now there's a rush to familiar labels, descriptions to fill what seems a void. We no longer hear our own true voice. But it's present, hushed by current noise, yet still here to be expressed. It's what's happening now, the simple experience of being without effort, each breath drawn and releases in the spontaneous voice of being present. It doesn't take a mindful practice, nor the result of  any special technique. 

relax in the first response of whatever happens now.

it's the genuine experience of whatever is experienced, and without apology for being open to the world. There is no shame in being alive, and we are simply an aspect of life being urged to participate once more, engaged with our own belonging. 

we are asked to speak our first language. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Of Original Intent

Of original intent:

it's all wrong names, the world mislabeled, and now believed to be made of separate things. It's not seen as seamless anymore. Once, there was the language of original intent, spoken from the senses on how we perceived the world. We spoke of the depth of things, of what was invoked through our participation with life...

of our belonging. 

the world now is simply labeled, no longer invoking a shared sense of being. It seems there's little magic anymore. Yet there might be still enough, just enough to again see our seamless nature. To invoke a bit of magic. This is true sight, seeing without a need to immediately define. 

it's resting as awareness.

this isn't the magic of make believe, it's really more reality before beliefs - the simplicity of how things are before we rush to name and offer meaning. It's life before our definition. Our original, and still present, awareness. There's nothing to be believed, only perceived by our senses, to be known first without language, and only then spoken from original intent. It's not a practice, no ritual of magical charm. Just seeing first, listening in innocence before meaning, tasting life in that first, single bite, and feeling the world brush against skin in that initial reach of breeze. 

it all happens on its own.

and this isn't what we strive for - it's what's always present, and we're aware, but forgetful that it's so. Our true and first language is awareness. When we speak from here it's the poetry of life, silence somehow spoken, and the world again known seamless. 

the language of original intent.

~

Peace, Eric 

Original Meaning

In original meaning:

to repent, truly so, and not with sorrow, nor regret - but in original meaning, turning back towards a different understanding of myself and of the world. This is to repent in innocence, literally to see myself without mar, unmarked by slights of my own infliction. 

my true self.

words lose their original meaning through time, becoming something other than their first intent. It's the same with life too. I carry the weight and scars of many years.My first innocence lost to beliefs that I was separate from the world, that life was meant to be a struggle to achieve a certain status. It's what I learned, and no one to blame, just a long line of inherited tradition. But it wasn't true and never questioned. I never really lost my sense of being, my original meaning. 

it was simply forgotten.

or perhaps better said - it was overlooked. My original meaning, and only real purpose, is to be, to just be, and not strive to be something other than a joyful part of life, aware, and grateful of existence. This joy is not untouched by sorrow, but belongs to life in full, with every aspect accepted as belonging. This includes my story too, all the weight and scars, the beliefs of something being wrong. It's just how life unfolded. 

and back to the word repent and original meaning - to repent is to surrender, to return to the truth of who I am, and life's first intent. It's to turn around and see my original self, empty of all but joyful existence. This is seeing myself as capacity for life to be expresses through me, as my own personal expression too. To repent is to allow myself to be, to simply, and only be, exactly who I am. 

it's my true meaning. 

~

Peace, Eric 

As Our Connection

As our connection:

by breath - the very air of our existence, drawn true as our connection. To say that we are one is not simply a philosophical wish, nor spiritual in belief. It's the essence of breath, that we are joined in breathing one thing touched against us, air in the same life given for countless years. 

our connection is deep and infinite.

we are joined through air, by its touch, and not one thing found separate from its caress. It's the emptiness of our potential, of our reach, and carried voice. I hear the world through air, the view opens to its expanse, and everything arrives within its hold. 

air is our existence.

life appears in what seems like emptiness - that I leave off for the world to begin, objects with distance found between. Yet this space is a swirl unseen things, it's essence, energy, life. There is really no place where I leave off, it's all one caress, my reach continued without end. I am as much this swirl of energy as I am the form of my appearance. It's the somehow I found myself more solid than air, a body, mind, and aware of my existence. But never not connected, still the qualities of air, always endless in reach, and unseen potential. 

and every breath is my reminder.

~

Peace, Eric 

Lost in Pursuit

Lost in pursuit:

 it's in the pursuit of something other, to chase a preferred present moment that the fullness of what's offered now is missed. We become lost in constant seeking, convinced that one more experience, something better than the moment that we're having, will deliver us to the life that we've been promised. 

we're lost in the only moment that's available. 

there's a tragic irony in this, chasing Nirvana, seeking our true nature, and all the while life unfolds in simple, glorious mystery. This, and right here, is where we're supposed to be. It's not effort of achievement to be present - it's simply relaxing to what's happening now, whatever that may be, and wherever we may find ourselves. 

we're not lost at all. 

but we often seem to be, forgetting our true selves through an image we've projected. What's true is who we are, without projection, nor belief that we are anything other. It's enough to be alive, to be aware of this privilege, and grateful that it happened at all. With this ease into being we can relax the pursuit, continue more now as explorers of what's present. 

an explorer is never lost.

in this sense than, everything belongs, accepted in an instant - energy has shifted to being, relaxed from frantic effort to escape the unpleasant, our sorrow, or any faults perceived. It all belongs, and in this acceptance the world s transformed to original, ordinary wonder. Just what is, nothing more. No longer lost in pursuit - we've arrived again to where we are. 

never lost again. 

~

Peace, Eric 

To The Moment

Belongs to the moment: 

nothing is pursued, what arrives belongs to the moment that it's given, and even the effort for an end result happens only now. It's not a point of patience - this is simply acknowledging what's present, knowing that nothing comes before its time, indeed all that's really known is found right now. There's no need to chase anything. 

all effort is always in the present moment.

writing is my example - there are two beginnings; an empty page, and the first thought of inspiration. There is no rush to fill the page, nor to chase words. This is not my process, it's the art of every beginning, formless potential with a willingness to lend itself to form. It's creation itself, genesis, and I find myself a participant without command. 

it's the process that includes me. 

words come on their own, writing happens, and so often I find myself with a smile and the motion of fingers - this seems to be my main contribution, a willingness to set myself aside and just allow it all to happen. My only real effort is not to interfere. This isn't magic, nothing is invoked, and inspiration isn't courted to appear. It's just being with what's present and sometimes this includes the absence of words, no proper thoughts to begin with. 

sometimes there's only waiting.

so it is with life, wishing for something, or someone that isn't here, a rush to fill a seeming void. But sometimes, often times, there's only waiting. But it's the void that allows creation, it's essential, the raw, innocent potential to become the present moment. There is no need to wish for more, nor to wait in vain for something to arrive. It's all here - or it isn't. What's found now belongs to the moment, and this may include effort for the next appearance, waiting, of even frustration. 

everything belongs. 

and nothing chased arrives any sooner - it's always, only, now. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Message of Kabbalah

Message of Kabbalah:

that which is received - and it's the message of Kabbalah, reception, and that words are passed on from some higher source. It's a beautiful tradition. Yet for me, I find that it all takes place through the tradition of  writing, a true alchemical means of words appearing though the invitation of an empty page. It's patience, and perhaps the wisdom of allowing words to find their way to me without the need of petition or prayer. 

inspiration is the grace of receiving. 

what takes place is mystery, an expression of the unknowable making it's way to me and my words simply a rough translation. The words themselves aren't special, no secret or higher meaning - the magic, the only and true magic, is that moments before there was no inspiration, no words to be arranged. Just emptiness waiting, abiding in its creative energy. Knowing. 

the clear message of Kabbalah, for me, is to wait - my agenda has no role in this process, only my surrender. Words will be received, emptiness fulfilled. I am part of this reception, a creative means to reach the page. If I wish to write, to join the alchemy of form from the formless - I only have to show up, open to receive.

to be as empty as the page. 

in this way too I am fulfilled, a served capacity to express a certain will for art, perhaps some beauty, and insight shared. It's the simplest form of Kabbalah, no more than primal cave art, desire itself, creation, and the grace of inspiration. 

this morning - I showed up to write these words. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Just Before

Just before: 

just before interpretation - that the world exist without a single story told, everything happening in the purity of first moments. I see it all through filters, personal, with my own beliefs added. As now, with every story, the world is my reflection. Yet...

and equally so, my truth are those first moments as well - it's here that I find myself just before interpretation, without story, or the need to explain the world in certain ways. Everything just is, existing, happening in the only way that's possible for now. This is how things always are, this moment has no story until I come to offer one. 

sometimes it's a beautiful story.

but often it comes in tragic tales too, stories of disease and harm, war, and a world of sorrow. It's a mystery why these stories are told, how events are interpreted and reactions come to play. Any explanation would only be another story, my story, just a version of what's so. 

of course I prefer the beautiful, and there's a wish for it to be constant, or at least to be available for my demand. Somehow, that's not how the story seems to go. It seems I'm not always free in my interpretation. But I know that the word does exist just before every story - there's a sense of freedom in this, that reality plays on a deeper level, impersonal, yet intimate as well. It's a call for me to live life not only on the surface, where the stories are told, but to feel, truly, really, feel myself alive, as I am now, both storyteller and the emptiness that gives rise for every story to be told. 

at least that's my interpretation of it all. 

~

Peace, Eric 

To Suffer

To suffer:

it's about not wanting to suffer, coming to just a few basic things - the ease of breath, to have the needs of life met, and yes to have love and know a true connection. Philosophy takes a shift with these concerns, no longer the drive to find a certain truth, or reality exposed in a final find. 

sometimes a single, clear breath is enough. 

life is often found to be a struggle, and even as tragedy is dodged suffering seems to loom near. Loss is in inescapable. It's how life goes. I've spent years seeking to come to terms with this, to find a place where hurt didn't...hurt. It's often said that pain is unavoidable but suffering is an option, that once a level of equanimity is developed there comes a point of surrender to the cares of the world. I find that doubtful. Yes, meditation has brought a sense of ease and balance to my life. I'm able to flow with the rough aspects of life, quickly returning to a sense of calm. 

but right now I'm suffering.

and I find no need to add the weight of spiritual disapproval to this, that I should transcend and heal my mind if not my body. My suffering belongs to the moment, it's the pure pain of what's happening now without the hope of change. It's just what is. Of course even the wish to escape this pain belongs, hope and the belief to heal belong too. Whatever is present is true to the moment and most certainly belongs for the moment of its appearance. 

nothing is chased away.

to suffer is not an option - or if it is I haven't reach that level of charmed equanimity yet and doubt I ever will. But I do have some understanding of how things are, that what's present is what I have to deal with and I may bring any level of strength and grace to see me through. Or sometimes none at all. This isn't a matter of what I can do, my strength of body and will mean nothing. 

it's about not wanting to suffer - and right now I am, with little I can do. This is what the moment brings me, and it's simple really. Sometimes there's just suffering. 

that's all I seem to know. 

~

Peace, Eric 

A New Reality

A new reality:

sometimes there is a new reality, at least a personal one, a fundamental shift in a long held perspective. Even as things appear the same, the world has been transformed. It happens in an instant, or perhaps it was a longer becoming, unnoticed until now. 

but it always feels sudden. 

it's been said that reality is what remains after all beliefs disappear, that the world is always viewed through perspectives and the filter of belief. Reality is unchanging. I'm just not sure that this is so - reality seems to fluid, always in motion, and never really the same from one moment to the next. It's like looking at light stream through a window in the dawn, there is a subtle dance of dust motes and the beam, shifting in angle and qualities of play. 

the dance stays the same. 

my own dance is changing, there's a new reality streaming through my window - and it certainly feels sudden. I wonder about beliefs and perspectives, and if letting go of a former self will change this dance much at all. I really don't know. Maybe light itself always remains and only dust motes are rearranged for another morning's dance. The truth is that I may never know, and it's that uncertainty that offers to dance with me now. What's constant is motion, that reality has shifted with sudden notice and a new dance has begun. I will do my best to keep up, to stay in motion. 

to dance. 

~

Peace, Eric 

A Heart Sutra Of Sorts

A heart sutra of sorts:

it's the same words, always - nothing is new but their arrangement, and with this comes infinite means of expression with every session writing. This is my chance to explore the possibilities of an empty page, to trade space for words, and allow some meaning to emerge. Everything I write is a heart sutra of sorts, simply an exchange of one thing in a different show of emptiness to form. 

to be creative is really just to allow what's present to make itself known. Inspiration is always available and only needs to bypass my internal edit system, the critic with a wish to take charge before even a single word appears. There's an insistent call for meaning, that every page hold some secret that only this author can reveal. It's this belief in the special privilege of an artist that often prevents true art from appearing. Too many voices from the very beginning, arguing for control. 

the truth is there is no control.

there really isn't even an artist - there's only life with an urge to expressed through the means of words, or lens, or stroke of brush. It's all art in constant making. Each moment I sit and write. It's not a time in search of words. They will make their appearance known and through patience I will be aware of their arrival. It's then that I play with their arrangement, the magic of an empty page allowing itself to meaning, to an artful display. This is creativity and it's a subtle difference from being creative - I make nothing happen, there's no control here, and truly I'm no different than the page. It's an equal emptiness, a matched capacity for things to appear. 

it's an allowing. 

but not an allowing assigned by the artist, or anyone really - the flow of words is life expressed in the motion of writing. It's the same with every aspect of life. Again, it's a heart sutra of sorts, energy exchanging it's empty potential for a momentary expression of what seems solid, or holds a certain meaning. Art is a beautiful illusion, emptiness in temporary form. An artist is simply part of this allowing, graced with an awareness of it's happening. 

to be aware is to be inspired.

~

Peace, Eric 

In Fragments

In fragments:

it comes in fragments, each word and then to phrase - yet always they belong to some whole idea, an inspiration giving itself away in measured terms. My role is patience, listening, and to arrange what's heard within the framework of page and theme. It's without true effort, just a joyful response to an inner call urging for expression. 

it mostly happens on its own. 

in the beginning it often seems random, just a few words and not yet a direction known. It's playful, trading space for words in any manner that inspires. The meaning is always the same no matter what the theme may be - that words come from mystery, not delivered but revealed as my own voice as well. It's all mystery and grace, one thing in various expression, and for now it's my own sense of being the author that claims this as my own. 

but I know better. 

there's is no true author, only inspiration, life as poetry itself and my own particular, unique voice to express this moment. It's a gift, but not my gift. Life is what's giving, always in motion, waiting to be heard and seen above the din and illusions of our busy world. We're all artist, of any sort, and all it takes is a pause - to recognize and remember that in it comes in fragments, ideas belonging to the whole, and that this wholeness too is our belonging. 

it's all art, really, life - just waiting to be revealed. 

~

Peace, Eric 

No Escape

No Escape:

yet here I am - and I find myself with no escape, no option to a avoid a certain suffering, just accepting, allowing, and to let even my denial belong. Of course this is the last place I wish to be, here, unwell after a lifetime of care and healthful practice. I will do all I'm able to heal, to be strong...to continue. But here I am, feeling broken, scared and scarred by something unseen. 

there's no escape from this moment.

and I'll try, the mind is often an unreasonable thing, bargaining for another option, anything but what's now and what looms uncertain. I will bargain and deny. I will go through every stage of self-grief. It's what the mind does. In the end, whatever the end, it will be exactly as it is. No amount of denial will change this, no wishful thoughts, nor magic pills. 

here I am, always, until the very end. 

there's no escape from hear, from wherever I find myself and from whatever is happening now - yes, there's healing, there's change, and sometimes even miracles. Life is motion after all. But what I deal with is right now, this instant of struggle and sadness, pain, and even anger. This isn't where I wish to be. 

yet here I am. 

it's here, only and always. I will deal with this instant, nothing more - even as my mind rushes forward and dreams of past. It all belongs right now. 

And that's where find myself, knowing that all I wish wasn't present - is. Each moment I will try and heal. I will care and tend to health and my sorrow. I will do what I can to heal. Yet here I am, and I have no idea where that may lead. Uncertainty too belongs to the moment. 

everything does. 

~

Peace, sincerely, Eric 

Nowhere

Nowhere else but here: 

there's nowhere else but here - which seems obvious, and much exaggerated as well. I am always present here, my particular awareness and it never seems to exceed the scope of my attention. It's always immediate, never not exactly where I seem to be. I am here, now. Of course being  here, for me, is localized, my own realm of influence and awareness. The world doesn't end without my presence found. 

but my presence does expand the world.

to be aware is without limit, expanding with each step, always just ahead in both view and imagination. Here - is wherever I find myself to be. It includes the potential of where my steps might lead me, being place-less, there are no boundaries for my travels. I am always here. And in this sense, at home in all the world. There is no place that's not my true belonging. 

presence is the intimacy of the world. 

this is where I find you, nowhere else but here, presence merged to our together. It's always been so, that I've always held this place for you, my capacity, here, and that it serves only for your own true belonging. This is the only real reason to talk of emptiness, it's temporariness, existing only as a welcome for what's to come and then expanding it's embrace further. 

to be here - is to be both empty and fulfilled. 

~

Peace, Eric 

This Could Be Called The Soul

This could be called the soul:

my sense of being, not just alive but that I'm aware, and somehow belong to the greater whole as well. A function, vital to it all. Perhaps this could be called the soul, this feeling that emanates from my belonging. 

everything points to this connection - my breath drawn air, and my body the same stuff as earth somehow given form. My every action a movement of the world. To add that I'm aware, a sensing capacity that knows the touch of wind against me - from this I find no separation from what I feel and what seems to cause this feeling. It's an experience of one. 

perhaps this could be called the soul of the world. 

this is no claim of a universal truth, it's not a belief, nor a religion of my own - what I'm calling soul is simply this moment, what arises, and how it all fits to a singular experience of now. I offer no explanation, just these words in brief description, and how they too appear within this moment, an expression of the soul as well. 

this could be called the soul - of a thousand other names. Or better yet to leave it unnamed, allow it to stay in the silence of its first home. But I find that even words belong, the urge to give voice as holy as its silent origin. It's all soul. One expression. And there's no point, nor will, to censor what arises to be told. I call it soul, but just for now, only in this moment. How it will expressed tomorrow I have no idea, another name, different words I'm sure. 

for right now though - this could be called the soul. 

~

Peace, Eric