What We Bring

What we bring:

what we bring is intimacy, a true point of who we are and offered to the world. This is our experience, each moment a thought, sensation, whatever our attention holds. It's without translation, pure in its regard, raw. Our first language. 

of simply being aware.

and not separate by way of observation, no go-between of witness and what's observed. This is just one thing meeting itself through varied form and essence. It's the world told through our experience, a participation of the whole channeled down to the finite point of our attention. 

it's what we are.

what we bring is momentary, just brief enough to note, but somehow too continuous in its stream of motion. We're a paradox of information, a knowing touch to any object of our reach and yet at once seamless in the experience of touching. It's singular, no object really, not separate from us in first appearance and certainly not in reach, nor final outcome of a touch. It's all experienced by an allusive, arbitrary self, coming to this one point of notice and then vanishing once again to the stream of its attention. This self exists for such moment alone, an illusory arising of all that's held within an instant, immediate in both note and it's surrender. In truth - not existing at all. 

so what we really bring is nothing, it's intimacy all along, 

and we're simply momentary points within its notice. 

~

Peace, Eric  

As This

As this:

just as this - and it's our genuine expression, authentic in fault as well as the brilliance of being completely human in our ways. There is no transcending this moment, ordinary and divine at once. Our only call is to relax fully as we are.. 

just as this.

what we are is as effortless as breath; it's the ease of receiving light from sun and air to function. We come to the world by grace, our cares are met from first moment on, and none of this planned for our arrival. It's all simply ready for life to proceed, no different than a tree root deep in its belonging. We are a natural effect of life's continuation, uncomplicated in our humanness, at peace within the world. Of course none of this disregards struggle, nor dismisses that life so often holds sorrow and its share of suffering. Nothing is denied through the course of living. Yet our realization is in being whole, and this must include all that life offers, without bias to our pleasure, nor bypassing what gives cause to suffering. We live life as it comes to us, accepting it all even as we struggle to understand the mysteries of its ways. 

every bit of this is natural. 

and so we drop the effort of trying to belong, no more demands for life to be anything other than what it is right now. Everything meets us here; grace and the divine in the ordinariness of being human. No more than this is needed. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Just Don't Know

Just don't know:

mostly, we just don't know - and even with a quiet understanding reached we entertain stories, theories, and beliefs of who we are. It seems there is a temptation for every void to be quickly filled. This is how we arrive to another story being told, from bafflement of ever present mystery to the assurance that our new beliefs are real. 

but mostly, we just don't know.

enlightenment is a story, that we are souls and reincarnate with lessons learned is one as well. Our every text, sacred to us or any other, is written as belief. These words that I'm writing now are as false as every other.  No one truly understands the mystery of our existence, or what survives our passing on, nor even the complexities of what this moment holds. Our stories are meant to help us navigate the world, to aid us in deciphering some personal meaning from the joy and hardships of life. Even science isn't true in any ultimate sense, only a well informed description told through filters of the mind.

without having to know - we are left with awe. 

my own practice to hold things lightly, allowing beliefs to skirt the edge of mind without truly gaining any purchase. This is the headless way, allowing what's happening now first without description, just experience alone, and recognizing when words appear to make a story known. To be headless isn't a metaphor for the absence of a self - but simply a note of present moment and what's found in this awareness. It's about looking, seeing, and abiding in the mystery of it all. 

it's the absence of a story.

and the space for any later story told.

~

Peace, Eric 

My Concern

My concern: 

my concern is reality - and I'm curious in the ultimate sense of science and its correlation to ideals of a spiritual nature. To read of matter being composed of atoms and further still a swirl of particles that exist as mostly space between their pattern; and a certain understanding unfolds as to what the mystics told of emptiness and form in the interplay of life. My own experience comes to light as well; of a known emptiness that allows my world to appear exactly as it does. 

yet my concern is reality of a truer sense.

of life in the realness of what each moment holds, experience shifting in my grasp even as I know that nothing's lasting. My days our often bitter sad right now, edged by loss, and filled with mundane task of caring for another who needs so much help in many ways. My own health has faltered in an unexpected fashion, a confrontation of my limits where none seemed present not so long before. My reality is true and solid in the form of loss, sadness, and struggle. 

but ultimately- none of this is so.

these things don't exist in any real form, nonentities all, fleeting even as they seem to linger. I know this, and more I experience their subtle stay in such a way that allows me to note their presence, how brief their actual touch against me, even as the sting remains. I am mostly space to their patterns, aware, allowing, and unconcerned by their appearance. Things exist even as they're empty. I feel their presence even through the illusion of a self that has no true sense of being real. 

that's reality. 

and only my concern.

~

Peace, Eric 

However Words Find Me

however words find me - and that's my morning preparation, to make myself ready to receive not just words but the entirety of the day. It's an easy routine of simply awakening, a first listen to what's drawn to my attention, bird song, insect chirp, and a car in distance travel, all blended to a chorus of their own. It seems that sound always arrives first, before any light finds me, or thought flirts through my mind. I listen from a deep recess somewhere between sleep and waking - as if waiting for the world to sing me fully to the day. 

with this I'm ready, inspired, and nothing more needs to be done for words to find me - writing takes place completely on it's own from whatever mood existing now. There is no proper place or way for me to be, just awake, and open to receive. 

it's that simply, yet only because I have no wish to write anything other than what presents itself to me, perhaps too lazy to reach for some higher meaning or clever use of phrase. I am content with what's given, patient in my wait for words. In this way my mood and writing seem to correspond with some energetic exchange of their own - I find my self responding to their whims of language, writing in ways that leave me more as witness to their play. I am not removed from this process, fully conscious of mood and inspiration, yet certainly not the author of the words that find me. 

what's written now is my only draft of this surprise - a few simple words, no great meaning other than my own satisfaction of a morning's work complete. A writer only needs words, and with this all they really have to do is wait. That's the hardest part and one so often confused as a block to their creativity. Words find us. We are not sole creators of any form of art, nor even authors of our own life and inspiration. We are a means within a process, an instrument of intermediary points between thoughts and page. I don't take my role so seriously as to demand credit for words. There is no self importance in being ready and open to receive. However words find me - 

writing happens. 

~

Peace, Eric 

No Real Moments

No real moments:

no real moments found here- no brief mark of time to count as an experience. Life is so transitory, so elusive to our hold, current. What occurs now is immediately cast as memories, life has already carried on, shifting to a new becoming. A moment is nothing more than essence, qualia, suchness is the Buddhist phrase. It's not real due to life being motion, that even as we experience something meaningful, it happens through a stream of shifting, ever changing conditions, not even brief in giving pause. What seems a moment is already something other, becoming, ending, endless in its motion. 

only this is found.

~

Peace, 

Eric 

Of Denial

Of denial:

with no wish of denial, and this moment being exactly as it is - this is where my faith belongs, an instant filled by life in the rawness of its happening. There is no real escape from this and no need for any attempt to flee. Life always follows, a holding presence of its exactness, whatever is occurring now is the reality of just this moment. I'm urged to stay with this, to allow, and allow, and keep myself open to this fragile time of hurt and sense of loneliness.

to not deny a moment of this moment.

it's not so difficult, and I find myself approaching it all with tenderness, that my own presence holds the world without bias, and every wound belongs as it's found, no rush to heal, nor to push my hurt aside. To just be present, accepting this sense of brokenness through each piece that comes to me, simply holding, holding, until absolved of separate point of its belonging. 

only wholeness now.

and of course it's been this all along, a willingness to hold each present hurt and every slight that life offers. Nothing is ever truly denied, but only unacknowledged, unattended to the proper light of my attention. I am called to heal in the very instant of my hurt, held through the terrors of my every lonely point, and never once broken from the wholeness of existence. I come to see this when I'm ready, no moment is rushed, tenderness is always present. 

with no wish for denial, and this moment being exactly as it is...

this is where my faith belongs. 

~

Peace, Eric 

If By Chance or Order

If by chance or order: 

if by chance or by order - and both science and philosophy have given this much study, with Einstein famously stating that God doesn't play nice with the universe in defense of order from the quantum weirdness of the world. He truly believed that mystery was simply a current unknown and would one day reveal answers to scientific minds. Philosophers take a varied view with religious thinkers of course taking God as the master planner of it all and mortals not being privy to His ways. 

evolution has a different view with chance being the constant rule of life's continuation. Yes, there is direction, an urge for survival, but randomness played to our favor and gave cause for the elegance of a giraffe's neck to our own ability to navigate the world in such a clever way. It seems there is room for an argument to be made for both chance and order. 

it's not my argument to make.

my own life is utterly ruled by mystery, with grace playing a certain theme throughout, and no sure explanation for the presence of either. It certainly seems that God has rolled the nice for my existence, improbable odds stacked against arrival and all the gifts found immediate to my birth. So much had to happen in just a certain way for even a first breath to be drawn. The dice, from infinite regression, rolled and continue so, completely in my favor. 

as if by plan.

if by chance or by order - and really the two are seamless in my view. I offer no need to distinguish between any aspect of life in defense of a particular theory. Life happened, by great chance and through the same developed through a certain order. Perhaps there is some greater intelligence that lends a guiding hand, or more likely still that life itself is a divine intelligence of its own command, a simple urge for continuation that somehow gives rise for our own wish to explore and understand. I find no reason to choose an explanation when both chance and order play so completely as a theme. 

and so for me, 

I am grateful for every random event that has led to my existence, as well for the arrangements that allow for life to be in all the complexities of its chaos and beauty. By mystery and by grace - I find myself alive and thankful that it's so.

~

Peace, Eric 

Process, All The Way Down

Process:

 wherever words arrive from - and then to reach the page. I am simply the process in between. There is little I do besides arrangement and this isn't a humble stance at all. I have no idea where ideas begin and gain momentum to be written. It's impossible to trace their origin and even more so to demand a reason as to how and why they find me. 

I'm just happy that they do. 

keeping this in mind, I find no reason to claim any true authorship of these words, of anything written before, and so it seems with any creative notion life has brought to me. I was a process all along. This isn't to diminish any achievement, but to only give due credit to whatever the source that delivers thoughts and ideas of their written worth.

honestly, I don't believe there is any ultimate source that holds creative origin, no muse that gives a whisper to my ear - it's process from beginning all the way down, a contingency of idea to page, and the mystery of its flow. It's why I'm always surprised by any word that finds me, incredulous of such inspiration given so freely. I am humbled to be a part of this contingency of ideas, to play my role, faithful in my wait for words. 

and this is why I take critique so lightly, offering little explanation to my writing - it's all simply an expression of the moment, a process seen through to what seems its completion. I'm a seamless point in this contingency, key to its telling and perhaps these words play a role of continued inspiration. The process just goes on from here to a readers response, creative seeds planted all the along. None of this is my doing, nothing here is claimed as my own. 

it's process all the way down. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Receptive

Receptive: 

receptive - meditation is when I notice what I'm most like, unsubstantial of any true self, a verb by very nature. When I sit, everything belongs, thoughts gather and dissipate to what seems a larger silence, body sensations, subtle, garner my attention before they too simply settle to a calm. Here, there is only receptivity, an allowingness that never waivers. 

peace.

yet of a slightly different kind.

this is the peacefulness of sky; undisturbed no matter how great the wind, nor by largest storm. Its capacity is never diminished, without tarnish, and always found receptive. The difference, I find, is only of confusion. My nature too is just as receptive, no less the capacity than endless sky - but here I often find myself lost in my attention, believing myself to be involved in every storm to the point of my identity. At least until it passes. 

meditation is just my notice of seamless transitions.

to continue with metaphor; the sky isn't separate from storm, yet neither is it completely given to its momentary roil. The sky is simply and always receptive to conditions. Seamless in capacity as storm and hold. 

and that's my meditation, an easy notice of my welcome, even in the moment I contradict it by denial. Storms happen, life continues. I find no reason to push a thought aside, using mindfulness to achieve a certain sense of calm. In my notice, everything belongs, and I give no reason for my wish of change, for my hopelessness of being lost in some conditions. I am receptive by nature, and sitting here this early morning I bask in this allowing. 

nothing has to change, 

but it will. 

~

Peace, Eric  

Of Service

to find myself of service - sometimes our path isn't laid out so clear, not at first, and then it comes sudden in its appearance. Now here I am, a full time caregiver for my father through his remaining years with congestive heart failure. Perhaps I shouldn't be surprised, after all I was a caregiver, along with my father, for my mother as she declined to Alzheimer's. I'm not unfamiliar with the role. But the suddenness and intensity of this recent turn has still caught me by surprise. 

yoga has many paths within it's system, all leading to the same end of realization of our divine essence, union, and achievable through following our path. In this sense we're all yogi's of some means, even if our direction isn't as apparent as it could be. We are all given epiphanies of guidance through life, a businessman suffers ail health due to the stress of overwork and turns to health and renewed devotion to his family, is one such example. No great explanation is needed for this shift of concerns and the businessman has no idea of his yogic turn upon the path. 

we're all yogi's.

yet even though I find now in clear service to my dad - I'm not so sure my path is karma yoga, of action and selfless in its giving. It certainly seems so, and it's easy to lose any sense of ego while performing mundane task with care and love. My actions are vital to his well being and his appreciation is sincere. Again it's a clear path and one I'm grateful to be traveling. I am happy to be of service. But I've always been somewhat dismissive of labels, even ones that seem to fit so easy to my way and interest. I am a yogi of sorts, a lifetime of practice, committed to a path of meditation, writing, asanas of mind and body. Just as certain, I am drawn to action, a physical display of my commitment. Still, I hold no label that fits with ease, and after all, these paths are really one in their intent and nature. 

however,

there is one path that does call clear to me, shedding label in its sincerity - bhakti, devotion, and here it's without deity or guru, but simply the grace of giving for the sake of only love. I am not in service for my father, under no obligation of any path to follow. I am devoted to his well being, to his dignity deserved through his own lifetime of care. To this point I am a bhakti yogi, losing any sense of self in the pure motion of removing shoes at the end of the day, a steady hand to aid his own as he brushes his teeth, and thousands of once unnoticed task so easy for the strong to take for granted. I am devoted to each moment of his need, and provide myself with reminders of my own forgiveness should I believe a failure of my notice. No path is ever easy and any stray step is still certain in devotion to the ground beneath it. I am clear in service, and deeper still, I am devoted to ease my father to his final days. For however long it's my path to travel. 

~

Peace, Eric           

Find Myself

Find myself: 

as motion - and this seems to be the best that I can offer by way of description. Yet it doesn't quite capture things either, leaving an image of objects shifting, streaming, to the point of new locations. To say that I find myself as motion is to imply a self that exist as something actual, lasting, remaining true in some original form. 

there's nothing like that here.

at all. 

the truth is that I don't find myself, and that I'm unable to make a claim of any sure location.To say that I am emptiness denies the objects of my world, my solid sense of being present to the touch and view of others. Just as certainly I am not limited to any form, and this includes thoughts, beliefs, and even conscious states that seem to hint of deeper realities to be known. 

I don't find myself anyway.

and yet,

it's with this that I return to motion - picture a wind that only seems to settle, and in the briefness of its imagined stay becomes a world entirely of its own. Everything here is ethereal, made only by the dream of wind, and always found in motion. This is how I find myself, a briefly settled wind never lasting in its value, continuous, and aware only of its motion. There is no lasting world beyond this moment, no wind that ever truly settles. I never really find myself...

but know exactly what I am.

~

Peace, Eric 

Not Described

Not described: 

best not described at all - yet I often find myself writing in near absolutes, stating what I am and believe myself to be. But really, I don't know anything. Nothing. I think of this as I ponder Pierre Teilhard de Chardin's famous quote of being spiritual beings having a human experience, and I find myself wondering if this esteemed thinker knew something beyond what a human could possibly know. I don't think so; and in no way is this meant to demerit his philosophy, beliefs, nor this well traveled quote. There is a sense here that Teilhard reached for an absolute in description of the ineffable ghost of being that passes for what we are. He witnessed a glimmer of reality and sought to harden it to truth with words. It's what we do, and exactly what I did right now. 

perhaps these things are best not described at all.

but I try anyway.

my goal isn't to reach for an absolute, it's not to write anything with certainty, nor give truth to mystery that seems to take delight in proving me wrong. I wish only to allude to the momentary wonder I often find as my experience. That at times there is a selfless stretch of what Teilhard might describe as beingness, and that I find there's no possibility of explanation due to the complete absence of myself as anything other the experience itself. Again my words fail, and sometimes a metaphor simply won't do. Yet I try and not for any wish to grasp this to a sense of permanence - but only that I find myself here, early morning and at my desk. I am drawn to write...something...and it's these words that appear. 

it's for the enjoyment of words; and even though I know I'll fail - I write of mystery and grace, of my own sense of self, as well as a selflessness that often feels more true. I write without any wish for words to be taken as truth, nor even real in their description. What they allude to is false as well, just another story added to my stories of the world. 

it seems that reality is more than can be told.

and less. 

but I try anyway. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Without Insistence

Without insistence:

without insistence - life continues on its way. This is the rhythm of the world, motion, and it's our position too. There is no need for anything to be other than it is right now, we are complete, and yet in process of becoming something new in the same instant of our surrender of all that came before. Life is continuous, without agenda beyond the moment of its change. 

and so we find ourselves in motion. 

without insistence, a flower comes to perfect bloom. It's all a matter of timing, rain in just the right nourishing amount, sun reaching with a measured warmth of light. The bloom arrives when the flower is ready from stem to root deep. Not sooner than the world is ready. To witness this blossom is to somehow find ourselves entwined to its perfection. 

we arrive by the grace that life delivers. 

this is our awakening, the moment of our bloom - we've been nourished by rain and sun, our roots earth deep, and the sky open for our hold. It was all a matter of timing. Without insistence life brought us here, together, entwined to our own perfection. 

there is nothing else for us to do...

but blossom. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Aliveness

This aliveness: 

it's all there is - this aliveness, happening on its own, and to absolutely no one at all. This is life through wild course of its occurrence, inclusive to the point that nothing else is found. I am are submerged completely in this, surrendered as motion, and even my belief of individual self and experience is drowned by the current's rush to ocean. 

just this aliveness.

alone.

there is no sense to deny the existence of a self, that it's a subjective expression of the whole, brief, fluid, and never quite the same from any moment to the next. It's a phantom made solid by belief. But it's not and never was the truth of who I am. As for that I have no answers, it's a mystery deeper than I know, yet I am fully in its hold. It's enough to find myself present, aware, and not give in to any speculation of an answer. This aliveness fills my every moment, and that I exist is only by its pleasure. That a self appears is part of this wonder, an experience uniquely of my own, but still only a dream within the whole. 

so many contradictions; an individual self and yet a claim of just aliveness, life in singularity but imagined now in parts. It's the paradox of existence, embracing what occurs without investment as a lasting truth. I don't know anything at all. But there is the experience of things, of objects, self, and world. At the very same time there is no experiencer found, no entity to boldly claim every experience as its own. There is only this aliveness, aware and nothing more. 

alone.

~

Peace, Eric 

By Virtue

By Virtue:

by virtue of appearance - and through this we come to accept each moment exactly as they are, immediate in their belonging, certain only of the world in motion. What appears is our reality, even if only brief in stay. This includes our every contradiction and insistence for things to be other than they are right now. Everything belongs simply because our situation finds them present, and it's our role to respond in similar fashion, trusting in the answers that arrive. 

this is true, and real surrender - each moment being as it is without bias of our concerns or notice, life continuous in its flow. There is no effort to any of this, no struggle until we offer our resistance, and even this is immediately accepted. 

it all happens completely on its own.

we are not helpless in this surrender, fatalistic in our reaction - to accept what's present frees us to live in a more responsive manner, unafraid to find ourselves fearful, without answers, uncertain of the world. It's at this point we gain in self-compassion, allowing ourselves our every hurt and slightest wound. We find ourselves healers by virtue of our response, immediate in the recognition that everything belong. There is no wish or need for false comfort, no wisdom to be gained by hollow words. Suffering often happens and there is no reason to deny its presence. We accept it in equal fashion as our joy, an appearance too, and it only heals through the tenderness of our attention. 

it's all by virtue of grace and mystery, everything, life - there are no sure and certain answers, no enlightened way that guides us in response. We figure things out as they occur, free of guilt for our mistakes, accepting ourselves and our present situation...

exactly as they are. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Routine

Routine:

we have a nice routine down, caring for my dad - what once seemed so difficult in task and detail is now simply what the morning holds. I've grown accustomed to it, and even more, have come to find it as a display of love, a ritual of deep care and mindful note of the time left between us. There is no promise of another morning. Each moment arrives fragile, tender, and I am gifted with the role of giving care. I take none of this for granted. 

a little over a month a go, 94 and strong despite some health concerns, my father still walked with the aid of a cane, moved freely about the house with confidence and worked out daily. He had congestive heart failure but we managed to keep the worst at bay. No longer. Of four stages of this disease he's now at number three, using oxygen and wheelchair, unable to do much of what was easy just weeks before. He is amazingly optimistic even as he faces the uncertainty of his future. 

perhaps it's due to the nearness of death - we do have that certainty, a definite presence that makes clear our time is fragile. My father's optimism is based not on beating death for just another moment, but to focus on right now, what it means to be alive, tending to this precious gift. Death makes itself known through his higher pulse and difficult breath, painfulness of steps, and in so many detailed ways. There's no escape from it and it's presence is now accepted as a guest. 

part of my routine is to knowledge this; an early reminder that my dad wakes with the grace of another day and I've a ritual to attend to. Death is near, especially so each morning as I approach my father's room, uncertain of what the night might have taken. It gathers my attention, sharp, clear, immediate in my concern. Part of my routine has been to greet death at the bedroom doorway, recognizing this threshold I'm about to cross, from uncertainty to the fragile certain of another moment given. It's not so frightening anymore, having a guest that is as much my own visitor as it my fathers. My routine is now joined by its presence, it accompanies throughout the day, reminding me of the threshold of every moment. Death urges me to treat life gently, with ease, and true concern for what matters. 

a valued guest, indeed. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Of Green

Of Green:

Summer is nearing its end, although there will be more hot days ahead that keep us from this realization for some weeks to come. But even now the season's changing, days will be slightly shorter than before and trees are in their early steps of letting go of that heart depth of green for more vibrant colors still. It's a time of surrender.

always.

it's the green I miss most, my hardest letting go - every spring I come alive with its arrival, a blood stir of verdant suddenness to my notice. At once the world is alive again, green and absorbing light with passion, framed by grace of blue skies. This is my own arrival from winter and well worth the wait for its appearance. 

really, this all has an ocean's beginning, an evolution of green offered to the world - it was through the cooperation of bacteria and algae, a mingling of genes that gave cause for plants to reach further to the land. This was an early path for more life to follow, diversity to spread by green swept passage. We've always followed the passion of this color. 

and it's always been about letting go.

early green surrendered its life from ocean to land and through this earned a far greater vibrancy then before. From this first surrender we've come to forest, jungle, and wind swept savannas. Life grew varied and diverse through the reach of plants. Our world became because of green. And we learned about letting go - a plant's willingness to adapt itself to such foreign conditions, from an ocean's hold to barren-scape of land and through it all offered itself for other life to follow. Our own lives mirror closely to this color, it's vibrancy and reach, light filled and giving. 

as well - a willingness to surrender.

right now, in the midst of summer, our season's changing - we're letting go, shifting to a different shade of being. Life is motion. Writing this, it occurs to me that it isn't so hard to surrender, that life carries this effort completely on its own. We're of the seasons, a continuous becoming through the very moment something else is left behind. We are always letting go...

to the last of what our season offers. 

~

Peace, Eric 

A Natural Surrender

A natural surrender:

it's a natural surrender, being at ease with all that appears and equal grace through letting go. It's simply being at home exactly where we are. Always. This too includes our every reaction and response; that nothing is found as an offence in its expression.

that everything belongs.

there's no method to this, it isn't a practice, and most of all no effort is involved - life is immediate in its welcome and only our minds seem to lag in their acceptance. Yet the present moment is true in its reality, without bias for our concerns. It's just how things are until they are no longer, for however long a situation must remain. 

reality takes no notice of our comfort.

and that's the grace of letting go, of our natural surrender - life is already and always in motion, a constant becoming in the very midst of its destruction. It's Shiva's game at place, continuous, and beyond our understanding. Our only role is of response without self judgement, at ease with life through all its motion. 

surrender happens completely on its own.

what's found is that everything truly does belong and this includes our every wish for change and denial of what's now present. We are always part of this belonging, immediate in our own acceptance - even as we battle what the moment holds.  It's our own natural surrender, our every contradiction simply part of life's expression. To see this is to finally be at ease with who we are; it's an awakening to what's present without need of any explanation. 

it's simply being home. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Another Language

Another language:

we have another language altogether - a poetry of the world that tells of our belonging. Not a world is ever spoken; but we listen and understand through our senses. We hear and respond by breath and resonance of body, a shared vibration of a common bond. There is always a communication of another kind; what we tell in secret when only the softness of the earth is listening, when the water's edge asks to know our deepest hurt, and the wind reaches in hush reply. 

we are always told that we belong. 

this is the way of listening; it's a dialog with little need for words yet always understood in the instant of our silent voicing. It's another language altogether, ancient, and singular by nature. This is true communication, not between any two things but of essence, just one voice in various vibration. Our response is cellular, deeper still it's of particles that sing themselves of atoms and continue in creation. It's all one song. 

one listening.

there is no need to relearn this language, but only to remember our deep fluency, the birthright of our listening and response. The world is speaking even now; everything carried through the silence of the air, so pure we hear the curve of a birds wing in glided flight. We hear the secrets of moving water streaming to the earth's delight. We listen to trees in their sway of branches, to their hint of roots that tell of buried mysteries. It's another language altogether...

but it's ours. 

if only we remember. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Our Language

Our language:

it's our language - assigning things to fixed positions and a place in time, assuming life conforms to a reality made exclusive for the senses. Yet the world is much to fluid for our words; at least with how we use them. Our first and most significant assumption is believing every object is a noun, static, and fits the meaning now assigned. We talk of things as if the world is found in pieces, events separated by a gulf of time and not continuing in someway even now. 

we give added weight to concepts. 

our language fails in its attempt to capture reality and it was a losing task from origin. The world, every aspect of it, is much too alive for our description. We are noun focused and quick to objectify. It's a failure to truly see that life is motion, a streaming of events where everything belongs at once as active in their play. The world is in process. To assign anything a single role is to limit them in specifics. To really, deeply, see a tree is to observe that in just this one moment of our observation it is more than a single word can describe. To simply say tree gives it no justice, we miss its motion, overlook its very essence. What we fail to note is better said in terms of action. Treeing, branching, rooting and connecting. We are a shared event with trees, an exchange of vital functions. Participants of together. Only our language separates us, giving cause to believe that the world is found in parts.

it's really all one thing.

we are an ecosystem of a singular life, shared, aligned for the benefit of our continuation. We've simply forgotten due to the history of conversation with the world. We talk of objects and not with the fluid sense of how things really are. We need a slight return to poetics, a language of inclusion, connecting us once again to the obviousness of our belonging. 

we need to talk of motion. 

our language should reflect how we really see the world; 

in all its seamless wonder. 

~

Peace, Eric 

More Truly Seen

More truly seen: 

more truly seen - I am an ecology of ongoing measure, without sure borders, and laid out to the benefit of others. I am a host for infinite microbes that share me as a trait, an intricate trade of respiratory function with every tree, and more so I bring attention to the world, capacity, an awareness of my place within it all. I am less a participant as am life in pure participation with itself.  

more truly seen, 

I am.

this is no transcendence of any great importance, no vital shift conscious evolution - it's simply a return to the selflessness of true living, belonging to life as an aware function. Every bit at home within and as the world. There is no place else that I belong. 

it's the simplicity of being.

what I am is life; and through this I am truly endless - from this point of my existence I am traced to primordial origins, particles found present to the very moment of expansion. I am the present moment of the big bang, ongoing still. Atoms the swirl for every aspect of my being will one day lend themselves to other forms. As an ecosystem I am infinite. 

and through it all I am also less important than once believed - none of this is my doing, no conscious choice to make myself belong. It just happened and continues so, unfolding in the same easy manner as every other aspect found. I am part of this happening, an event of personality and self importance, unique in my expression. As if a flower that found itself aware. For me this is all the more miraculous, the briefness of my bloom against the backdrop of eternity. 

what a gift,

just to be alive,

aware,

if only for an instant. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Without Hope

Without hope:

without hope of anything being other - than what this moment holds. This too includes any wish found present that desires a change for better. Everything belongs exactly and only as it is right now. It's the paradox of where we find ourselves. 

and nothing has to change.

until it does. 

this is the key of any creative moment; being without hope of any finished project, the brush stroke alone is the focus, each word arriving without concern for completion of a written sentence. It's also how we heal; that the end result of being whole is realized through the examination of our present hurt and what feels broken. Through this we truly see that we are more than the sum of an identity left shattered. To accept ourselves in brokenness is to discover the spaciousness of who we really are, this capacity that never fails to hold imagined pieces. 

to be without hope places us exactly where we are - and it's here, right now, that our every response is given; and this brings us to another moment, already different than before, changing even as it comes to notice. This isn't really something that we do; it's not a course of healing action. We are already living in a hopeless moment. 

yet our hope too is held in this acceptance. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Matter of Appearance

Matter of appearance:

it's by matter of appearance - and this lends to our belief in a solid world, of things lasting in their value, and having more weight to any meaning. What arrives to our lives is instantly considered for it's importance and effect, for it's lasting worth or quick dismissal. Everything is evaluated and added as a story. 

we make the world by matter of appearance.

yet this is true only by our evaluation; a quick assessment to the world at large and we arrive at a personal story for our navigation, a means to make sense with any confrontation. It's a necessary survival skill and allows us to easily fit ourselves to any situation, to flee, fight, or accept it all. 

but it isn't always true and so. 

  our initial glance shows the original view, innocent of our evaluation, free of any story. It's the world in first order, of before we add ideas of past and projections of the future. This is zen seeing, a headless view of originality and creativity. It's our innocence abiding just before the rush of any story. 

it's our first sight, always.

none of this is conscious, nothing is chosen to be a certain way - it's how we've evolved to see the world and is simply a matter for our convenience. But our first sight still exists and provides our every true creative response to whatever life delivers. It's the reason we meditate; a quick return to original innocence and gain in clarity and insight. It's being ourselves again, without pretense, being real and truly what we are through every moment that we're living. 

this is our awakening.

it's simply seeing.

~

Peace, Eric 

Through Motion

Through motion:

it's all a letting go - although some moments so gentle in their surrender they pass with little notice. Yet everything still is given to change, not lasting past their subtle instant of expression. Life is always known through motion. 

some moments are so drastic in consequence that we immediately sense their implications. A change so sudden that life is instantly altered in its course. With this it feels less a letting go than a force of action, an important, cherished aspect of our lives taken by a storm. There is no real preparation for this change, no practice to make us suffer less in response. 

we are simply left with the presence of our pain. 

but even our sorrow is changing in the very moment it's received, already shifting to another point of notice, not quite the same in the quality of its expression. Grief too is known through motion. There is no role for us to play through any of this; we are not active in surrender, nor welcoming to whatever arrives next. It all happens on its own, a course of life free of our wishes and demands.

we are participants through motion. 

this isn't as fatalistic as it first may sound; that there is little done to free us from grief and fear, doomed to sorrow and great suffering. Loss will certainly happen to us all. Death is always present in its promise. There is no escape from any aspect of life and this includes its many forms of sorrow and even its conclusion. Yet none of this happens to us, we are not caught helpless in any storm. We are the very essence of this change, life through and through, windswept as well as every storm's breeze. We are this motion, shifting too with every moment of surrender.

we're life,

in every expression. 

~

Peace, Eric      

From Object

From Object:

from object to an instant of our seamless view - it's all the very same moment, one reality in its show of how we hold the world. This is our capacity, beyond description of duality or illusory place within it all; it's simply life in full display of wonder. 

showing we belong.

and there it is, everything revealed at once - we are intricate to a single relation, entangled to the point where there isn't a world without our view. A true intimacy known. Yet we see the world in terms of separation, a description of objects apart from us and broken from the whole. It's a mystery of occurrence, duality expressed in a seamless world. 

the middle way tells us both exist at once; that inherent emptiness gives rise to form, seemingly solid to touch and view. But empty all the same. Reality itself is fluid in its expression, lending itself to appearance in the same moment of its void. There is no point to label it as just one things, to believe that life is as separate as what shows within out view. 

reality is seen at once.

seamless.

for a moment let's allow it all to be - from object to its empty source, from view without a single viewer found. It's all the same thing and doesn't need description now. It's how things are. Reality will always defy our attempts at explanations. 

but we are a valid point of its expression. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Never Just

 

Never just:

it's never just - life isn't flavored in absolutes, of one thing alone without continuation of all that's ever brought this moment to attention. To witness a flower now is to see the nourishment of sun to germinating seed, of raindrops and further still the clouds that released them. There are infinite points to every blossom. 

It's never just a flower.

so too the infinite points of our existence - we are never just a person, a personality of self with a history of life explained in decades. There is always more to our expression. Our true story is long and presently vast. There is a length of genetic material that dates us to primordial beginnings, remnants of the Big Bang lingering us our atoms. We are the story of time told this very instant of living. More so is our own present bloom; we are the same as a flower with infinite points of expression, a composite of life through every aspect to bring us to this moment. 

we are never just...a single thing.

and even this moment now is changing, shifting in continuation to something entirely other, another brief expression and then a further letting go. It is never just a moment - but eternity and history all in present motion. We are living as a miracle, timeless, and yet fragile in our lasting. To limit ourselves as anything single thing is to disservice all we truly are. We are a gathering of sunlight, earth collected and given form, atoms gained from fallen stars, and so much more and vaster still.

truly infinite in all directions. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Merest

Merest:

merest - and yet this belief in a most substantive self has gained such large importance, as if center of some greater world. Truthfully, this person, no more than a collection of traits and qualities, has no real power of its own. It is mere and slight in its perception and role.

there is very little that we do.

it's a larger wisdom that directs our body in its function; there is no self that urges breath to draw and heart to pump and distribute blood. Our ego doesn't gather particles to form the atoms of our existence. This all happens completely on its own and only later do we claim it as ours, as if we've somehow accomplished life as a personal achievement. 

in the vast spectrum of all we are - this self is merest in importance. Yet this isn't to downplay its existence, nor reduce it to a shadow's role. The self belongs within this spectrum, a flicker of aid to help us navigate the world. Through the spaciousness of awareness the self is seen in same seamless belonging as every other appearance. It's a brief and fragile thought that has somehow gained belief in its importance, a flower that thinks it's separate from the field of its existence. 

of course life shows us otherwise; from our perspective we see a flower in its importance, offering pollen to bees and birds and beauty to the world. The merest flower belongs to earth and reaches stem through petals to the sky. It's life in full expression, connected to us all. But it is not its own directive, nor does it have an authority of its own. A flower is an appearance of conditions; the timing of seed in earth and sunlight, rain, and that perfect moment of its blossom. 

but a flower never exists completely on its own.

what we believe ourselves to be is mere expression of the whole; we bloom brief in personality and all the while there is a vast field of potentiality that holds the roots of who we truly are. 

a merest self exist - yet never completely on its own. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Within Its Place

within its place - and with this we see that everything belong to the moment of its appearance, for however long its stay. This too includes are wish for change, our desire for things to be other than they are. Our every response fits right to this perfection. 

of course it's hard to see perfection in what feels wrong, and on every demonstrable level of our lives may indeed, prove to be catastrophic in the changes that it brings. Yet this is not about conditions; it's a claim of our own right to accept what's found, to respond in the very best way that we're able, and not to judge ourselves by any standard. Perfection is simply how life flows, boundless, and without bias to concerns and care we offer. We are not judged, our response only measured by the changing of conditions. There is no true sense of ever being wrong. 

this is often argued as accepting things that shouldn't be; crime, war, cruelty towards others, as well as every grave misfortune that befalls children. Yet these things are present to our reality, they belong not because they are accepted, but only due to conditions that deliver this conclusion. Things belong because they're present. Our outrage is part of this acceptance, as is our response to change the world for better. It's fruitless to argue against reality. Our role is to act, to be an agent of continued change. 

we asked only to respond.

nothing more.

within its place - and this is seen as motion; that whatever belongs now will soon change, continuing as something other. Conditions are always seamless, fluid, and so often beyond our understanding. We respond through innocence, uncertain of every aspect that may have brought us here. Everything is within its place of being instantly accepted, our response and how the world changes. 

our innocence remains. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Change and Wonder

Change and wonder: 

of change and wonder - that there is no lasting moment, not even a bardo of between. Everything is in shift to a new surrender in the very instant it becomes. Nothing in the world is immune to this, there are no signs of permanence in anything we view. 

our life is change. 

of course we realize this, deeply so, and yet hide it just the same. We're sacred of life in process, the decay of youth to age, of light to dim and eventual darkness. There are myths of our continuation, eternal life in certain strength and vital mind. But in this world - all we know is motion, a constant letting go even as we dream of something lasting. 

yet nothing does. 

and that's our very wonder - our motion is a gift to this world; of breath returning to its source of air, bones given back to earth, and the even the atoms of our existence being lent to other forms. In this sense we do continue, a true myth of life eternal.

beyond this we know little more. 

to see that everything is changing allows us to embrace ourselves as motion; a caress against all we adore and cherish, a quick return to light in the moment of our darkness, to love even as we're letting go of all we've held dearest. Through change we accept the paradox of being; that there are no true things or moments, but only life in its flow of motion, brief in both its becoming and surrender. That we are change and wonder through every we're alive. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Every Thought

Every thought:

every thought belongs - it's a simple message, that we're are not at battle with ourselves, waging a war within our very own minds. There is some peace in this acceptance. Yet this isn't a mindful cure all for all that ails us, it's not a claim to heal a mental illness, nor restore us to a time we felt more secure and in control. It's just a pointer, a nod towards the true and always fact that we are whole. 

every thought belongs.

it's the belief that we are in control of certain things that causes great harm; that we can banish negativity and bring our lives a magical, charmed existence. If we only think a positive way, or deny to ourselves the reality of what is going through our minds. But we're not in control and it's more true to say that we're not even the originator of what we're thinking. 

thoughts happen, and mostly on their own. 

so we let them, and this is what the Buddha likened as our pure, blue sky mind - we are spacious and aware and every thought belongs as easy as every cloud. The sky is never harmed by the violence of any storm, always untouched, clear in the seamless nature of its hold. 

and this is where we are; blue sky and the hold for clouds and storm. It's where we find ourselves, a willingness to simply be present to our hurt, and even accept our denial at this time. There are no distinctions to what's allowed. This is to ease our battles, accepting that they're here, and that we're not broken by their presence. 

every thought belongs for whatever length its stay - and through the grace of this allowing, the blue sky of our essential nature; we find too that we are whole, clear, at ease with every cloud and storm. 

~

Peace, Eric