Am I A Body?

 

Am I a body?

this seems an important inquiry, and an important insight arrived through meditation, a reductive means of seeing a more true version of our nature. Yet often we are handed this insight too, reading from a sage who insists that we indeed are not the body, not the mind, nor the thoughts that occupy it. What this insight points to is our awareness of the body, of being witness to what appears and not an object alone. It feels right to hear this, intuitively so, and the belief is now ours. But is it true? Am I a body? 

yes, 

but not exclusively. 

this is reverse Neti, Neti meditation, after the insight of not this, not this - and finding myself in a more intimate holding, a refusal to even subtle insinuations of not being in the world. To say I'm not a body simply isn't so and to claim otherwise isn't true as well. It doesn't pay to argue this, my mind debating body of existence. So yes, at this point I investigate all my reasoning, dismissing everything I've ever believed myself to be, a thorough examination of an imaginary self and a body that feels solid- and no ownership of anything is found, what I am is not exclusive to a single thing.

yet all of it belongs as well.

what I am says yes to it all - am I a body? Yes. Mind? Yes. I find no reason to deny what appears, and nor do I wish to claim any ownership either. I am not exclusively one thing alone, as even emptiness is seen as my fulfillment, providing its capacity in holding all the world. There is no (longer) a debate for me as to what I am, and no interest in discussing beliefs in what I'm not. 

it's simple, really...

I am.

and nothing seen apart from this. 

~

Peace, Eric 

How We See

How we see the world:

this is how we see the world, truly so, before we translate what's seen to another way of understanding - our initial view is of first innocence, no judgement yet reached of anything seen, nothing but an easy flow of our own continuous expression in seamless landscape from our gaze. No distinctions are made between view and observer, we are not witness to the scene, just pure participation, scenery itself somehow found aware. It's how we first see the world, and even now it's lasting, lingering past translation. 

simply seeing.

our beliefs happen quickly, informing us of a world we wish to see, a learned means of evaluation to what's seen. It's our initial separation, observer now, apart from scenery and everything given measure and value. The world is seen divided, no longer our own seamless landscape, objects found distant in their arrangement, separate from our view. 

illusions. 

it's an easy return, following our gaze from any object back towards the source which holds the view, searching for a seer, witness, anything that can really claim itself to be separate from what's seen. Yet nothing's found, looking directly back and no seer is present, only scenery, the world, and a spacious understanding that's been here all along, familiar, allowing, quite by its very nature. 

we're seeing, again, and still.

~

Peace, Eric 

 

More Apt As Motion

More apt as motion: 

and to this authentic self, fluid, more apt as motion than to be considered any one thing at all - this is nothing really to strive for, each moment it's found exactly as we are. Authenticity is the moment expressed through all of its insistence, whatever's present and demanding to be known. This moment is what we are, and even now we are already shifting to a new expression, with no attachment to what's past, and just as authentic as whatever came before. 

more apt as motion.

this is our cause to relax, to give up any wish to be a true self at all - right now we are a swirl of energy somehow gathered as an appearance, we are a communication of cells, an attraction of particles that lend themselves as form. Mostly we occur through empty space. Nowhere is an authentic self found, not a single cell lasting for the length of life, every atom of our existence once belonged to something other and will again someday. It seems our true self is continuation, travel, and always changing its expression. We are more aptly told as motion, not a self, nothing static. 

authentic by our absence. 

our great belief (so often) is that we must be something other than our faults, or appear in some light that shows are true esteem. We strive to be authentic through the midst of reality, discounting each moment that displays our worst behavior, always seeking to find a better version of ourselves. Yet every instant is honest, real, and most importantly - fluid. We are every version of reality, not a self but the liquid expression of each moment, shifting, expanding past any single notion that ties us to a set point of existence. We are too vast to be authentic, too honest to be anything other than what we truly are at every given moment. 

what we are...

is more aptly told as motion. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Early Morning Words

Early morning words: 

 early morning words seem to have a different feel to me, a slower arrival on hushed tones, matching early moods of both day and writer. Things emerge towards light, darkness just a temporary hold until the first sense of dawn, nothing hurried. Morning has its own agenda and won't be rushed by my eagerness for words. Patience. I've learned to write what's given, by dawns pace, not my own, each word coming to the day with meaning, unfolding as yet to an unknown phrase.

as if a sunrise too.

the day gathers momentum, dawn being a thin line of quiet, brief, and sounds increase in frequency and volume. Magic disperses, not quite gone, but compromised by some means, perhaps by harsher tones and brighter light. Writing will be different now, words reflecting the days pace, less magic to their feel. But maybe just enough, dawn holds that quiet line for a moment longer...

and close to over now, with the sun almost fully here, brighter, the birds no longer singing its arrival - and these are the words that I've been given, keeping dawn's pace, no hurry. What's important to me is to sit with the morning, whatever it brings and not choosing my agenda over the soft magic that dawn holds. They'll be other hours of writing, full of topics and important themes, points demanding to be made. But none of those are touched by magic, written through a slow increase of light, while listening to birds sing their notes to the stillness of the hour. 

for whatever their worth, 

only these are early morning words. 

~

Peace, Eric 

By Nature

By nature:

whatever urges light to gather in my place, particles to attract, emptiness to lend itself as form - that's the essence of what I truly am. By nature I am ever smaller, unseen and subtle to the extent of being pure existence, potentiality, a promise yet to be fulfilled. As well I am creation itself, of the very same material appearing solid as the world. 

infinite by nature.

science explains existence, providing evidence of how I came to be, evolution of simple cells to more complex, particles forming building blocks for the reality of appearance. Philosophy gives reason for my presence, and seeks to guide my life with meaning. Religion too, and more is added by an afterlife, of living well and the promise of what comes after. 

all stories of my nature.

just before the Big Bang something whispered to an infinite point of energy, urging it to expand - that is what  I am most truly, whatever it is that gives first cause, not to be explained by any story. Not to be explained at all. By nature I exist, and this is expressed by an emptiness that allows itself as form, one thing seen as capacity and its hold, more seamless though, intimate. 

life to its very essence. 

by nature without story. 

so what I am won't ever be really told, never explained - but I know it in its deepest sense, life, experiencing now, and every moment that's to follow. By nature and simply so...

I am. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Infinitely Grateful

Infinitely grateful:

infinitely grateful, and by this it's a regression of cause and continuous moment of effect, it's seeing how we've gained support for simply being what we are right now - from the first instance of creation. This is a gratefulness of the very small, of cells providing structure to the body and the molecules that aid in their production. Smaller still are atoms as basis for our form, and even they are found as particles sweeping through vast emptiness to manifest the world. 

it all comes from nothing. 

so gratefulness isn't the appreciation of things alone, of objects or people that we cherish - it's much deeper than appearance, being founded by an emptiness that allows all things to be. We exist from infinite cause, hearts beating due to cooperation of cells, energy by molecules, and bodies by attraction of particles that give rise to form. We are because everything else is too. To take one breath is to be grateful for the sky and every tree that functions for the purity of air. We don't breathe alone, exchanging energy is vital to the world and we belong fully to this system. Our thankfulness is expressed as breath and heartbeat, energy shared, all quietly communicated through the essence of our being. 

we constantly tell the world that we are grateful. 

and so our ritual is only one of acknowledgement, for to even whisper the words thank you is to involve the cooperation of infinite cause, a vibration that echoes through existence, continuous in its effect. To be alive is to be grateful and we demonstrate by breath in exhale to the sky, with each heartbeat that whispers back to cells in reply to what they've given. 

we give thanks by simply being. 

and infinitely grateful,

we exist. 

~

Peace, Eric 

 

Suchness

reality is as it is - and no

description tells us

other,

this suchness says it all 

~

Peace, Eric 

Of Seeds

Of seeds:

of seeds and all they hold at once - that the story of every forest, grassland, to individual plant and flower that ever came before is contained in a thing so small. A pin point of existence traced to an ocean's edge and the emergence of life and infinite too in reach towards what has yet to touch the earth. Every seed is end result as well as continuation, past story of wind and pollination, birds and insects gathered to its aid, of wildfires, drought, and touch of ancient rains. All that to one seed, found now, and that so much more too is offered in its hold. There is a forest here, crops, a future bloom, all possibilities that have yet to touch a field, and simple waiting for right conditions to unfold. 

all from a single seed.

we're of the very same nature, a story of first creation, of elements found from a stars collapse, earth dust, and ocean's blood - we're long stories told of struggle, survival, continuation. What we are at this point is traced to ancestors and not just of human source, but all we've ever been before, particles that belonged as ancient forms and now lend themselves to our support. 

continuous seeds.

and too we will still become more, our particles now will one day return themselves as a leaf or blade of grass, to the fingertip of newborn child with a promise of its own. We are endless in this way, continuous seeds even now, becoming and always becoming, reborn to every moment new. This is why we're infinite, not just as human story, but of creation itself, through even before the big bang of events to the stillness that existed right before. 

we're timeless.

seeds of every moment.

~

Peace, Eric 

By Looking

By looking:

by looking, and with this we see ourselves as capacity, an empty fullness of life in constant welcome to every seeming appearance and event. Even those we wish would never happen. Capacity has one objective alone and that's to simply hold, allowing without bias or concern. By looking deeply we can see how little we've actually chosen for ourselves, not of the tragic events, nor even the actions that seem to lead to these affairs. 

life occurs in mystery. 

but this isn't to debate free will - it's just a note on appearances, of their welcome throughout every part of life without interference of our care. And there is no saying why other than that this is how reality is, allowing by its very nature and that we are fully deep as aspects of reality. No life is charmed enough to leave away sorrow, to be free of suffering, nor even a casual dislike. We're alive and that entails all that will be offered - from the pleasure of accomplishment to the distress of failure, the joy of relationships to the loss of those we love. We are the capacity for all of this to be, and it's room for life to be expressed through every seeming way. 

by looking, we see how best we serve in this regard - that as capacity we remain empty of any permanent hold, no grasp of anything dear for very long. Life is too precious to be hoarded by demands, of only choosing moments that fit our need and fulfill our wish for happiness. We are room for change, spacious by nature, and serve life best by simply letting go.

as if anything is ever truly held for very long. 

and so we see ourselves as emptiness, capacity in service of its hold - but not only this, our role is far to intimate to just welcome and release. Capacity is the very essence of all it holds, an emptiness that allows so deeply that it is at once the object as well as the sweep of its embrace. We are life in all of it's tragic and joyful happenings, without true choice as to what occurs, but always allowing, allowing, even as we're letting go. 

by looking - emptiness seen.

capacity, 

and the life seamless in its hold. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Every Morning

Every morning:

it's not every morning, sometimes the words don't arrive as easily, my own focus just isn't there to wait for them to come. Like now. It's been a difficult few hours, so early too, and my routine has been altered past the point of inspiration. Someday's I struggle with the world, waking and already lost. 

but every morning I write.

nothing is forced, and if no words find me, nothing meaningful is written, then I'm absolutely fine with the emptiness of the page holding whatever it is I offer. I love the demonstration of a page's capacity, always available, willing to simply be without mark for however long is needed. 

what I find, every morning from first waking on - is that life is exactly like the page, there is always a willingness for the day to greet me as I am, right now, without bias to struggle or smile I am completely and immediately accepted as I am. Life is of equal capacity as a page and whatever my present story involves is just as intimately held.

so what's seen here is simply life, and only so - it's not divided to compartments of writing and separate daily affairs. Just life. And when I wake it's a morning found of capacity, instantly, a recognition matched of my own open nature, a willingness to hold whatever the morning through the day may offer. Every morning I am life expressed in varied ways, and just as much too I am capacity for all of its expressions, for each story now being told, everything allowed with equal grace and care. 

stories change, 

but I wake as this same capacity

every morning. 

~

Peace, Eric 

This All Arrives

This all arrives:

my answer is seeing - and with any question of division, worth of self or others, any doubt as to what belongs right now. Seeing eases my concern, instantly, and with clarity of first experience. What appears right now is the immediacy of body, a desk, a cup with steam rising from my waiting coffee. Everything is simply here, present without demand, and if I looked from my window the world too would open as the view. This all arrives to me, I am graced with morning and somehow being aware. 

it's beautiful to be.

seeing is the mediation of what belongs, the view always extends, remaining a willingness to hold no matter what appears. This is capacity, and if I look from any object from the world and return it to the origin of my gaze - it's exactly what I find. Capacity itself can only be empty, always, and yet at once it holds a universe by request, seamless, without bias to its embrace. 

everything appears. 

yet nothing remains. 

and all along I find myself aware, knowing myself now as this capacity, empty and willing to embrace the world in every detail of appearance. It's at once impersonal while being intimate by its very nature, transparent and able to be opaque too, empty of a personal self, and yet I find myself so dear in its belonging. 

this all arrives to me, with each and any moment by request of simply seeing. Everything appears here, now, to the immediacy of this aware presence. Asking for none of this, I am simply granted the world with every moment, and I am grateful that it happens.

it's so beautiful to be.

~

Peace, Eric 

Well Meaning

Well meaning;

we fill the world with stories, well meaning for many, and most never questioned - but done are ever fully true. They're all just maps of how we see the landscape of our lives, navigational aids for our travels through time.

fiction. 

every religion is a well meaning story, philosophies too, even science although less invested in belief of being ultimately true. We've inherited all of this and others adopted on our own, books, media, and a willingness to believe the word of others. 

but none are true.

not really so. 

do I have a truth to share? 

or just another story?

mostly, I'm a story teller, interested in a clever phrase and turn of words - I write what the moment holds for me right now, a truth perceived but not held as always being so. What I share are stories that I'm willing to dismiss, my only real art is one of letting go. I don't believe my own stories, even the ones that have long filled my world.   

but stories do have meaning, they serve to endear us to others and their ideas of the world. Fiction is a useful tool, until it isn't. And that's more accurate in how we navigate life, borrowing the landscape of others, traveling well churned paths of those who came before. Here's what's true (except it isn't, really) - right now, this moment as experienced by breath, that we're aware of any sound, perhaps a touch of breeze against us. Just this, whatever it is that appears, and right before we give it story. What's true is how this moment changes so easily, seamlessly, to another, as if only one event that's endless in its flow. Truth is my story, and it's the emptiness that holds it as a page, silence allowing for it to be told. My body is true, mind, my solid sense of touch, none of this dismissed as being unreal in the purpose that it serves. Yet I know the story of my body, regressed to cells, molecules, atoms, until the reach of particles swirling through my absence. 

what's true in any of this? 

everything.

and absolutely nothing at all. 

it's just another story told. 

~

Peace, Eric 

First Stir

First stir:

something stirred - from absolute nothingness in regard to space and time, a point of infinite energy gave cause for the universe to be. Yet what urged for this expansion? Is there a singular purpose that provides meaning for the world and its creation? Some would make the case for God, a divine will that moved these forces for creations sake, a first stir of inspiration. There is always a perhaps, and many say it's reason to have faith. 

yet I'm not so sure it matters.

thinking in terms of a flower and what first stirred its urge to bloom, or last leaf to cling in autumn and the sudden cause for its release - there is no reason for this motion, only life itself, that everything moves when conditions make ready. 

through this we see that everything has divine will at ready, an expression of the whole shown by one example. A flower is seen as will of earth, rain, and sun, the first stir of seed in sprout, and even before this the cooperation of pollination, every insect and breeze that carried out this mission. Everything was perfectly expressed by itself, a singular and seamless accomplishment without need of end result. A flower's bloom simply happens - and everything gives cause. 

we can trace similar stories to the last autumn leaf and to our own lives as well - infinitely regressed to further sweeps of motion, points expressed in meticulous timing for just this one exact moment to even come to be. And right now it's all giving cause for something other, a continuous first stir for the show of mystery. It's all motion and stillness, motion and stillness, and repeated for however long there is existence. So my faith is in this moment, that right now I am expressed from infinite points before and offer myself in motion for the sake of whatever else comes after. 

if there is divine will - I am simply part of its grand motion. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Advice

Advice: 

what I don't want to offer is advice, telling anyone how best to handle a given situation based upon anything I believe to know. My life is a complete and happy mess, full of fault and mistakes, and with little to show by middle years. Any wisdom gained would't really apply to others, not by much at least, as every person comes to such matters on their own. So I do my best to keep advice to a minimum, encouraging more, support, but not much else to say.

except, perhaps, for insight.

it's a subtle difference here, writing of any insight gleaned is sharing something deeper than beliefs, more true than simply knowledge. No insight is mine alone, nor any guru or special master's. It's ours. An insight is light, imparting sudden and with grace. From nowhere and then here and now we understand our world a little better. This can't be given, only shared and then nurtured, planted in soul and garden mind until sunlit for its bloom. 

it's how we flower. 

what I offer is glimpse of my own garden, thoughts planted and now tended through my writing. We are coming to something here, together, a dialog of sorts that may promise with a bloom. That's the key with any insight, it's not meant for one person alone, even if it's personal in its delivery. The matter is of timing and continuing with garden theme, it's based on being ready, of soil hoed and ripe for planting, receptive to rain and care of light. 

and seeds are always being planted, constant, without mostly even knowing. Life is our one true garden of understanding, it's where we bloom, not later in some distant heaven, nor in the hope of our nirvana. This, right now, is what we wake to. Our only Eden. 

a garden full of insight. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Cave Art

Cave art: 

really, it's just cave art, my own markings on a page wall for no greater purpose than to show my existence here, that I left a few words just to note my presence. Writing is such a lovely ritual, so personal, whatever inspiration channeled through to mind then fingers. All art is this way, an artist belonging to something so much larger than their mind can hold, aching to express it and knowing that a certain failure will always follow. 

yet still it's held in awe.

cave art wasn't just descriptive, not only a record of hunt and daily harvest - it was a call to this largeness, an invocation to mystery in a plea for continued inspiration. This is what fueled the hunt and aided every battle, not for survival alone, but to know their presence mattered.

my writing matters to me, it's my own inner conversation brought forth and marked across a page. It's cave art, primitive, and left behind on these modern walls of social media and other means of sharing. My daily harvest is for words, phrases of my own understanding of the world. I invoke mystery with ritual too, early, before the sunrise, these quite hours of devotion. This is when I most truly listen, joined by deep stillness in allowing each note of morning sound to reach me on its own. There's nothing to strive for, words arrive freely or silence is enjoyed. No choice here, no difference split between two, it's all simply presence, hushed, holy...

and with this, 

writing follows. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Everything Talks

Everything talks:

empty, receptive - until a molecule informs me. It's then my world explodes with vibrant color, sounds, and scent, vital news of my surroundings. I am so many intricate, infinitely small things, and yet most of all I am the communication of these seeming parts that somehow translates to the whole of my existence. Of cells to molecules, atoms and the particles that swirl to their formation, everything talks me into being, providing information that shapes every aspect of my world. 

and all this without cause, at least none that science knows and religion only speculates upon. It seems truly that I exist as some urge, an attraction across vast emptiness for a particle to bond and ensuing atoms to collect. By various sequence we come to molecules that then give life to cells. So where do I begin in all this? Not one aspect can be said to contain me by essence and yet not a single detail can be missing or I don't exist at all. 

so what I really am is an interaction.

a process.

and a somehow urge to be.

everything talks, and it's a dialog of existence, emptiness in conversation with itself as form. What I am, appearing now, is a verb within this trade of words, another point of information that's vital to the whole. This is the science of self-dialog, a philosophy of communication, but mostly it's not an explanation at all. It's simply being, belonging as an intimate role within this conversation. 

it wouldn't exist without me. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Awake From

Awake from; 

waking up from - and this is really part of the illusion, that there is a separate place in which we arrive, removed from sorrow and daily affairs of simply living. But this is where we are, now and always and there's no waking from life in it's every varied aspect. We continue with what life offers, responding to all the moment dictates, authentic, honest. 

we awake to life.

yet still this implies that there's something we awake from, an area of some internal haze that keeps us trapped in our delusions. Perhaps, for some, but I can only speak from my own experience and it was just as subtle as every morning is in waking. A certain light arrived, softly, illuminating my belonging, seamlessly and with grace. That was it - I belonged to life, to the world, and to every moment. It was that simple. And nothing needed to be done, no method would add to this, there was no sense that I could ever belong more than right now. 

I relaxed. 

really, I was never a mad seeker, rushing to escape what the present moment holds, searching for another story to be told in spiritual circles. I considered myself an explorer and still do, with the world laid out through every possibility. There is no place where I don't belong. There is no place...

but here.

it was this clarity that eased me into being, that nothing special happened, yet still my world was utterly different than before. Seeing is like that, the world shines just a bit brighter with the certainty of this belonging. For me, I knew that all was in order, tragedy and heartfelt response, joy in the very moment of my suffering, subtle lines all seen and gone. There's only what life offers now, and always now, and I fit perfect in this equation. 

awake, here, and now. 

~

Peace, Eric 

About Endings

About endings:

the recent theme here has been about endings, death in slow approach - it's not an easy thing to write about and even less so to be reminded of in frequent circumstance. Yet that's my reality as a caregiver right now and yes, it brings an often sadness, but it also serves as mindful notice, a call for tenderness in place of sharpness, to give attention to every detail of a conversation.

to truly listen. 

time is short for all of us, not just the elderly and those with terminal conditions. We were never promised any length of life, and even the best lived years always seem to end too soon. My father is 94 years old and suffering from congestive heart failure, it's progressing, and still we do all we can to hold on. We're not denying death's presence, we're wise to how near it stands by. We're simply living, drawing quality from each moment, and learning still from what lessons life holds. Death offers me a more clear presence with my father, being present to him in ways not imagined before. I find that I bring this presence to more occasions now, listening to subtle aspects of my communications, a fine art of listening to others and my own self as well. 

a family member finds this talk morbid, and I know it is for her - but these are my own moments shared, no one else needs to be present here, none of these words have to be read. I'm writing about endings, and through this I notice how fragile my own life is. It's all a constant ending, everything, magical in its briefness, and even more so in what life then offers. It's all a Shiva's gift of death and continuous new worlds, moment after precious moment. 

so I find myself drawn to write of each new world, and about the ending of the one I hold most dear. Not everyone should read this. Perhaps no one will read at all. I write nothing as an explanation, I'm not asking anyone to understand. I'm writing of the moment, listening to myself, truly so. 

and this is what the moment holds. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Of The Obvious

Of the obvious:

it's the confrontation of the obvious, sometime gentle in observation, and often too with a rush so quick and hard it gives cause to turn away. Life isn't always how we wish it would be, but it's exactly as it is right now and through every moment of our living. Nothing is truly hidden from us, really, it's the opposite, our own refusal to see the obvious, to feel what life present to us in painful offering. To be awake is to simply be present, allowing each moment it's true expression. 

without need to turn away. 

and this is where I find myself, awake in struggle, pain, and yes, even refusal to accept what's present. Except I do. Just not so easily it seems, and this too is part of the obvious, that everything is legitimate by virtue of experience. I know that everything's allowed its moment, and that no demand for things to be otherwise, no hiding from this present sorrow, will make anything go away. But still it happens, at least on some certain level that isn't ready for the pain. I have no shame in this, and most deeply I'm aware of it all, every seeming level, acceptance and denial. 

it all belongs.

and I accept it. 

that's the loveliness of being human, and of being aware to its every whim and measure. Nothing really has to be explained, there's no need to rationalized my response to any situation. I grieve in loss even before what's cherished is gone, crying out in pain to an experience that's now over. It makes little sense and I have no wish to make it seem so. 

it's just how things are.

but in the end there is no escaping the obvious - and that's how life is, always present, giving exactly what it holds without bias. Through all this I make no distinctions of what's allowed and how I should respond. It's too seamless, connected as a whole affair. Again that's the loveliness of being human, and awake, aware of what I am. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Ritual of Writing

Ritual of writing:

it's the ritual of writing that holds the most meaning to me, content really being what the moment holds and less about idea and theme. My wish is to craft my experience of right now to a page, a demonstration of seamless motion of mind to world. 

that it's just one thing.

morning is early listening, birds giving song, an occasional car goes by in the strange hush of predawn passing. It's the slow stir of the world awakening. I love this time of day, no rush to anything yet, morning has its own timeline that won't be hurried. Things simply happen when they do, the agenda is to slowly show us ourselves alive. 

and then I write.

it's whatever arrives to me, first thoughts considered, allowed to show whatever promise of their early appearance. This is often the most and only real difficult part, showing patience to what's yet to fully unfold, ideas not fully formed but still wishing to be told. I'm open to it all, and once started, write without censure, giving both pause and flow their equal room. 

my interest is in fulfilling the ritual of writing, nothing more - there's no great philosophy here, no grande, original idea. There's just my morning shared with you, offered as completion of the ritual, someone reading for the pleasure of words without true meaning. It's how we keep company, a ritual of together no matter time or distance, we are always joined by page.  

and with these words now...

it's done. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Sundown

Sundown: 

in this sundown time, lights dimming, approach of what can only be a final day - I listen to my father's cough, a growing symptom of heart failure, sensing the heavy strain each chest heave places on his now fragile body, feeling each cough as if it were my own. There is no getting better, no diet fix to ease congestion, no medicine to fix another symptom. He's dying. 

so near.

it could still be weeks a way, a few months, and of course I hope he makes a year. Time seems as fragile as he is right now. Each moment counts as more than just a time mark, it's about experiences, a note of intimacy in the casual check of mundane needs, my hand placed on his to steady in a task, the still easy flow of our conversation. 

still, I'm not always mindful, I often get overwhelmed by all that needs to be done, and I find myself selfish for even a little time of just my own. I recognize guilt, my own faults are glaring, and I implore myself to find a bit more patience. My father understands, and most of the time I do as well, giving in to stress, poorly hiding it, and quickly moving on. It's a small part of our routine, a seldom experience and still one we share together. It allows us both another moment of grace. 

in this sundown time, so much uncertain - everything counts. 

and this is what I'm most truly mindful of, with each experience being a first no matter how often it seems to be repeated. It's never been quite like this before, tending to a need with this awareness, and there's a quality to this twilight moment that offers its own sake of clarity. My father isn't dying alone, I'm his company, dying too, each moment a last, even as another's given. It's a string of pearls, seamless, seen magical in the quality of this light.

even as it dims. 

~

Peace, Eric 

By Design

By design: 

friendliness by design - that we evolved through cooperation, a common interest of self preservation, and more that we belong to a true sense of community, a clear point that we are always drawn to, as if knowing that we really, deeply, one. 

this is the intimacy of reality, life, of particles drawn by force to be building blocks of our existence. Our very essence is one of attraction, an energy of togetherness. Only as a community were we able to evolve from a life that struggles for mere survival to one that flourishes through use of tools that continue to grow in sophistication. 

we are here because of others. 

our friendliness is by design, nothing is forced, nor feigned to gain favor - we truly value the sake of others, even if it's oft forgotten. It's a deep force, past cells, and further down to every particle that swirls through emptiness in order for life to even be. Our world is built of love, by energy and attraction. Our friendliness is natural, being really who we are. 

yet we do forget this - and we see this through the damage to the world. Once, our cooperation extended to others across any great divide. We were of one tribe, one existence shared with varied form, animals were seen as spirits that lent themselves for our continuation, trees and plants as well. Everything was in communication, a common language of together, living. This was true Eden, our real place of home and worship. 

earth.

and it's all still here, Eden, home, our friendliness - nothing has vanished, but the light of our attraction has grown dim. We too often fail to see ourselves in cooperation, that our design is similar and meant to keep the world in order. We're divided now into views, politics, and by exploitation of what was once (and still is) our most valued resource - earth itself. What we've forgotten is that earth is not simply a place, it's our existence, our only true belonging. We are made of earth dust, ground, elements of the land and water. Our nourishment is plant life, green and vibrant. Even our breath is joined in respiratory function to trees, tied to every forest in its share. It's all friendliness by designed. 

it's what we are.

and what we should remember. 

~

Peace, Eric  

Of A Lifetime

Of a lifetime:

it's of a lifetime - and for however long this grace will hold. There is no call to speculate beyond this, for right now we are alive, aware, and anything more is simply an extension of this gift. This is the only moment that we're promised, and knowing this brings a precious note to our attention. A lifetime is most truly measured by the quality of experience, by the depth of love we've given, and how freely we allow our authentic expression to be shown. 

through this - a moment is indeed of a lifetime.

yet philosophies and religions so often promise more - and really this isn't their prerogative to give, nor ours to believe and base our lives upon. To project beyond this life we're living robs us of attention to what's occurring now. To be aware is such a gift and we're blessed with such a varied world, complete within each moment, and not one thing could add a further pleasure to this if we fully cherish the easiness of simply being alive. In no way does this dismiss that there is suffering too, no experience is diminished nor judged to be unworthy of our life. Aware, sorrow is equal to our joy, but only in its showing. To see this we gain a certain freedom to express ourselves through suffering, we're honest to the moment, and allow life to unfold without deception. 

we accept life through every ache and hurt. 

aware.

of course sometimes we don't accept this, we fight exactly what the moment holds and lend our beliefs to another world, a lifetime not with sorrow and pain. We give our faith to heaven, a promise of absence to suffering, nirvana. That's life too, a fantasy being imagined in this very moment. We're still  here, present, aware, vibrantly alive. 

only attention wanders.

and of a lifetime is our return - always to this, right now.

alive.

~

Peace, Eric 

Of Cooperation

Of cooperation;

what we most truly are is a process of cooperation - of infinite seeming parts expressed as life in whole display. From the absolute of nothingness to the first hint of particles swirling to atomic structures, molecules giving form to cells and further still there comes a world of varied objects all held through common space. 

existence lends itself to existence. 

and even through the violence of survival there is the benefit of continuation - how one life is tied to the flourish of another. We see this in nature through the relationship of predator and prey, life linked in the prospect of another, and how both survive as species due to this dynamic. 

life is an intricate balance. 

or better truly seen as balancing - and this brings us back to process, that life is always expressed through motion, giving in the very moment of its loss, cyclical, as breath in both release and draw. Cooperation is the world's soul, a lending of things across spectrum to the point it's all seamless in existence. A delicate balance of the whole. 

to see this, of this cooperation - is our a return.

we are balancing, but tipped now to near extreme, our environment seeks solution through the violence of storms and excess of heat, wildfires, and loss fauna and flora so needed to the whole. Life mourns in its extremes. Our politics are fractured into tribes, warring rhetoric, and the only wish is for one side to be proven wrong and punished for their view. 

our return is to nature, 

of cooperation - and to see ourselves again as process, infinite seeming parts that belong only as the whole, one thing, life. Our role is to participate in the balancing, a friendliness to our surroundings and all that serves in this support. We are of nature, a species too, and dependent on the smallest aspect for us to thrive. It's balancing, lending ourselves to the healing of the planet, tending to relationships that can no longer be taken for granted. Every tree is our survival, each delicate life that fails to gain our notice - everything, and everyone. 

you.

me.

the world's soul hangs in balance. 

~

Peace, Eric 

First Act

First act: 

the first act, really perhaps the only one that seems mindful in it's notice - is to dismiss any notion of importance, that what I'll write is of any meaning at all. To anyone, including me. This isn't about wisdom, there's no higher understanding. The goal here is simply words appearing on the screen that I somehow, and in someway, find pleasing. 

that's it.

a reader is a bonus.

with this in mind it comes now to allowing, listening, and it's a different kind of listening, a full body attention to even the slightest shift of feeling. What words do I respond to? That's the key and only question. Every word is received, gifted, and I have no idea from where, nor little interest as to why. I'm just happy to be on this end of inspiration, writing, keyboards meeting me at fingertips, and coffee (still too hot for now) sitting on my desk. If these were the only words written for today - it would all be enough to satisfy my needs. 

words on the screen.

the first act is important, it's a reminder of my commitment to my morning ritual of listening, and being honest with my craft. This all an exercise of mindful notice, of how each word stirs or fails to gain a bit of traction in this creative flow. There's no struggle, no point to even care if there's any sense in what unfolds. 

writing is without goal.

it's like tracks left behind - what's written now is the trace of my morning, to read this is to acknowledge a moment of inspiration, a brief nod to effort and imagination. Something took place here, early, of little importance or meaning, just leaving tracks.

~

Peace, Eric 

Right Now A Mystery

right now a mystery - that I approach a morning's writing with no clear idea of theme or even first words and allow this to unfold without a notion of my own. Inspiration is often a general spark of ideas without true plan, more of an easy letting go of any need to be in control of any creative process, a surprise at what the present moment has to tell. 

and it's always a mystery, even as I claim a thought or clever turn of phrase as my own - there's no real ownership of what's received, and no idea of how or why it reached me. My only talent is patience and this too is often rushed to gather more, eager to see what might arrive. But mystery has its own agenda and no amount of hurry brings an inspiration.

my role is often simply waiting.

or so it seems,

yet, somehow, this too might be more credit than deserved - what I am and how this works is all process, everything, and being a writer is just an idea within a non-stop creative flow. It's as if a petal claimed inspiration for a flower's bloom having now received the gift of sun and sky. A flower is an entire process of earth to stem, nourished by soil and rain, tended by the sun. There is no single point of inspiration. Just flowering. 

right now a mystery - with no idea from its beginning to this very moment of what words might appear. Writing happened, inspiration, and I was a point within a process. More truly, there was only process that imagined me as author. 

a petal to this bloom. 

flowering. 

~

Peace, Eric 

What Stories We Tell

What stories we tell: 

what stories we tell - that everything is composed of molecules, and these are made of atoms that are broken down further to particles and then simply space existing in its own. We've taken nothingness and viewed a world in perfect order. Yet really, not one thing exists apart from another, no atom of any separate measure , everything being fiction in the sense of an entity entirely of its own accord. It's a story of unity told in parts.

reality is one thing all along.

and even our view shows the world as seamless, space being a unifying factor, an allowingness for things to appear and exist in what seems an independent fashion. The actual view defies our stories of a world consisting of objects randomly arranged. What we see are distinction of a seamless order, emptiness in the fiction of becoming. 

we see our stories being told. 

what stories we tell - and all simply to help us navigate the world. This has all led to remarkable things, a microscopic view that allows us to better understand ourselves in true relation to a universal self, that we are so much larger than ever imagined before. Ironic, the study of the infinitely small reveals us through a grander view. 

so we too are stories, of molecules and atoms, particles swirled as mind and body, nothingness somehow coming to distinction. We've storied ourselves into existence, creating a world entirely made of fiction, and believe it all as true. But throughout this telling we remain the backdrop of its telling, an emptiness of allowing nature. Perhaps one day we'll be told as something other, rearranged in story as a tip of a leaf existing on the far reach of a branch, and further still the tree root deep and spread through earth - and all more truly told as molecules, atoms, and particles swept through nothing at all. 

just another story told.

~

Peace, 

Eric 

 

Source

Source:

questioning source - as if it could be anywhere other than this moment alone, or anything else than what's arising right now. There is no far point from which our world arrives from, nothing distant from the immediacy of what appears to us, and all we hear, and whatever comes directly to the senses. It's all without source, each experience infinitely regressed to nothingness, and to this there is really no more to say. 

nothingness is absolute.

and yet,

here we are, breathing this aliveness, aware, and somehow we've appeared from nothing at all. A gift of absolute mystery. To speak of nothingness isn't nihilistic, and to talk of the absolute isn't a concept removed from the present moment of experience. It's right now, each joy and every sorrow, trivial and the shattering of our world. 

everything. 

let's not add to this, bringing attributes of subtle separation, and implying some hidden knowledge of this deepest mystery. Our experience is now, it's this, and whatever its source is also in this moment. That's all we really know as certain. To speak of source, God, or even nothingness, it's only words, and somehow too they're just appearing. 

it's all mystery. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Exactly

Exactly:

what I appreciate is how uncomplicated it is, really, and simply the world is exactly and only as we find it and no wish nor demand will alter a thing until a change is due. Of course by being present to any situation we are participants to an altered course, an agent at play towards a different outcome. Our response matters - yet still the world remains exactly as it is.

even as it changes.

that we are always root deep within the world, unable to be removed from life through any aspect of its arrival. That's why it's not complicated, We are present to any situation that calls for a response, at hand to the immediacy of each moment. The world unfolds here, exactly where we are, and our awareness never strays from this point, always present, and willing in its notice. 

our every response is from this moment.

life itself isn't complicated, yet we often bring added thoughts to certain matters, a refusal to allow even in the midst of all that's unfolding. It's our wish for things to be other than they are, now, that seems to complicate each moment. But life is always exactly as we find it, and everything belongs, including our for things to be different. This is why it's uncomplicated, nothing has to change, but it will, and our response fits to the very fabric of every situation. 

with this in mind - 

we relax. 

everything belongs.

until it doesn't. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Equal Exchange

Equal Exchange: 

it's all light equal exchange, the commodity of our existence - plants draw energy from the sun and store this through root and leaf, which is then offered for consumption. Directly or in more circular ways we are sustained by plants, given breath and in return exhale our own gift in offering. Everything is touched deep and through by light. 

it's what we are.

the Baal Shem Tov, eighteenth century Jewish mystic, claimed that God hid the divine light of creation within the Zohar This holy book literally touched by the bedrock of reality, and to open it in contemplation would absorb us in its sunlit reach. Early philosophers held the sun in central esteem, focal of our existence, and not wrong in their beliefs. 

light is everything.

we forget our place in this exchange, an ecosystem upset by belief of separation. It's all of delicate balance, our dependence on light through plants, warmth, and the breath we offer in return. Now, things aren't so equal in exchange. We've taken far more than what's been given, and the intensity of light burns to cinder what once sustained us. 

our planet is burning.

light is the key, to offer more for its absorption, giving our breath as fuel for the flourish of plants and other life to thrive. It's our return to balance. 

a more equal exchange. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Apparent

Apparent:

it's what's apparent - and this is why we care, a notice of compassion that arises in the very moment of another's suffering. We find this as a natural expression, exactly and only what's occurring now, without need of explanation, nor any room for doubt. We care simply because it's what the moment calls for, our own response given freely to another's comfort. 

it all happens entirely on its own.

and this too is how we come to love, what we offer one another in an honest moment of our encounter - it's an easy exchange of openness for whatever someone has to give right now, without bias, nor concern for our own capacity to hold. We love without true limit, from first view the world is immediately accepted, we're at home in original sense, and everything belongs exactly as it is. 

nothing has to change for us to love,

it's all apparent from each moment on - just this, whatever's occurring and our initial response before a single thought is given. We care because we share a common ache together, that we each know a form of suffering once believed to be ours alone. What's apparent is our own brokenness and how we instantly see that we belong together, healed by this point of contact between us. We love because we recognize ourselves as whole, it's apparent, and underlies our every moment. 

it's what we know as true. 

~

Peace, Eric