How it all Unfolds

How it all unfolds:

how it all unfolds, always ending here, exactly where we are, and whatever present circumstances found, regardless of our actions taken and how much effort given. Life has it's own agenda, full of mystery and surprise, and at every point we are left to wonder at its course. Our best intentions never fully steer its way, and no plan is ever truly certain. We are immersed within its flow. 

of course we've long believed ourselves in charge, mistaken in our thoughts that we have hold of life and could force it to our way. Yes, plans are important, goals serve and provide a purpose, and in no way do I discount this. Yet life remains a mystery, having it's own course, and we are never fully privy to its ways. It's with this in mind as well as in hindsight, that we come to trust life, giving mystery its due, and no longer try to force the world our way. Life makes us gentle through its course of time, our battles no longer remain fierce in their struggles, but accepting now, wiser, and we come to know ourselves as aspect of its flow, never separate from its mystery.

we are part of how it all unfold, essential to its nature.

so, yes, we make plans, intentions, but hold it all so very lightly. Our every point is exactly where we need to be, indeed, it's the only place we'll ever find ourselves. Here, now, and this is where life has brought us, happy or otherwise, satisfied or not, there is no escaping this present moment. Nor should we even try, life is still in motion, mystery continuously unfolding, and again we are part of how it all unfolds. Life is never a settled matter - a flower's bloom is a long affair of sunlight given through seasons, roots nourished through winter's snow and storms, a fragile bud trusting in the warmth to come. So many things must happen for this bloom, and nothing sure is ever promised to a seed. Yet the potential to flower is inherent to its nature, always present, essential to the fabric of its being. 

and so it is with us, for every moment being true, we are nourished through storm and winter, even as we feel alone, unsure of spring's arrival. There is always our potential to bloom. Yet each aspect of life offers us its full nature, with no season ever separate from its flow. This is where we are, perfectly delivered, and this moment is all we're truly promised. 

now, is our time to bloom, or to be nourished through the length of winter.

trust, 

this is how it all unfolds.

~

Peace, Eric 

How It All Unfolds

 How it all unfolds:

how it all unfolds, always ending here, exactly where we are, and whatever present circumstances found, regardless of our actions taken and how much effort given. Life has it's own agenda, full of mystery and surprise, and at every point we are left to wonder at its course. Our best intentions never fully steer its way, and no plan is ever truly certain. We are immersed within its flow. 

of course we've long believed ourselves in charge, mistaken in our thoughts that we have hold of life and could force it to our way. Yes, plans are important, goals serve and provide a purpose, and in no way do I discount this. Yet life remains a mystery, having it's own course, and we are never fully privy to its ways. It's with this in mind as well as in hindsight, that we come to trust life, giving mystery its due, and no longer try to force the world our way. Life makes us gentle through its course of time, our battles no longer remain fierce in their struggles, but accepting now, wiser, and we come to know ourselves as aspect of its flow, never separate from its mystery.

we are part of how it all unfold, essential to its nature.

so, yes, we make plans, intentions, but hold it all so very lightly. Our every point is exactly where we need to be, indeed, it's the only place we'll ever find ourselves. Here, now, and this is where life has brought us, happy or otherwise, satisfied or not, there is no escaping this present moment. Nor should we even try, life is still in motion, mystery continuously unfolding, and again we are part of how it all unfolds. Life is never a settled matter - a flower's bloom is a long affair of sunlight given through seasons, roots nourished through winter's snow and storms, a fragile bud trusting in the warmth to come. So many things must happen for this bloom, and nothing sure is ever promised to a seed. Yet the potential to flower is inherent to its nature, always present, essential to the fabric of its being. 

and so it is with us, for every moment being true, we are nourished through storm and winter, even as we feel alone, unsure of spring's arrival. There is always our potential to bloom. Yet each aspect of life offers us its full nature, with no season ever separate from its flow. This is where we are, perfectly delivered, and this moment is all we're truly promised. 

now, is our time to bloom, or to be nourished through the length of winter.

trust, 

this is how it all unfolds.

~

Peace, Eric 

Of Dharma

Of dharma: 

my sense of dharma is not of a path to follow, no duty nor purpose to perform, it's my own individual and unique expression of each moment, and can't help but be known and demonstrated through the ease of simply being alive. Dharma is a Sanskrit word that has multiple meaning in many Eastern religions generally implying either our aim and drive in life, aligned with the greater universal purpose, or more often in Buddhist terms as reality as seen through the teachings of the Buddha. Western thought has adopted the term to largely mean finding our true path to follow, our reason and purpose for being born, our lives being meant to serve and fulfill this cause. 

and maybe this is so.

it's not for me to argue this wisdom, I'm not wise enough to know, and certainly often wonder if I found my own one true cause, if there's a reason why I'm here at all. Evolution points mainly to chance, a long line of fortunate events for ancestors, surviving just long enough to create one more link in the chain that led to my creation. I'm here to continue this evolutionary link of species survival. Of course this leaves out soul, consciousness, a deep sense that I am more than just a biological process fulfilling a purpose to continue and see my species thrive. I see both as being true, with no need to deny my biological function and animal behavior, nor that I am somehow more than this, yes, divine in a sense that I'm aware of my unique position in the world, awake, conscious of my awareness to it all.

my sense of dharma is to be alive, and aware that it's so.

yet something more too, if there is a purpose than it's just, and only, in this very moment, as nothing further is ever promised or revealed. My sense of being divine leads me here as well, that this moment provides the means for the holy expression of my singular and unique way of being, a duty to be exactly as I am, now, without need to find a path from here to any other moment of existence. Just here, nowhere else, and always, always, now. In this light, my sense of dharma is immediately fulfilled, that I am nowhere else but here, and always present to this moment. This doesn't mean that I am always mindful of every detail that unfolds - my wandering mind, daydreams, and memories of other times belong as surely as any other quality that's displayed. 

everything belongs.

this moment, right now, is my true and only purpose, my reason for being here is life itself, expressed through every means available, unique to my own conditions and present situation, ever changing, fluid, artful in display. Yes, I'm an artist of sorts, aware of this opportunity to be a conscious participant of this moment's demonstration. Yet more so, deeper, I'm an aspect of artistic design, evolutionary, biological, particles in a whirl of form. My sense of dharma urges me to simply be alive, relaxed, and be true to the purpose of this moment. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Self-Improvement

Self-improvement:

an upcoming year, just days away now, and many people will set their goals and resolutions. It's a worthy thing to do, embarking on some better habits, dropping unwanted traits that no longer seem to serve. I've read that not many stick with their self-improvement plans past a few weeks, a month or more at best. Forcing change is difficult, will-power is a useful tool, but limited for short-term use, hard to maintain and bring to daily play and practice. 

perhaps there's a better way?

maybe there's no self that needs to be improved?

, or the self we seek to change doesn't exist at all? 

it's a simply inquiry, looking for our truest self, an ancient practice of asking who we really are. Spiritual seekers have been asking this question since the dawn of time. It's worth pursuing, and more so to explore the silence that follows after asking. It seems there is no ready answer, the self is illusive, never quite exactly as expected, offering no real location. 

illusory.

at least in a certain sense.

but this isn't to debate the issue of self vs. no-self, everyone should find out on their own what's real and what isn't, answers are only meaningful through our own personal investigation and experience. Let's look for ourselves, exploring what's present, and dismissing conjecture's and beliefs. My own inquiry leads me to something quiet remarkable, a selfless nature serving in capacity for a self appearing to and as the world. This is seen through the simple act of pointing, a direct search for self by pointing to where we've long assumed it's found. Philosopher Douglas Harding called this the Headless Way, to first look at any object and note its basic qualities of form, then moving on to the body and similarly finding it's distinctions, solid, separate from other objects seen near by. They're all things, objects, even the body appears as so. Except the head. This is what we now point towards, going only on what's verified by our own eyes, direct experience, evidence - and what do we find? 

by our own evidence, we're headless, an actual look to where we're pointing reveals nothing found, at least nothing the resembles our long believed description. This can only be experienced, an experiment performed through the clinical trials of our own experience. 

look. 

what I find is emptiness, no head, no self, and yet through this space a world appearing. I find capacity, without limit to its hold. As well, I find a multiple of selves existing for just a moment, thoughts, beliefs and long cherished identities that once informed my world. Everything appears here, capacity open, welcoming to it all. 

nothing is denied, nor excluded.

so which self needs improving? 

we're too fluid for self-improvement, not suited by our very nature to lend ourselves to any real effort of a lasting change. Seen through capacity, all there is is change, motion, selves appearing for an instant, vanishing once the moments gone. It's all just an experience, life happening right now, continuous only  in the changes that it offers. 

motion.

nothing really needs improving, least of all a self that's always changing, never lasting past any one experience. Yet we can introduce an intention, a wish, prayer, or desire, casting it without attachment to the selfless void from which the world appears. Let the universe resolve these issues and concern, allowing ourselves to be part of whatever process unfolds from here. We may find ourselves inspired to new activities, healthier options that better suit our needs, opportunities being offered for a new direction to be explored. It's a more imaginative way of living. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Sense of Creativity

Sense of creativity:

for my own sense of creativity, it's a liberating moment, to approach the page with no idea of theme or even first word, just an openness to allow the morning to be expressed however it unfolds, trusting that the page will fill, and that the words will offer something with their meaning. It's a modest goal, or more simply the release of goals so that inspiration can flow without the hindrance of my interference and demands, 

to write, without the presence of an author.

it's a liberating moment, yes, but still one of uncertainty - that even after years of this practice there's still a trace of doubt, an urge to gain control and force words to appear on the terms of my will and schedule. There's still a wish to make myself the author, claiming every word as my own control and inspiration. Yet that's not how creativity works, not my own sense, it's all too spontaneous for me to play anything but a part within it's flow, being a process and not a singular act of writing on my own. 

my own sense of creativity urges me to let go, to allow and belong within the process, claiming only to be an essential part of its dynamics, an aspect of its flow. It's with this letting go that a theme begins to appear, words fit with certain meaning, writing happens now with grace and ease, there's no struggle here, words simply arrive, or silence is enjoyed. Everything is vital in its role, nothing forced, the absence of words given due patience, trust, silence being home to sure inspiration. This isn't waiting, not idle time at all, but the stillness where words gather, pure, potentiality at its truest source. Words come from here, everything does, and thus writing is really my own self-discovery, finding myself both by words and their absence, stillness and my own creative flow. 

it's a liberating moment. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Made Possible

Made possible:

of all things made possible, and I take done of this for granted - air existing for breath, an entire sky to draw from, unlimited, and given with such ease and pleasure. My every exhale should be a prayer of gratitude for what was just received, life in subtle essence, energy for another breath drawn and my entire world to be continued. 

it's all perfect, somehow made so by long design of evolutionary process, earliest plant life, blue-green and one celled algae, merging with bacteria to become the source of photosynthesis, and that my every breath is made possible because this merging has occurred. This is just one example of the infinite miracles that had to happen for life to be exactly as it is now, everything so finely balanced, and it gives me pause to consider all that's owed to the tiniest of things, actions by chance, or perhaps guided by an innate intelligence that urges some larger story to unfold. 

arguing a belief in god is a futile effort for me, to give credit to an unknown, somehow greater source, and all the while life flows with such symmetry and beauty, mystery, it all seems to imply that god is in the essence, every detail of life unfolding, not greater than but the very stuff of my experience. Science simply tells the story of god, but really there doesn't need to be a name for this,to consider one thing divine and another profane, applying labels to it all. It's all just life, sacred by virtue of its appearance and the ease in which it lends itself to my continuation. 

more truly so, I could say that this my story, of my origin made possible by that blue-green algae cell, to the bacteria that allowed itself to be absorbed for a greater life form than being on it's own. My gratitude extends to that singular moment well over 400 million years ago, the tiniest of miracles, and all the other things made possible from that one action and whatever caused its urge. Really, it's clear to me that I am just the tiniest part of a much grander story, that my own life is simply the expression of that moment of algae and bacteria merging, being part of the miracle of photosynthesis, how my breath is so freely given now for every plant and tree to be continued. 

of all things made possible, and being just the tiniest of parts,

yet still, I am so grateful. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Forgiving Path

Forgiving path: 

it's a forgiving path, completely and naturally of its own accord, and with no effort required of our conscious participation. It's just how life flows. This seems hard for us to follow, and for quite sometime it's often difficult to truly understand - that life itself has no concerns other than its own continuation, bearing no grudges, and only cares for what this moment holds. Everything is completely surrendered the very moment it occurs, forgiven in a way, and life continues in its motion. Our great forgetting is that this is exactly what we are, life, motion too, and that we are constantly moving on, already past another moment's slights and grudges, arriving fresh to the innocence of now, always and only, now. It's that easy to forgive...

simply remembering we're alive, life, motion.

already moving on. 

it's a forgiving path, and life adapts to all it receives without malice in return, continuing - and our gift is that we're able to gain from the experience of each moment, that all is forgiven and perhaps we're a bit wiser now too, arriving still to our original innocence, yet with greater clarity gained as well. Life proceeds from here, this point of insight now an integral part of our being, with no need to revisit for proof of what we've learned. 

so how do we follow this path?

why does forgiveness seem so hard?

and the answer is the same for both questions - that it's already done, everything has been forgiven completely on its own, life in charge of every detail. We're always on the path. But what we ask for is rituals, a performance to convince us that life is indeed moving on, and that we belong fully to the continuous reality of this present moment. My own practice is meditation, recalling a mantra through countless moments of forgetting, not putting any effort to sustain its presence, but gently, patiently, returning to its call. It seems unrelated to life's concerns, not practical in dealing with past events or future apprehensions. Yet it's here that I see my mind as motion, thoughts moving on their own, and offering me no real control. My practice is returning, giving no effort to the minds barrage, always back to the simplicity of the mantra, and everything happens on its own, stillness revealed as the source of motion, calm remaining through every thought-fueled storm, forgiveness being nothing more than life's continuation. I see that there is no real path to follow, just this, what's already happening, and if at times it seems difficult, than that too belongs. 

so we don't always need to immediately remember, our innocence remaining present, available, unmarred by our concerns. 

life, is our forgiving path...

happening complete on its own.

~

Peace, Eric 

Allegheny Mountains

Allegheny Mountains: 

it's Christmas, and this isn't a holiday that has much meaning to me outside of some happy childhood memories of celebrating with my family, the ritual of driving north to Pennsylvania to visit my grandmother, what seemed an endless driving, but loving the view as we made our way through the Allegheny Mountains. I feel a kinship with those mountains even today,ancient, rounded and worn down in height, yet once reviling the Himalayas in their reach. My Christmas memories take me there, that long stretch of turnpike, stopping for a meal and enjoying the crisp bite of mountain air that greeted me fresh after the warmth of the car and family near. 

my father was a sure and steady driver, I never once doubted his skills navigating the often snow covered road. Although I'm sure it was a tiring drive for him, he loved the mountains too and would answer any question I threw his way concerning them. He taught middle school physical science and had a great love for geology, geography, maps and history, passing that love on to me. More so, he was a mountain boy at heart, having grown up in deep rural central Pennsylvania, son of a forest ranger, hunting with his family until his sensitive nature urged him to halt. Even after serving in the navy in the last year of the war, he remained a gentle soul. I loved him dearly.

this is my first Christmas without him. 

  he made it to 94, fairly healthy and mobile until his six months, and even then he continued to exercise, to be as independent and helpful as possible. I was fortunate to spend this time with him, caregiver in name and act, but receiving just as much in return. He was a selfless man, giving and caring for his family literally until the very end, our last conversation being his final moments, and he apologized that he may have awakened me. His death sums up our relationship, how he lived his life, and how much he wished for my welfare and concern. 

yesterday I wrote of words, of how they appear from an unknown source of quiet, stillness, spontaneous in their arrival. I never really know the topic or theme of anything I write until near done, these things making themselves known to me as words appear. I started writing this morning thinking of Christmas, a holiday I only celebrate by tradition, feeling much closer to solstice lore and pagan ritual. Maybe it's my mountain roots passed down from my father, an earth-based call of celebration of land, rock, and spirit. It seems the Alleghenies have their hold still, and urge me to visit this morning if even and only in my thoughts and writing. It's somehow fitting that my writing took this turn, winding like a Pennsylvania mountain road, from holiday memories and thoughts of my father, and that it ends with landscape, ancient, eroded and weathered worn through time, yet still towering in my mind. I think my father would enjoy me writing of the Allegheny Mountains. This is for him, and for everyone who shares a deep kinship to a certain land, and whatever memories it brings you. 

Peace, Eric 

By First Word

By first word: 

usually by first word, it's something given, and writing flows from there - I seldom have a theme to write of, nothing really as a project to consider. Writing is a spontaneous act for me, for everyone really, if we trace the origin of ideas we find nothing but surprise, that there was a point of grace where something, thoughts, a theme, words, revealed themselves from absolutely nowhere, and only later do we claim them as our own. 

truthfully though, it's all given. 

writing is a favorite topic of mine, and I seem to return to it often as a theme. It's fascinating how words appear and offer themselves as clues to a larger mystery yet to unfold. To this point, I still have no idea of what's to come here, hints have been given, and a theme is developing, but I am kept in mystery to the end, each word a revelation on the page. 

seeing this is so has freed me from the grip of certain writing fears, an empty page had become the hold of expectations, and my role was to fill it completely with clever words and phrases. There was always varying degrees of anxiety present to my morning, knowing that the page waited and not yet inspired to commit myself to writing. There was nothing to tell, no words given because I believed myself to be sole author of  anything to appear. I waited for epiphanies without realizing that everything is revealed by grace, spontaneous and freely given. 

every moment is inspired.

my own epiphany arrived in similar fashion, just as easy and spontaneous as every word that's now appearing - there was the usual dread before the emptiness of the page, anxiety of having nothing yet to say, and then an unexpected silence, a pause before thoughts began again. It was the pause that did it, a somehow moment of revelation...that there is where words arrive from, silence, every thought begins from here and they're all completely independent of my control. From that moment on I was no longer truly a writer, but a participant to the act of writing. My expectations were replaced by the delight of anticipation, of not knowing when words would appear, what secrets they would hold, but certain of my place within this mystery.  I was free from my role as author, nothing expected of myself but to show up to the keyboards each morning, eager to be revealed as surely as the word themselves. 

and usually by first word, that's the secret, that there's always more to follow, my own revelation continues too every morning, epiphany followed by epiphany, grace always found by letting go of my own presumed authority of any situation. By first word I know to pause, trusting silence now, not forcing my opinion, allowing mystery to unfold. This is my agenda, or better said that I am part of this agenda, an aspect of this writing process that still sometimes believes himself in charge. But usually, by first word, I am surrendered completely to the mystery of what will soon follow, eager for my own revelation to be shown as words, as well as the silence of their hold. 

each word, an epiphany shown by grace. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Here We are

Here we are: 

here we are, and the question is why?

 is it by design, and with purpose? 

questioning ourselves generally leads us towards answers, hopefully ones that leave us with a sense of satisfaction, that we've discovered a certain truth, a revelation of some deeper meaning. Yet inquiry is of a different sort, no answer is really meant to satisfy, and the questions themselves only serve to bring us to a point of silence, an answer entirely of its own, without need of forcing a reply.

why are we here?

there's no true way to know - science doesn't deal with the question of why, only working through the details of how something came to be, hard facts proven through equations and working through labs and fields of study. Religion and philosophy speculate, providing grander views and visions of this and other worlds. They give a flexible truth, and any believer is able to find the one that best suits their wish to believe, filling the void of their questioning with someone else's answers. 

are we here by design?

and do we have a purpose to serve?

my own answers are momentary, or perhaps I should better say that this moment itself is an answer, providing all I ever really have to know. If asking why I am here, to what purpose, and if it's all by some grand design - my world replies at once, answering by breath, and heartbeat, that I am here for just this single draw and release of air, that my purpose is to breathe and be alive, designed exactly for this to occur with astounding grace and precision. It's my only answer, arriving through the innocence of asking, dismissing knowledge for stillness, and simply listening, listening, listening....

here we are,

and there isn't an question.

it's enough to simply be.

our every breath tells us this is so...

listen.

~

Peace, Eric  

No True Ownership

No true ownership:

there is no true ownership of the world, land belongs to no one in particular, every border an illusion, and more so, we've reversed the order of how things really are. We are products of earth, belonging here in the same manner as a forest, stream, and every other animal that roams the land. Our home isn't made of roof, walls, and green lawn, it's not an apartment, nor farmhouse, that's all simply where we live, protected from elements, raise children, providing safety to carry out our personal matters. It's an important, vital aspect of our lives, yet our true home is of a deeper concern, it's of the earth itself, and we are intimate in our belonging here. 

truly seen, we are made of earth and stars, elements of the same stuff that we believe we own - it's impossible to be separate from our origins, literally carrying seawater in our veins, lungs filled by common air, sun and rain nourish our existence. This is home, we're of earth, a conscious expression of its evolutionary path. There is no true ownership here, our belonging too deep, intimate, and all that can be said is that we are shared in equal value, claimed in the same manner as a forest holds a tree, or the ocean knows itself as both depth and wave. 

nothing is ever found apart from anything else, simply one in truest fashion.

so who is to claim ownership? 

there is no one present that isn't of the earth, we are extensions of a single presence, clay given breath and consciousness, but never made separate from the land. Our role is to honor this existence, express ourselves as a sacred grove of humanity, being the same essence as the holiness of a flowers bloom, roots given deep to earth, stem extending itself to reach the sky, opening to sunlit touch. A flower makes no claim of owning ground nor sky, a tree has no interest in its worth beyond the value of a forest. Everything exist in service to the whole, earth, the one world of our belonging.

no true ownership found.

~

Peace, Eric 

That I'm Surrendered

That I'm surrendered;

to whatever life brings me, and wherever I find myself to be - it's to this that I'm surrendered, not a willful action of my own, but simply the process of true living, that I'm never quite the one believed to be in charge. This is a life of greater intention, ones not entirely of my own, although they too belong. It's allowing myself to be lived, expressed exactly as life has made me, sure of my own unique purpose and point of being here, awake, and aware. 

it's to this that I'm surrendered.

this isn't something arrived to, not a practice that I've adopted for an easier way of life - it's how things are, now, and always. It's just life, recognized as my own existence, that I'm not a separate event from it all, but a natural expression of being alive, complex, yes, yet with the same simplicity of a flower too, nurtured by sun, rain, roots deep in earth. There's nothing but life, nothing apart from this moment and all that it delivers, unfolding with its own intent. I belong to all of this, no aspect of life escapes me, and in no way am I removed from a single point of this expression. I'm simply alive, surrendered to life, to my own grace and belonging, without need for things to be other, yet knowing too that everything will change, indeed, changing even now.  

to be surrendered, is knowing that I belong.

it's just the recognition of my aliveness, only this, and that I'm a process, an event expressed through a moment seen as the course of time, seen briefly as this appearance. It's false to even claim that I'm alive, as implies in subtle fashion to a degree of separation that simply isn't here. There's only a singular aliveness, life, and the infinite ways of it's expression. 

that I'm surrendered, my own letting go, it's how this moment is, 

another of the infinite ways,

that life happens. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Continuously Grateful

Continuously grateful:

continuously grateful, finding it now to be the actual rhythm of breath and heartbeat, that my every function is at ease within a natural flow of energy that happens completely on its own. My impulse is to work with this order, providing nutrients and motion for my body, inspiration for the mind, and company for soul. I am continuously grateful just to be alive, participating with life on its own terms without need nor wish to manipulate events for my concerns and demands on how things should be. Yes, I certainly still have a preference as to how my life unfolds, and every emotion is still displayed for its occasion - yet nothing has to meet my expectations, life is free to flow exactly as it will, and of course as it always has.

 But now, continuously grateful, I am equally free within its flow.

it's how life is, seeming to be a process that carries me from events to another situation, and yet the mistake with this is the thought that I am somehow apart from it all, helpless in life's current, and that it all somehow happens to me, against my own will and self interest at times. To be free though, is to awaken not just as the current, but as the stream too, being life itself, not subject to events but the process of all that's ever happening. There is no me outside of these events, every situation is my own appearance no matter how distressing in its guise. 

and for this too, I am continuously grateful.

this is how I find myself now, somehow awake to this participation, aware of my belonging to every aspect of the world. It's nowhere near a special state of privilege, everything is just as before, with perhaps a deeper understanding to my shifting moods and personality. What I am is alive, and simply thankful, continuously, that it's so. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Being Inspired

Being inspired:

of being inspired - and it seems best to let the words come to me, that inspiration isn't so much a search for ideas and themes to write of, but more so completely letting go into the mystery of not knowing whatever words will next appear, abiding in the moment, patient. Inspiration is sometimes a small thing, perhaps a single word that leads to a cascade of ideas, or subtle themes not yet full formed, intriguing in their call to further explore.

 for me, most often, inspiration seems to stir as I listen to the world, sitting with my own silence, early morning, and without need to write at all. It's enough to simply arrive here, another day will always bring fresh ideas, and my only role is a readiness to receive them. Inspiration is silence translated into thoughts that bring a certain action, writing seems to be the choice of my expression, and so inspired, I write whatever words are given each morning, arranging them with deserved care and a devotion fitting the grace of their arrival. 

my only true art, it to be inspired.

being inspired is not something done, not a thing to strive for, it's acted through the means of an artist, that I am a useful instrument for its play. I love that I am not so important in my role here, just part of something larger than writing words that seem to be my own. To be inspired is to remove myself from any claim of ownership, as if a gift could ever be declared ones own design. I have no idea where any of this arrives from, not a single word, and it seems mystery and surprise are the true gifts, carried with me through the day, every moment inspired with the same grace as to what appears. 

and so inspired, I write, and breathe, and carry out my day.

this life is truly, surely, gifted. 

~

Peace, Eric 

To Exist At All

To exist at all:

and mostly, it's about simply being grateful to exist at all, that right now the world is set up so perfectly in its acceptance, a true depth of belonging that astounds me to consider. My very next breath has an entire sky to draw from, an abundance of air delivered to my need. There was nothing done by me for this to happen, no grace earned for this ease of breath and the environment that allows for it, the universe is exactly right for my existence.  

my every breath is a prayer of being grateful. 

yet not just for me, through billions of years the world has altered its condition for life to follow, and in this a relationship of cooperation developed too. Earliest plant life emerged from the ocean and photosynthesized the land, drawing energy from the sun and releasing it in the vibrant green of possibilities. This would be the invitation for more and varied lifeforms to come forward and explore. And again the environment shifted in it's acceptance, changing just enough for life to flourish in design. Of all this to happen, such long and ever changing events through an unbroken chain to this exact and perfect moment...

to exist at all.

and this present breath is simply its continuation, life again being altered, evolving, mysterious in its change. I have no idea of what's to follow, how this breath will carry change in exhale, nourishing plants and forest, a cooperation found so subtle, intimate, between us. To exist at all is to be a participant in this continuation - I am not a singular event but a process of the whole, and this dates back to whatever urged a singularity to expand in energy, from a Big Bang of universal origin to this present breath now taken. To exist at all is to be grateful for this moment, breathing in everything that has ever given cause for this to happen, and exhaling its continuation to the world. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Madly Out Of Love

Madly out of love:

at some point, perhaps too early to remember when, we fell madly out of love with ourselves -and life has had a degree of struggle ever since, even at our most successful we maintain a sense of separation from this truest love, never quiet intimate again with who we really are. 

yet we catch glimpses, sometimes often, nature surprises us with a gift of beauty so pure that overwhelms the senses, and for just that moment we forget ourselves, returning to the innocence of first love, when the world was simply ours to belong to. Or maybe it returns through our love for another, that through their eyes we catch a sight of our own beauty, and even if we doubt it's lasting presence, it was there, if only for a fleeting instant. 

maybe this is my own story, projected on to others, but it certainly seems we've lost a larger sense innocence, that our love for ourselves is superficial to the extreme of sacrificing our lives in pursuit of objects that hold little lasting value. We're buying our own affection with shallow gestures, and all the while ignoring our depth of need for true love, the real love of simply being alive, accepted for exactly who we are. 

original love. 

this is a love we were born into, intimate at first breath, and never once doubting the worth of our existence. We came from love, the entire universe conspired for our presence, a miracle of biological extremes just to be here. There was absolutely nothing for us to prove, no need to earn this love, our birthright for simply being alive, present to the world. 

and yet somehow, at some certain point, or maybe over the length of childhood, we fell madly out of love with ourselves. And here we are, fighting our own existence, at war with the very environment that sustains us. If we knew this love again, remembered long enough for embers to stir a flame, our lives would change in an instant. Or more truly so, nothing would really change at all - and that's because this love is still and always present, it's our reality and has only been forgotten, regulated to the far corners of the mind, catching us by surprise with rare moments of appearance. 

but always present.

how do we remember though? 

honestly, I don't know, it's a bit of a mystery to me. But it happens, it did so for me, in subtle ways at first, and then with a larger gesture of falling madly in love with myself in a single instant, my existence immediately noted and accepted, seeing that my faults were real, yet also imagined, and everything belonged in such a perfect sense, my every doubt was now forgiven. 

let's call this grace. 

and it's a grace that always whispers love, providing hints of presence, a synchronicity of events that lead us in reveal of our own truth and beauty. Our only urge is to follow life, to allow ourselves those broken moments doubt and darkness, asking the world for answers and then listening to the holy silence if its reply. Love is silent, without demand, a constant hold of all we are and believe ourselves to be - it requires no effort, no practice to cultivate its presence. 

we exist,

and with this...

we're in love, madly and always.

it's what we truly are.

~

Peace, Eric 

 

Showing Up

Showing up:

my only true talent is showing up, and that's really it, every morning, early as I can manage, I approach my meditation bench with the same reverence that I did more than twenty five years ago - and my day begins here, with a commitment to sit and let the world find me exactly as I am, not seeking to change, and yet honest to faults and blessings alike. 

this same talent for showing up extends to my writing, actually a continuation of my meditations, and again it's the words that find me, as I am content to sit before an empty screen, patient to a routine that always follows, ideas forming through the morning silence, words appear, writing happens. My only role it to show up and allow the process to play it natural course. I am not a writer, nor a seeker in any true way, life occurs, words get written, awakening happens, and all completely on their own. I'm simply fortunate to be present. 

of course I cultivate skill, nourishing a certain sense of artistry, and apply it all as needed. But even this has an energy of its own, a rhythm that finds me at just the perfect time, without willful action on my part. There is no attempt to write better, nor to meditate any deeper, or longer than the day before, there's no striving to awaken - moment by moment, whatever needs to find me readily appears, and always exactly where I am, here, now, with nowhere else to ever be. 

if it all sounds too easy, it is. 

yet none of this means I'm always happy, sorrow find me here as easily any blessing, and there's no reason, nor order to how they may appear. But that's just how life happens, the price paid for showing up, and through the years, from luck and mostly grace, equanimity appears too, giving room to my response with equal measure to reactions that seem less fitting. What I've learned is that everything belongs, and this includes whatever mistakes are made, regrets that I may feel, sorrow, all the things that make me human, alive, and open to their arrival. 

none of this is mine to choose.

and this is showing up, a true talent of simply being present, natural, and without pretense of being anything other than what this moment holds. My best term for this is capacity, that I am allowing by my very nature, we all are, and it's the easy grace of talent, our means of living in the present moment. We all show up, everyday, the first capacity of early morning, allowing ourselves to be filled by the worlds arrival. 

whatever that may be. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Little Conflict

Little conflict: 

there's little conflict for me, not between science and any spiritual thought, nor the so called :hard problem" of consciousness where it's debated on whether this sense of aware aliveness originates from - material means of brain and mind, or is it the very foundation of the universe, that everything possess the basic qualities of awareness. It isn't that I refuse to take a position on these matters, or not have a favored point of view. I certainly do and I would imagine that it would be fairly obvious to anyone who reads what I write that I tend towards a panpsychism outlook on consciousness, and that it stems from my own deeply felt experiences of being alive, aware, and of belonging so fully to a world that's awake to my presence as well. 

but I could be wrong. 

and really it doesn't matter much at all, not to me, really. My experience described above stands without need of reason or explanation. It simply is, and it matters not how this sense of belonging came to be. Science confirms my sense of a miraculous world, beginning from a pinpoint of energy to propulsion of space/time and eventual matter. Why should it surprise me that this process could somehow produce a universe that allows consciousness to appear? Similar with evolution, that nature is clever enough in random selection to reach a point that allows me to be aware. Of course this is plausible, perhaps likely, and it in no way invalidates the qualities of being aware. 

and so there's little conflict, none really, and all that matters is finding myself grateful for this moment, that I'm alive, aware, and so happy to find myself awake within the world. Science shows that none of this had to be, that any shift in infinite variables could have produced a universe of very different order, or chaos, or no universe at all. And yet, I'm here, we're here, and we share a wakefulness between us, a conscious gift of being able to appreciate the world we have. That's a miracle too, and the basis of any true awakening. 

I am, and that's enough for me to know, 

however it may have come to be. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Person of The Year

this is just my opinion, of course, and no need to debate me if you disagree - but I wonder if Elon Musk best represents The Person Of The Year? I know that Time Magazine has varied reasons for their picks, and it's not always based on qualities that most reflective the average person. Honestly, I know little of Musk, and care even less, nothing personal against him. I do know that he's rich and took a space ride on his own shuttle and people have told me he claims he did so to inspire us all to reach for the stars. Noble reason, if so. But I'm reminded on Edgar Mitchell, sixth man to ever walk on the moon and his return trip to earth, catching a glimpse of the spinning globe, boundless, surrounded by vast emptiness, and yet teeming with life. Mitchell's epiphany was Home. He wasn't inspired to reach for any more stars, but to serve those at home, to teach us to be caretakers for what we have now. His inspiration was of the soul. So it seems to me that better choice for Person Of The Year, might have been the average person (you and I) who continues to show up, two years within a devastating pandemic, and faces life with courage, even a small amount of joy through all this struggle, and just wishes to make the day a little easier for themselves and for others. One smile from a stranger inspires me much deeper than any space ride. Earth is my home, I'd much rather save it, maintain it's beauty, and offer it safely to future generations. I dominate You, whoever reads this, friend, acquaintance, stranger - if you're here, home, feet firmly planted on the ground, you're my person of the year. 

Peace, 

Eric   

Life Evolves

life evolves, and all without a grand design, no intelligence greater than its own - this, for me at least, seems to be the only God worth our understanding, that we are part of this innate process of life evolving for its own sake, belonging so fully to its expansion. Is it right to bring God into this? Well, I'm not a science writer, understanding little of the technical language that explains evolution. But what I am is alive, and inspired by a deep sense of finding myself participating with life on equal terms, that I belong to its every point and process, and this speaks to me of God. 

so I write only from my own inspiration, with nothing to prove and no explanation for the language that I use. I use the term God for my own understanding, invoking the awe I feel in rediscovering my sacredness in an ever greater sacred view of life. This isn't God the creator, but creation itself, evolving through infinite ages of a singularity in propulsion of the potentiality of life, all the way to this moment now. And amazingly, I am part of this, deeply so, orchestrated by chance and mystery to fit in seamlessly, essential even in the vital role I play in shared respiration with plants, home to a microbiol world, and to my every act of kindness. This is all that I belong to, and I find it holy by expression, science reflects my understanding, but lacks a certain language of the soul. 

and indeed, it's all soul.

life evolves, and again I use the terms God and soul - of 3.8 billion years in creative expression of the world, from undersea bacteria to single celled organisms, viruses, microbes, and the eventual build up of oxygen to the point that life is given possibilities for its expansion. Through this all life advanced through cooperation, at 2.15 billion years ago photosynthesis occurs, cells conspire to take in sunlight and carbon dioxide, an exchange of energy for oxygen and ever greater scope of air and possibilities. From here we come to cells growing in expression, one simple cell engulfing another in a manner helpful in outcome, life in its beginning of diversity and all leading to multicellular organism, continual evolution in response to a creative and changing world. 

this is an intelligent system, not directed from an outer-source, but of its own response to conditions self created, an interaction of events leading towards an expansion of life impossible to truly measure. It's intelligence itself, creative by its own design. 

and I find myself amidst in this, alive, and awake to the understanding that I belong to this long chain of events and synchronicity that has brought to the point. My DNA carries the memory of oxygen in first breath, of plants offering their green expression to the world, and an ancient ancestor's earliest reach for land. I am life, evolved to this exact moment, and aware of my belonging. It's all magic and miracles in the language of science, mystery given words. Yet, it's still the soul, essence, life - it's my own expression given to and as the world.    

how could I not be inspired by this belonging? 

and this is what I write of.

~

Peace, Eric 

Importance

Importance: 

it seems we give ourselves greater importance than really deserved, and at the very same time dismiss the true and central role of our essential nature. We believe ourselves to be larger than the sum of parts and fail to see how seamless the world actually is, that there are no parts separate from the whole, but that it's all simply, and always, one grand expression of universal proportions. We are of equal importance to every other aspect of the world, privileged with cleverness, yet forgetful of our nature. 

it's vital to remember. 

a Native American proverb reminds us that no tree has branches so foolish as to fight amongst themselves, and indeed, it's now well documented that the entire forest is a cooperation of one event, each tree being a singular expression of a shared being called a forest. No branch will fight for privilege of sun at the expense of the well being of its roots. What we see as a collection of separate parts labeled trees is in actuality a living process of earth, sky, ocean in production of a vital function. There is no forest apart from this connection, only an ecosystem of distinct appearance, but always belonging to the whole. 

this is the art of reductive vision, seeing the vitality of essence displayed in all of its appearances, beyond materialism to the very foundation of what's shared between singular expressions. It's not removed from science but includes its information, that each branch of science tells a portion of this story, and that the complete story is never fully told, but simply lived, experienced. With this we surrender ourselves of importance, letting go of the need to argue our beliefs into true existence. What's real and true - is, and requires nothing more than living. This surrender is without effort, happening of its own accord once we see how the world flows in seamless order. Really, it more of a remembering, the earth still holds our roots deep in this belonging, our branches know their reach is equal to the sky. What we remember is that there is no individual self apart from this expression, we are unique, distinct as any tree within a forest, yet root deep in our belonging. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Constant Rebirth

Constant rebirth:

it's a constant rebirth, really, everything and each moment is a rearrangement of atoms, molecules, and cells in someway, artful by their very design. Our bodies are never quite the same through every instant they exist, every cell in some type of process to be replaced by another. Daily, through food and breath, we gather new atoms and these are incorporated into our cells. Atoms themselves are timeless, made of particles directly from the stars, and any atom we breathe now could have existed as a leaf on a tree in an ancient forest,  or spent a moment as the Buddha's smile, and now reborn as ours. Everything's a miracle in this light, life in constant rebirth of its very essence, carrying us along, artful in display. 

our bodies are made of atoms, particles smaller still, and all of this is mostly a vast amount of empty space. Nothingness, our essence is unseen, and even our bodies mass is an illusion, being made of particles interacting on an energetic field. Through every aspect of body and mind we are energy, a vibration of a certain type for every moment of existence. 

we know that energy never dies, nor is it created as something new - in this sense we are eternal, again by essence, but not in the personal way we view the world, there is no personality reborn exactly as before. Our rebirth is more accurately a redistributing of an endless source, energy infinite by nature simply and forever rearranged.

what we truly are is an open system, a trade of energy and spaciousness with every aspect of the world, and further still with the universe at large. Our death is a redistribution of this one source, essence, energy, or we could even call this God. Every atom existing now, gathered in a collection of this moment, will continue as another moment, a constant rebirth and rearrangement of the world. By our very essence, we will never not be...

it's clearly, always, what we are.

~

Peace, Eric 

Of My Body

Of my body:

to think of my body - and in a certain view I'm no longer sure of a reference point to consider what's mine, for any inquiry leads me further to the world and greater still the universe and every reach of star. This isn't a metaphorical claim, but an actual cosmological view. It's obvious to me that I'm a galaxy of my own, a spacious recognition of particles in a whirl of atoms, elements created in the cosmos, and seamless to the touch of air against me. Where exactly does my own body end and the universe itself begin? My reference point is lost in this consideration. 

of my body, and this seems more to be a claim of awareness - as if there is a witness to it's functions and performance that is more true in ownership, that there is a part of me greater than the sum of parts, a larger body still, unseen, spacious to the point of being infinite in the capacity of its hold. My body belongs to this awareness, more so, it's all too seamless to really believe there's a line of separation, being aware and everything just belongs without a single claim of ownership at all, 

yes, the body is aware, there's no observer set apart from it, that's a delusion of the mind, a trick played by the senses. The word I keep coming back to is seamless, and with this there is no need to draw a line within awareness. Everything belongs and without explanation as to how it may appear. My body shows itself in awareness, and in this very same view so does every tree that meets my gaze. I can just as easily say that I'm a forest, or the ocean, and onward to the stars. 

my true claim is of the universe in proportion. 

of course this is just a story, words used to fill a page. Everything simply is exactly as it is, and no description is ever really true. Yet right now, with the early morning world so completely still, there is no sense of my beginning, infinite of body, and no end point to my view. Just so...this is how it all appears. 

~

Peace, Eric 

About Carbon

About carbon:

and most important is carbon, at least in our present life form, our basic structure, and with 12 percent of our bodies atoms being from this element. We are considered carbon-based life form, and from plants to every animal we are surrounded by its presence. It's amazing that this life giving element is formed deep within a star, a Big Bang effect that continues to be expressed through this day. Yes, we are literary  made from the stuff of stars. But really, this isn't about carbon. 

nor elements at all.

this is about awareness, our sense of presence, and that somehow an arrangement of elements gains us a conscious expression lasting for a lifetime. I'm not talking about our thoughts here, nor even our sense of being an individual self - of this it could all be an illusion, perhaps a chemical reaction within the brain itself, honestly we mostly have no idea of how a thought, and the following sense of self appear. On this I won't speculate further. I'm not really interested on the hard problem of conscious and I'm definitely not qualified to provide an argument one way or the other. 

my only qualification is that I'm aware.

and aware that I am.

yet how is it that I'm composed of elements, atoms, particles swirling through a vast emptiness, and that somehow this all arises as an awareness of this very moment of existence? What is it about carbon that causes plants to reach towards light? Or a diamond to form? It's so easy for my mind to wander, speculating on how this all came to be exactly so, and that there is a certain means and purpose to it all. My preference though is mystery. I accept the answers given by science, fascinated by the story of how life came to be from origins of the Big Bang all the way through evolution and the present moment. I listen to philosophers, religious thinkers, mystics and the stories that they offer. I'm interested in it all, everything, giving it attention even without believing that it's so. 

but right now I'm thinking about carbon.

that of all the elements it has a prominence of aware nature, plants and animals, people - I'm not assigning magic here, although I find it all magical in a very real alchemical sense, that the basics of life are arranged in a certain way for awareness to be formed. I'm just curious, allowing my mind to wander without conclusion, or drawing purpose to it all. I'm okay without knowing how consciousness came to be, and again will leave it simply as a mystery. There doesn't need to be a reason for any of this.  But I'm endlessly grateful that everything is arranged just so, perfectly aligned for me to sit here this early morning, listening to birds sing to me the arrival of dawn, watching steam rising from my cup of coffee, writing about carbon. 

~

Peace, Eric 

State Of My Well Being

State of my well being: 

 many friends have reached out to touch base with me, asking how I am, two months now since my dad's passing. I'm grateful to have such friends and equally so I'm thankful to be able to consider their thoughtfulness as an inquiry into the state of my well being, to really ask myself how I am at this moment and listen to whatever arises as the answers. 

so how am I?

the answer seems to be that I don't know, and I consider this deeply, not knowing how I am, and my apparent inability to be able to offer this as an answer to others. I find myself wishing that I could put this into words beyond this easy phrase, something that captures the complexities of really, truly, not knowing how I am right now. 

but I can't, and that's simply because it's the right and only answer - how I am is in flux and every moment is open to accepting the still fresh grief of losing my father and at once celebrating his life and everything that he has given me. I am lost in sorrow, joyful too, and all within a single instant. Most often I am just quiet, reflective, allowing life to unfold at whatever pace it offers.

 I don't know how I am, can't know, and none of us really ever do. We're living, that's how we are, and this includes everything that life brings to us, from sorrow, grief, and all the way to the inexpressible joy and bliss of being alive. More so, to ask me how I am gives me pause to consider the openness that allows all of this to be, that my one and true answer to this question is that I am the open, spacious quality of life that isn't defined by easy answers, and is absolutely fine without knowing a single thing beyond the obviousness of this very moment. 

and what's obvious? 

whatever's now appearing.

and sometimes, quiet often really, what's appearing now doesn't lend itself to an easy answer, or at least not one as truthful as saying that I don't. What appears isn't so readily defined, to say that I am sad isn't entirely so, as this sadness is laced with a lifetime of love within its hold, and my honest answer would be infinite in the layers of its reply. 

to my many friends, I wish to say thank you, your concern for my well being allows me to reflective not so much on an answer, but on the moment itself, the instant of your asking. How I am is a bit of everything right now, life in its flow and I am amidst in what it offers. My state of well being is simply that - just being, a beingness that includes a certain sadness that's present with my joy. At least for this moment. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Of Headless Writing

Of headless writing: 

it's that words appear, and somehow completely on their own, gifted in a very true way. My role is easy, simply waiting, typing out phrases that arrive, trusting that they will. It seems they always do. This is the way of headless writing, of first seeing how my own nature matches to the page, empty, and yet with a promise of fulfillment, a willingness to be of service for whatever now appears. It's capacity in a seamless trade of spaciousness for form, one thing really, only seen in the duality of its expression. 

nothing special has to take place for this to happen, for me it's an early greeting in the mirror, each morning noting that my first appearance shows up opposite of where I take myself to be. This is the image I will wear for the day, a routine of social convenience. But I'm always aware that I wake up headless, and remain this way throughout the day. This isn't a mental trick I play, it's not a ritual to prepare myself to write, nor a meditation of any sort. It's simply noticing, and quite literally so, that I am headless, my own view reveals only form until it reaches a search for my head. Of first note is it's absence, that indeed I've never seen, and can't see now, my own face, that's a privilege given to the world, and one in which I return the favor. That reflection in the mirror each morning is my revelation that this is so, it's my first glimpse of the social form I hold, and reminds me that to be headless is to be in service of appearance, everything in the world will unfold right here, through my own aware capacity. 

there is nowhere else I could possibly be, always here, now. 

and it's exactly where I greet the world.

there are many traditions that place an emphasis on noticing emptiness, pointing to the obviousness of things appearing and yet remaining formless still. The famous line of Heart Sutra wisdom comes immediately to mind, that emptiness is form/form is emptiness, and that this happens at once, not so much a trade between two, but the reality of just one. The philosopher Douglas Harding had this revelation as well, taking it a bit more personal, finding that his own form ended exactly where his head supposedly existed. It was a direct transmission of emptiness, and also so much more. What Harding discovered, as many mystics had before, was emptiness as our source of immediacy, being of service to our appearance now, and of every moment that's to follow. Emptiness is indeed form, seamless, and that the world unfolds from here, an easy flow of our fulfillment. Harding found his own headless nature, and kept exploring, noting how in the place of his head's disappearance, the world remained, that emptiness existed as aware capacity for it's own arrival as form, never wavering, always at once and available to be noticed. 

and that brings me to this moment, of headless writing, how words suddenly appear from nowhere, an easy grace of meaning given to the page. There's an author present, of course, and yet he's no different than the page, not really, both are simply in service to whatever appears, words, ideas, sudden inspiration. Neither emptiness nor words can be denied, existing at once within the page, seamless, equal to the view. Each morning the mirror reveals me as a page, empty, aware and immediately inspired to be filled. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Writing Happens

Writing happens:

my commitment has been to put words on the page, to write everyday, without a miss. Yet it's not a vow I made to myself, not even a practice really. It's a joy. Writing is the moment of my surrender, of not knowing the next word that may appear and simply trusting that it will. Each morning, soon after I wake, I sit at my desk, coffee at hand, and let the mystery unfold. In this light, I am not really an author, but a deep participant of the process, simply part of the magic that flows as morning inspiration. Writing happens, and includes me in its story.

sometimes I smile at the words I feel forced to use, like saying that I let  mystery unfold, as of it's an allowing that waits for my approval. This implies that I have some choice in the matter, or that I'm more central to the action than I really am - to even say that it's my commitment isn't really so. Again, writing happens by its own magic, and I find myself a joyful participant, not the one letting go, but somehow completely surrendered of any notions of control, no longer thinking myself an author, only ideas now, inspiration, mystery. 

writing happens.

and I find myself included.

really though, even this gives pause for me to reconsider, in reality it's far to seamless for a truthful description. Here's the best that I can do - writing happens, and that's all that occurs, no separation of author from events, no break from the flow of words to the silence where words gather, no inspiration and one to be inspired. There's just writing. It's the same with any activity, most especially those performed with great joy. It's love that takes over, or perhaps better said, the idea of being a writer recedes to the actuality of love, and everything happens from this position. 

so, my only true commitment, is to love, 

~

Peace, Eric 

No Authentic Self

No authentic self: 

what I find is that there is no authentic self, not for me at least, but that presence alone is true, and in every sense my reality. Of course the term presence is open to interpretation and here I'll define it as openness, a spaciousness that allows for the appearance of a self, beliefs, and yet holds nothing in a fixed position, making no demands that life must be a certain way. Presence isn't separate from events, nor from what appears, it's just the seamless nature of life's flow, not clinging to ideas of who I am and how things should unfold. 

what's authentic is free of my demands.

"to thine own self be true" spoke Polonius in Shakespeare's Hamlet and this sage advice has rung through the ages as a call for authenticity. For Hamlet this was indeed a release of script and protocol and giving himself to the pure grief of losing his father, mourning in a way that was meaningful for him alone. My Shakespeare is rusty and I have no idea if this what Polonius meant in his advice to Hamlet. But in the exact moment he gave himself to grief, Hamlet wasn't being true to any thought of self, it was a sadness to pure to be held as a fixture in the mind. Here, Hamlet was being true to the selflessness of the moment, his grief alone was authentic. 

to make claim of an authentic self would seem to dismiss my true flexibility, assigning a self for every possible happening and life event, one that must stay faithful to each particular expression. My reality is one of countless selves as well as being selfless by nature. There is no authentic self here, only the allowing of a self to appear, presence, and it's to this that I stay true. 

my own grief, right now, has many expressions - there is joy found in the memory of my father, existing at once with the keenness of his loss. My heart is often light, life filled with gratitude of all my father has given me, and in a sudden moment's turn I grieve that he lives no more, and that I am without recourse now to offer him anything in return. It's all too vast for a particular self to be authentic to any one expression, life demands a selfless devotion to all that unfolds, an allowingness to be true to this...this...this...whatever now appears. 

with no authentic self, 

only life appears.

~

Peace, Eric 

The Body That's Enlightened

The body that's enlightened: 

it's the body that's enlightened, an intelligence of parts in seamless function as the whole, cooperation of cells to molecules, and further still to the atoms of its existence. Even as it wears and ages, no longer at a certain health - the breath continues to its very last release, heart beating to its conclusion, and there simply comes a surrender, a final sigh of letting go. 

our bodies have a wisdom of their own.

we are mainly elements, composed of atoms in a certain order, unique in structure, and yet these same elements make every other substance of the world. We are a rearrangement of the common, only slightly different than a rock, tree, water, or even the air of our surroundings. Half  of our body is made of oxygen, as well there is carbon, which gives us structure, hydrogen, the only element originating from the Big Bang, and nitrogen, so essential to our energy system. Hydrogen and oxygen combine as water, and physically that's basically what we are, a self contained ocean, aware, a body of water somehow found enlightened. 

every element, except hydrogen and helium, was formed deep within a star, a nuclear fusion that ignites a vast energy of creation, and so to say that we are star created is mostly and poetically true. The first and most abundant elements, hydrogen and helium, were the very basics of a cooling universe following the Big Bang, no other elements existed until formation of the stars. 

our bodies are of ancient, cosmic origin.

and yet even before elements, and most basic still, we are atoms, particles, and further on we are simply space for their arrangement, emptiness lending itself to the body's form. The body is the universe, a result of cosmic purpose, particles to atoms, elements, molecules and cells - we are composed of the same substance of stars, earth, and sky, kin to every blade of grass and tree. Nothing is apart from us, our bodies know this to the core, already awakened, enlightened to its essence.

it's the body that's enlightened, aware to the present moment of breath and heartbeat, awake in its connection to earth, air, and star, empty of true form, and yet vital in its function. Our reality is that we are the universe, and our bodies show this true.

~

Peace, Eric 

That I'm Aware

That I'm aware: 

there's no need to make this more than what's found right now, that I'm aware...no, not quiet so, certainly there's presence, and thoughts appearing that I claim to be my own, but it's all far too seamless to make distinctions of a self separate from the experience of this moment - there's just...aware, nothing more, and somehow I'm included here, part of an early morning event of thoughts, sounds, sensations, and there's writing taking place, everything unfolding at once. I can't truly say that I'm aware, I'm far too deep in this belonging, an aspect of the morning too it seems. 

simply part of it's unfolding. 

but there's no reason to make claims of this being anything more than it is, and what it is I can't really say aside from the description above. It's not a state to be achieved, not mindfulness of any certain, special moment. It's simply morning, changing even now, a bit more sound, activity outside my window informs that these quiet hours are drawing to a close. This is all just one event, a flow of things seamless in array, and somehow too, there's awareness of my participation.

nothing special, really.

it's simply how things are. 

the temptation is to take this farther, to make claims that I'm the one aware, being a special aspect within this flow of events, in charge of how things unfold. I don't find any of this to be so, and don't know anything for certain aside from the present moment of my participation. I only know that I belong, right now, for this moment alone, an experience of experience, intimate beyond compare.And even this is just a thought appearing in this great belonging. 

it's not that I belong, 

but that all there is, everything, is of one belonging.

and this is enough for me, not to make claims of any great understanding beyond the simplicity of my own momentary wonder. I'm alive right now and the morning is waking with a growing inclusion of sounds, birds gathering with an early song, occasional cars heard in their distant commute. First light comes to my window, tentative, but reaching. 

all there is, is this awakening.

and everything belongs.

~

Peace, Eric 

At Home

At home:

it's to let any thought be at home here, no wish to chase it back to silence - that whatever's present is allowed its free expression. I am uncensored in creativity, unconcerned by thoughts passing, and everything is entertained not by value, but by presence alone. So I wake up early, hours still before dawn, sitting before my keyboards, empty screen at first, coffee at hand, and wait for words to find me, no hurry, they arrive as surely as the dawn.

they always do. 

that seems to be the secret, that everything's at home here, and by this I mean presence. I'll leave this purposely vague, not wishing to define what I think is mostly known by all and everyone has a different name for, a description that fits our preference. For me, presence seems a most fitting word, inclusive, welcoming, and everything belongs within its hold.

presence.

and I do think of this as a welcoming place, or really not a place at all but simply what I am, allowing by my very nature. Of course I have demands, and many (many) preferences, and there's a strong desire for things to be a certain way. That's just how things appear, aspects of a personality that fits seamlessly to my whole expression, presence revealing me in such unique fashion. 

everything belongs.

that's how is is with presence, there's no choice as to what appears, my world is always open to disaster and beauty, chaos and my demands for order. Life, in other words. It's an underlying peace, sometimes forgotten, but never truly gone. What I know is that what appears, whatever it may be, is not separate from presence, and that's why everything is always, already, immediately accepted (much, and often, to my displeasure) 

it's just how things are.

so, I find that these are the words arriving to my keyboards, unplanned, spontaneous in their appearance - but the screen provides a welcome home. Everything belongs here, presence instantly accepting whatever now appears. Dawn extends its first reach of light, my coffee cup near empty, yet the page is filled and morning words are written. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Simply Don't Know

Simply don't know: 

because I simply don't know - and with this I'm not agnostic, refuting labels of any sort, as none apply to the reality of my experiences and situation. What I'm lacking are words, a description of what I feel is absolutely so in every moment, true, but in every sense a mystery. I don't need to add beliefs to this, no speculation, and no reason to dismiss a single possibility. 

does God exist? 

yes,

and it's difficult to say more than this, my words would only add a concept, an abstraction of what is felt by experience, no, by experiencing, as it is always of the moment. This isn't my belief in God, although I know many will claim it so, but again this is entirely my own affair, a private communion of holiness between myself and the world. 

it's here that I'll try and make things a bit more clear, even at the risk of contradiction - I say that I simply don't know and I hold to this position. I have no idea why a dense singularity, so packed with energy and matter, exploded as the universe, so creative in design that even space/time is part of its expansion. A universe that provides room for its own reach, and that conditions cooled from this explosion in such a way that planets and stars eventually aligned in some perfect harmony of existence. It's a miracle to consider. What's more is how life developed from this, how water appeared and life in single cells, but clever with intent, an urge know the experience of conditions, that when exposed to land there was an evolutionary moment, no matter the eons it took to unfold. 

it all leads me here, my own evolutionary moment, that I'm constantly exposed to my own awe and wonder of existence. I simply don't know how, or why, I came to be, and I give none of this to God as first cause, or make any claim to a grand design. My experience of God, so deeply intimate that I feel words will fail me, is of belonging entirely to...this. 

nothing more.

for me, God is life, a mystery told as physics,evolution and DNA, and is experienced by breath, and air touched against my skin, so subtle in connection that it takes a moment of deep quite for me to even notice. God is the sun just now peeking through first light in a corner of my room. Why would I begin to speculate in what lies beyond this, it's all too perfect now, and even my wish to share this moment with a loved one no longer present, seems to fit so seamless in the whole experience. I simply don't know why any of this is so, and it seems that too, that it couldn't be any other way... just this, just this, always, only, just this. 

for every given moment. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Eventual Point

Eventual point: 

of ever smaller things and the eventual point of being nothing - that my body itself is made of parts, limbs to organs, and all function as the whole. This is my description as visible form, objects in their vital role to keep me healthy and alive. Yet more subtle still, and my every part is made of cells, complex compounds of organic molecules, nucleic acids, proteins, lipids and carbohydrates. Everything's essential here, intricate in order, a miracle really, that all of this has been gathered as life material, communicating for the appearance of my heart, eyes, skin, brain. 

over all it seems, I am a collection of cells, and the molecules that form them.

and yet, of even smaller things, and I come to atoms, and that a molecule exists because of a chemical bond between atoms. The foundation of the world, building blocks that form my body, trees, every object seen and the invisible role of gasses, everything owed to the attraction of atoms - and amazingly it's all due to even smaller things in a wish to share. Particles, protons, neutrons, electrons, swirling in creation of an atom. This is a dance of energy, gravity giving cause to attraction and repulsion, and all this an unseen force, my existence made possible by they invisible. 

electrons seem to be a thing of their own, nothing smaller here for them, but protons and neutrons are made of quarks, elementary particles that have a dance of their own. These are points of energy now, an entire realm of infinitely small, and all still parts of my larger cause. With this arrives some guesswork, that perhaps not points at all but strings, smaller than the smallest subatomic particles, and most simply put - vibrations. I've come to my smallest possibility, a frequency, vibrating through infinite other chords, a universe of energetic symphony. 

so smallest of all, and I've arrived to universal proportions, my eventual point of being nothing but a frequency, a plucked note of existence within an infinite song of energetic creation. My eventual point is of a chord - that I am the makings of a symphony, vibrating, and in my most quiet moments, before the days rush of sounds, I can here myself as a subtle hum, knowing that at my smallest, eventual point...

I am just a song. 

~

Peace, Eric