Of Joining Words Together

Of joining words together: 

mainly, I write for my own pleasure, the joy of joining words together in a certain structure that has meaning and displays the thoughts that I deeply value. Writing is my chosen art form and the substance I write of is slightly less important to me than its arrangement - with my aim being to show beauty in some way, and that any I insight I might offer is surely a byproduct of this intention. This frees me to take chances, creative leaps with words and ideas, to write without concern of audience, or proving that my point is valid. Nothing I write is meant to be taken as a discourse in spiritual values, or that I have any insights deeper than your own. 

it's simply for the joy of joining words together. 

what I write of is my morning's inspiration, thoughts that come to me after meditation and while I'm listening to those earliest bird songs that often sing to me of ideas. Most everything is spontaneous, unplanned themes arriving almost fully formed and my only real work is the arrangement of words across an empty page. I've been asked about why I share my writing if I'm unconcerned of its reception and the answer is - that's when the works completed, released from my own private audience to whoever else might find it and that perhaps they'll relate to the inspiration of the writing in some small way. But really, an artist can never know how anything shared will be received, and the courage is in its release and the commitment to again return to an an empty page or canvas, to begin the work once more with a clean slate of inspiration. Sharing is just what's done when the work's complete, an endpoint to a specific expression so that the mind is clear for the very next idea. Of course there's a wish for appreciation, if not for the words themselves than at least for the effort, for the consistency and commitment to the art form itself, and that perhaps there was some beauty or insight found. 

but that's beyond my interest or control.

what I have is only my present inspiration, the pleasure of listening to those earliest bird songs just outside my window...and the sure and simple joy of joining words together. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Of an Elephant's Foot

Of an elephant's foot: 

of all the many fascinating aspects of an elephant, and there are so many, it's their feet that draws my curiosity right now. Physically, it's the trunk that seems to garner the most attention, displaying such dexterity and grace making it an incredible instrument to witness, holding multiple functions, always in motion, exploring the world through scent and delicate touch. An elephant's trunk can uproot a tree and yet just as easily pluck a berry gently from a vine without a ripple of disturbance. Of course an elephant's ears lend charm to their appearance, an important appendage too, with the vital function of cooling the body of excess heat as the animal roams great distances for its food. 

emotionally, an elephant has great depths and sensitivity, bonding to herd, raising their young within a nurturing community that shares within the task. This is an animal with self-awareness, showing compassion and an ability to grieve the loss of love. Their memory is legendary, almost as a myth, and yet proves to be equal to the stories. These are intelligent, caring animals, worthy of not just our fascination but our protection and admiration as well. There is a kinship here between us, emotionally shared, and we would be best served to offer them the respect that they deserve, an equal status as a species. Of course this applies to all animals and insects in my opinion. 

but that's another morning's worth of writing.

here, it's really about an elephant's foot. 

of an elephant, such great mass, largest mammal on land by far, weighing upwards of several tones, and yet their feet are delicate and sensitive to the degree of sensing the vibration of rain from several miles away. An elephant can tread lightly through grass and forest, causing hardly a disturbance, even with such weight pressing hard against the ground. These are light footed animals, possessing an ability to hear the language of the land told through its vibrations, An elephant's foot is an instrument of grace and precision, sensitive to the degree of hearing the earth speak before translation of sound. 

it's a primordial language. 

and that's our great lesson, an elephant's foot, supporting so much mass and yet possessing a delicate nature and sensitivity that enables such deep and sure listening. We are not removed from this primordial conversation, it's our language too, shared by every species, spoken through vibration. It's the language of earth and soul, and we are fluent by our very nature. 

of an elephant's foot...

a reminder of this deeper conversation. 

~

Peace, Eric . 

In Being Alive

In being alive: 

the true value is in being alive, simply so, and the memories made through life are really just a bonus of reflection, having no lasting quality past the moment of their making. Of course we cherish memories as they seem all that's left of a certain time, or perhaps they act as a scar that reminds us of a traumatic past event. Either way the moment's gone, it's fiction now, no more than a thought that haunts our mind in a pleasant or frightful way.  

the real value, what truly matters most...is in being alive, 

having just this moment alone.

and aware that this is so. 

this isn't so much about being mindful, although it's a practice that helps us gain in appreciation as to what each moment holds. Mostly, this concerns the realization of the fleetingness of experiences themselves, or at least in their specific form, how whatever's occurring right now is fluid, ongoing, and not a separate event at all. Everything is tied together in this way, continuous, and a memory is only a snapshot of a lead in to this exact moment. The true value is life itself, in being alive and aware - soul deep in appreciation of all that's so easily been gifted. 

we call this grace. 

and this is because of its continuous nature, how life flows as a singular event that only seems broken to our individual concerns. A memory is never able to capture this ever lasting flow, it's a still shot of a river that we are fully immersed within, more so, that we are the water as well as riverbed, and too every rock that seems to break our current - none of this is a separate event, it's all river, water, and contributing edge that banks for its existence. 

one thing alone.

life. 

so that's our true and real value,simply being aware that we are alive, a continuous, flowing event that's happening only as this present moment. There are no memories here, only life, current, and available to us now, always, always...now. 

~

Peace, Eric 

At First Light

At first light: 

at first light, with dawn just past the hint of day and sun now giving rise - this is the time to be outside, if only for a short walk or a few breaths of morning air. Research shows the many benefits of this practice, that it has a profoundly positive effect on health and overall well being. Exposure to early morning light is the first step towards our later sleep that night, it's a process of that begins with sunlight entering our eyes and every cell responding to this joy. Literally, the brain fires up, trillions of cells throughout the body perform their own version of sun salutation, it's a yoga of light and mind. Science calls this photobiomodulation, a chemical reaction triggered at first light and its effects carry all the way through to that last moment when we close our eyes to the ending of the day. 

this first light is sending us a message, stirring the brain to produce the proper hormones for the coming day, suppressing melatonin production for favor of cortisol and serotonin. This is reversed later in the day, the raw material of serotonin is converted to melatonin and prepares us to sleep once more. There is such great wisdom of the body and nature in their complete function, how everything responds to the seamless structure of life's endless rhythm.

our mood and health as well are affected by first light, everything's enhanced, from our immune system to simply being happier, and so much more that's too countless to mention. It's what we were meant to do, rising early, grateful for the day at hand and basking in what sunlight offers. In truth, this is a form of prayer, holy, a communion of source material and the very cells of our body. We rejoice in this touch, gently so, by morning walk or simply a moment of thankful recognition. 

at first light...

our soul awakens. 

~

Peace, Eric  

Desire Line

Desire line: 

that the mantra acts as a desire line, a pathway of least resistance to an already quiet mind, each repetition adds to this trail in soft vibration and it becomes easier to follow with every sitting. This our guide through the interior landscape, an almost forgotten world of silence where thoughts and ideas emerge from their place of origin. The mantra is our return, a recognition that the pathway itself already exists within the promised land, we think it easily, without need of concentration, allowing its vibrations to show us that we're home, exactly where we are. 

a desire line is spoken from the land itself, it's a term used by planners to note a pathway that appears spontaneously on its own, a shortcut that calls for steps to be taken here, by passing existing sidewalks and trails. For me, it seems to be a natural communication, a hint from the landscape that this way leads to our destination through easier travel, and that our footsteps are guided by listening to these lines. Not every park or city manager is happy with these trails, upsetting their carefully laid plans, and structured pathways. Yet these desire lines already exist within the land, present to the earth, ancient, and they appear completely by urge of their natural wish to be traveled. 

a desire line is exists within the very fabric of the land.

a vibration. 

calling for our steps to be taken.

and so it is with the mantra, natural, a vibration that urges for a soft repetition, a whisper really that requires only our ease of listening. This isn't a chant of words, it's a faint path, an impression that trails through the mind and calls for us to follow. Meditation happens on its own, without need of concentration, a desire line that wishes for our easiest travel, and mantra reminds us that every step is home. Our travel is through our own interior landscape...

a pathway of existence, with nowhere else to go.

~

Peace, Eric 

Transcended

Transcended: 

 and now it's seems less an exploration of an interior silence and more of simply being continuously surrendered to an underlying presence, reality, and that I have no idea how deeply quiet my mind becomes with every point transcended. It truly appears infinite, without layers, and that any previous levels of awareness were only imagined for convenience, an easy means of navigating through the world. 

that's the failure of certain words, saying that some point of mind has been transcended when really it wasn't there at all, reality being without true and sure lines, and again only that underlying presence being found. Every description fails with this, and yet they also capture exactly how it seems at times. I'm writing paradox, happily so, as words are what I have to play with and they emerge seamlessly from the same silent hold I'm seeking to describe. 

transcended is a beautiful word, fitting to its occasion. 

mostly though, I'm not trying to offer a description, nor to map an experience that reality has offered me during meditation. It's prose, lyrical, and it springs from a silent mind, urging to be written without need of being valued for what's described, but only for the sake of their own expression. Nothing is ever really transcended, there are no new levels of reality discovered. Here's what meditation does, for me at least....it puts me at ease in mystery. 

restful

aware

and so I find myself inspired, using words to momentarily capture the endless joy of my existence, or perhaps catch a note of sorrow passing by. It doesn't matter, not really, every experience is a valid expression of reality, and words are just keynotes within its infinite territory. There are these moments during meditation, transcended, and yet always this infinite territory remains. 

every experience of transcending is an awakening...

 of being exactly where we are. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Of Greatest Value

Of greatest value: 

of greatest value to me, essential to my morning routine, is meditation, a mantra based practice I've faithfully performed upon waking for over 25 years, and now teach this method to others. Really. my routine is pretty seamless, a casual flow of small action that lead directly to the next without any sense of hurry and no emphasis placed on importance. Each one is beneficial to me, and in their own way, each brings me a certain joy through the ritual of my morning. 

yet meditation seems essential to this joy.

it's of greatest value to my morning. 

what I find is that everything's linked to this practice, that my early Sun Salutation stretches my body and allows for me to sit longer, more comfortably, and eases my mind towards a deeper silence. Pranayama, specifically Breath of Fire wakes me more fully, prepares me the day ahead, and erases the grogginess of a 4:00 a.m rise. All of this leads to sitting, although I find myself cherishing their role with a sense of contribution to a continuous whole, as the entire day hinges on the small joy of their performance. Again, it's all a seamless practice, a meditation that starts with early rise and never truly ends. 

my sitting practice itself is easy, purposely so, it's not a practice of concentration, there's no strain involved. It's not even a repetition of mantra, it's just a thought, a vibration that leads towards a letting go, a process that happens completely on its own. There's no force here, the mantra is loosely held, remembered gently even as they mind roams. It's returned to as a simple pleasure and then let go. What happens is that I gradually sink below the surface of the mind, thoughts no longer a concern, the mantra now being just a faint impression, an echoing vibration. 

meditation happens on its own. 

and this all leads of writing, part of my morning practice for as long as I've been meditating. This truly might be the most joyful aspect of the day, finding myself immersed in creative play, with words released from their silent hold through my time of meditation. My joy of writing, the ready inspiration that seems to so easily appear as my fingers reach the keyboards - there was a time when none of this was so, frustration and a demand for words to show was very often the order of the day. Meditation set my creative mind free, gave me a sense of true and ever present inspiration. 

it's been of greatest value. 

of course this is only my practice, my own morning routine, and it's offered here as lyrical prose, not a prescription for others to follow. We each find our own way to joy, or perhaps life shows us the way, waking us with an urge uniquely our own. This is my way, personal,and it's truly been a gift, unfolding in a deeper sense with every morning, an eagerness to be awake, creative, inspired. There is a way that brings us all to this same joy, it's already present, whispering its secrets the first moment that we wake...

listen, 

it's of greatest value. 

~

Peace, Eric 

As an Ocean

As an ocean: 

our consciousness as an ocean, I love this apt metaphor, and it reminds me that I'm about to dive deep within my own true nature with every meditation, that at this exact moment of my sitting I am embarking on an infinite journey within, unmarred by whatever skims the surface of the mind. It's the mantra that carries me downward, acting as a vehicle of vast expression, bringing me deeper, and deeper still, even as it comes to me as a faint impression, a gentle wave barely given notice as I explore this inner-ocean world of my unbound consciousness. 

these are shared waters, not really mine at all, but a depth that belongs to us together, it's where we meet in purest essence, formless, but sure of who we truly are. As an ocean, ever changing, and without a bottom to floor our exploration - we only go deeper, a growing mystery, discovering currents beneath currents and yet somewhere being aware of a stillness always just below. 

as an ocean, such an apt metaphor. 

of course a metaphor is not the thing itself, never the actual experience but a bare description told. Yet it serves as our invitation to dive within this metaphorical ocean, intriguing us, hinting at our mystery lying just below the surface of the mind. Yes, we are largely unexplored, with uncharted depths waiting on the edge of every thought, an easy repetition of a mantra, or surrendering completely to the breath, both serving to loosen our mental grip that's so tightly held against an imaginary shore.

as an ocean, consciousness...

an apt metaphor waiting to be explored. 

~

Peace, Eric 

To Make My Bed

To make my bed: 

it's become important for me to have a structured morning, a routine, performing a few rituals to begin my day in what feels like a proper order. Mostly, it's still loose and relaxed, no demands made, and it's all things that seem to benefit me in what I feel are meaningful ways. Of course the first thing I do is make my bed, not perfectly so, and honestly I ignored this for years even as I read testaments to this one simple act upon waking. Former military members swear that it's key for a high performance lifestyle and that's probably true, sending a message to the nervous system that the day begins with action and commitment. That's one reason I now make my bed, the other, and most important to me - my cat spends much of the day sleeping on my bed and seems to much prefer it this way. She is more at ease and in obvious comfort when I take the time to make my bed, stretched fully to show her appreciation. 

so for me...it's just a small ritual of kindness. 

a perfect beginning for the day. 

as well it's a perfect Zen metaphor, that some hours later the bed will be welcoming in its order and through a night of twisting and turning will again be completely unmade, ready for the mindful action of my commitment to begin another day. This is yoga for me, a sun salutation to welcome light and recognize that yesterday is truly behind. To make my bed signifies that all actions take place now, it's this instant that matters most deeply, indeed, it's the only moment of existence - it's this small ritual, perhaps as important as my morning meditation, that brings me to the present, ready to embrace the day as it unfolds in such proceeding moments as this one, each being equal in the weight of my attention. 

so for me...it's the yoga of deliberate motion.

a perfect moment of awareness. 

To make my bed is just a small thing to do, maybe with no real consequence to the reality of my day. But through it's ritual, and really with so little effort made - I am committed to the kindness of another, to my own practice of being mindful of a particular action, and simply performing an early morning task with no small amount of joy. 

a perfect beginning for the day. 

~

Peace, Eric 

A Lasting Change

Lasting change: 

it's few books that have such impact as to actually be a catalyst for lasting change, a deep inspiration that carries past a number of days and weeks and reaches into years. I've been blessed with some of these, books that have grabbed my attention and forced me to readdress the conditions of my life, the status of my joy and passion, and have caused me to make a lasting change. Of course I just might be highly impressionable, more easily swayed to new directions. But the books I'm thinking of have a more quiet energy to them, they don't so much lead the reader to drastic action as they gently plant a seed that continues to blossom years after they've been read and perhaps we're no longer even aware that we're acting from this source. I smile as I write these words, thinking of one book in particular, Steve Pressfield's The War of Art, and his message that urges a writer to simply do the work, writing only for the sake of writing, everyday, because that's what writers do...

they write.

and that message gave cause for a lasting change. 

I write.

everyday. 

it's a wonderful book, and again I've been blessed with a few that have struck me equally deeply. But I have no idea as to why or how this has occurred, of literally hundreds of books read each year and yet this perfect and certain message has found me so surely as was needed. I can only liken it as a continuation of some subtle energy, that it's a living thing transferred through pages directly to the soul. Pressfield is steeped in the lore and language of the Bhagavad Gita, he's a yogi, and perhaps he's a conduit to Krishna's will, that these are not truly a mortals words as they are a breathing message from a higher muse. Whatever the source, and without further speculation, reading The War of Art transformed me as a writer, created a lasting change -

very simply, I began to write.

everyday. 

more so, I began to write without fear of criticism and rejection, and solely for the sake of my own creativity. Writing is meant to be shared, it's gifted from its source directly to any reader who happens to find those particular words - and yet that's where it ends, any meaning or value is for meant for the reader alone and isn't of the authors concern. Or it shouldn't be. The writer remains free of anything that comes after the sharing of their words, without the effects of karma, but only if the intent is pure, that the writing took place within a joyful heart, expressed through the passion of a writer's soul. 

true freedom, 

joy.

it's a living message, energy passed through words. 

over twenty years since I first read Pressfield's book, and whatever energy passed through to me continues even now, everyday...

a lasting change. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Softly Inspired

Softly inspired: 

some mornings are more softly inspired than others, with words being slower on their arrival, a quiet minding lasting a little bit longer after sitting in meditation. There's no doubt that words will come to me, that writing will happen at a certain time, but for now it's meant for me to just sit and sip my coffee, listening as the world slowly cones alive with  first bird songs of the early morning and an occasional car sounding in a distance drive. This is part of writing, waiting, being patient for the arrival of words and not judging them by a standard of consideration. 

some mornings are more softly inspired than others...

and for this morning, 

it's what comes to me to write of.

what I find is that I'm always grateful for words, any topic is worthy for me to explore, finding a new angle to even familiar themes I've written of before. The soft inspiration of this morning urges me to write without any real concerned as to what words appear, or how they might later be received. It's enough to have this moment, magical in the way that all early hours are, and that these words seem whispered to me, lightly so, softly inspired to me ear. 

this is why I wake so early, for just these moments, no matter the importance of words or how greatly they inspire. Some mornings are meant for me to write slowly, with more time spent listening, allowing words to reach me in their own given time. 

and so softly inspired...

another sip of coffee, and I write these words.

~

Peace, Eric 

My Own Best Opinions

My own best opinions: 

what's gone is the incessant need to fill a space with my opinion, that others are allowed to be right or wrong without my thoughts weighing in on their most cherished matters of belief. This has been one of the greatest gifts brought to me from meditation, a continuation of a quiet mind that doesn't rush to state my own concerns to others, that I've been released from my own best opinions on spiritual issues, and now I'm quite content to listen and respect the views of others. 

my writing is an expression of a moment at my desk, early, a silent morning, and I write whatever words are given and seem to flow with an energy of their own. These are not my opinions, not truly so, as they're subject to change even within the very sentence that they're stated. Nothing is held as being absolutely certain, and my only sure belief is that I am inspired, gifted with an opportunity to be creative and share the words that have been so freely given to my morning. 

honestly, I have no spiritual convictions, only insights, personal, and yet held so very lightly. My own best opinions have mostly been let go and what remains now is the spacious of their previous hold. This is an inner freedom that I greatly love and cherish, being undisturbed by even the faintest wish of being proven right or having the need to convince others that they might be wrong. Everything simply belongs within a perfect order of circumstances and events, a continuous conversation held by various aspects of the world and nothing is given privilege over any other point of view. What matters is the conversation itself, that I continue to listen to all the voices that contribute to the world, a harmony that becomes such a beautiful, diverse and heartfelt song. 

a song of true joy. 

and even my own best opinions happen to belong. 

~

Peace, Eric 

A Small Yoga of Perfection

A small yoga of perfection: 

our practice itself becomes an awakening, not by means of achievement, but that we what do is seen in new light, more relaxed now with the grace of presence, and every action being perfect as it unfolds. This is yoga, all of it, from asana to meditation and whatever else take place through our attention. For me, this includes my morning writing, the whole ritual of readying myself for receiving words, and with even the feel of keyboards to my fingers a small yoga of perfection. 

it's a practice of awakening.

here, practice simply means to perform, it's what we give our attention to, an action that brings us deep joy through its repetition. Nothing is being sought by practice, awakening happens on its own, continuously so, and what we do now is only for the pleasure of its performance. This is spiritual practice, truly so, as it invokes our deepest essence to join in everything that we're presently doing, and nothing can be distinguished that isn't spirit. 

our every act being a small yoga of perfection. 

so, really, there's no valid debate on the cause of awakening, on if our practice takes us towards enlightenment, or if it leads our mind astray. What we do, everything, is a small yoga of perfection, an awakening completely on its own that simply calls for the pleasure of our attention. Give yourself to any practice that calls to you with joy, surrender any notion of progress, or even direction. 

it's all yoga.

every act being a small action of its own perfection. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Determination of Particles

Determination of particles: 

that we are the determination of particles, a continuous effect of their vibration likened to a particular note in some eternal song. For me, it seems as if the universe has urged us to be alive, not an accident of evolution, nor a clever plot in the mind of God, but that we are fully engaged in universal order, a pattern of temporary design that still and always belongs to this entirety. 

the physics of our existence points to energy, particles first produced by the expansion of the Big Bang, others that were forged through burning stars, and certain elements made by their explosions. Our basic blueprint is of the universe itself, a design consisting mainly of empty space and particles dancing in determination of our being alive, existing as this brief display of order. 

but this is only a partial story, our origins of this particular design. 

what we truly are is the universe itself, the complete function of the whole affair. We are the source behind the impulse of all creation, the determination that urges particles to dance and provide us with this beautiful and specific form.

energy.

of course this is just a story, my own myth of creation based upon origin stories offered by science and told through my own personal prose. But that doesn't make it any less so, not in anyway that really matters, that in reality we are a function of the universe, a pattern within infinite patterns of design. Our present form is made entirely from the determination of particles, an urge for our existence to be shown, and at no point are we ever separate from this dance of order and display...

most truly so,

we are the dance itself. 

reality in determination of this grand design. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Just a Few Degrees

Just a few degrees: 

just a few degrees of warmth, barely significant by the measure of a season - and yet my skin delights in the touch of sunlight offered now, my spirit so much lighter through this subtle reach of spring. I am ready for these longer days, growing warmer, and my favorite approach of a deepening green to trees, colors splashed in frequent sight with the blooming of flowers, and the world feeling so much more alive. Spring is more than a season of shifting weather, it's the literal rebirth of the soul, collectively, life is waking to its own aliveness, sunlight stretching to a fuller length...

one soul, basking in just few degrees of warmth. 

lately, these past few years, I've found some peace through winter, it will be never a favorite season, but my mood seems a bit less lighter through the colder days. I'm not sure exactly why this is so, that after years of deep seasonal depression, my suffering has lessened somewhat, or at least the days slip by a little easier now. This is no small thing for me, or for anyone who goes through the emotional darkness of winter's grip, experiencing a bleak interior landscape that matches the season's outer hold. It's still not an easy season for me, but there's been a shift, somehow and in some lighter way, an ease through the most intense days of suffering. 

and I'm grateful...for whatever reason this has occurred.

mostly, I think it's in terms of my own aging, being at peace with the grace of every season, knowing that as they pass my own days will be fewer now, and that every experience should be cherished in a certain way. This might sound bittersweet, or perhaps a little premature, as I'm in good health, strong and fit, and surely have decades still ahead. But the past few years have offered seasons of loss, some deep and lasting sorrow, and I've come through with an appreciation for both loss and renewal, winters of bleak surrender as well as my delight in spring. I've come to see that everything belongs...and this includes my own eventual surrender. There's a growing sense of peace through whatever occurs, how life and seasons unfold - and I cherish and celebrate the small things that make my spirit soar. 

even just a few degrees of warmth, and sunlight's touch against my skin.

I'm grateful for it all. 

~

Peace, Eric 

It's Poetry

It's poetry: 

sometimes it's poetry, that's what defines my morning writing, that I only want to express beautiful lines in apt descriptions of the world. It's a mood, really, not mine to control but one that sweeps down on me with an urge to give myself over to the flow of words, holding nothing back and to pour my soul fully on the page. I never know when this mood will strike me, or why inspiration might take this particular form. I am joyful when it does. Poetry is indeed, the language of the soul. 

even other topics, perhaps more serious in nature, call for at least a small degree of beauty to be written, certain lines given a lyrical sense in the way that they unfold, an underlying theme of prose found throughout. For me, it's poetry, every description is an occasion for beauty to be told. 

at least in some small degree. 

and that's truly my only goal in writing, lyrical prose to the best that I'm able, capturing a few words that have a most specific flow of beauty and seeing how they might tie to a larger theme involved. I try to bring a certain truth to this, factual support, even if it's just my own experience in evidence to bear. Yet always it's poetry that I have foremost in mine, a quest to lend my words to beauty, and there's a deep faith that this will carry a note of a truth of its own, that my writing is guided by soul-based conviction that poetry and beauty convey the underlying reality of the world. 

at least by some degree.

it's poetry though, and my heart feels joy in writing, my soul is given full expression. 

and it's the reason why I'm here. 

writing. 

for me...it's poetry.

every word. 

~

Peace, Eric 

That Reaches Me

That reaches me:

and without even being exposed to its sweep, it's the wind that reaches me now, speaking a language that's  rushed across the ground and heard in the sway of branches, a primordial force that sounds as a rattle to windows and the brace of my home against it. The wind reaches me even here, inside and warm, protected from its late winter touch.  

I hear the language of its reach.

it's a powerful force of nature, perhaps the one that effects me most deeply, as if I know that there's no place beyond its ultimate reach, and that eventually I will be held in its embrace. There are so many moods of wind, from the softness of a breeze that cools the skin from summer heat, to the chilling gust that reaches to the bones with its icy touch of winter. But it's that long heavy sweep that seems to speak directly to the most primitive part of me, causing an urge to either seek shelter or to give myself completely to its charge, surrendered, exposed to the basic fear of being swept away. 

lost. 

and that's what I hear  from the safety of my home, a calling, or perhaps a warning that every wind will eventually each me and that it's best to give myself away now, trusting that my soul already belongs to the wind, not lost at all, but found in the very essence of its reach. What I hear is a language that I somehow seem to know, deeply so, speaking to me of surrender, of letting go of all that's ever held to too, and more so, words of being carried in its sweep, that truly, this wind is the language of my soul, urging me to join this lost and most forgotten part of me. What I hear is a secret being told to the ground and branches, rushed against windows in its effort to reach me even here. 

the secret is...

that I already belong to the wind and every portion of its touch. 

a secret that reaches me now.

as I listen to the wind. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Small Inspirations

Small inspirations: 

until just now, and no idea before what words might come to me, or whatever theme will begin to unfold - it all remains a mystery to the very final word. That's how writing happens, it's how art is ultimately created, small inspirations added towards completion, and our attention to detail is so great that we seldom pause and wonder from where these things come, how a word arrives from absolute absence and ideas then begin to flow, or single motion becomes a perfect stroke of beauty against an empty canvas. Our lives are filled with these small inspirations, subtle and mostly gone unnoticed, given solely by the grace of our existence. 

that's how life happens. 

small inspirations given over time. 

and I do love the word grace, how it offers so little by way of  an actual explanation, and yet it tells exactly how a particular thing happened, or why some event might have occurred . Grace happens. It's gifted at just the right moment for things to be a certain way that best serves in our endeavors. A blessing, really, although we might not know it at the time, or even later as we give ourselves credit for what unfolds. But so much of our lives are blessed by grace, small inspirations that come to us so quickly by surprise and then we fail to give them any notice. 

my writing almost always starts soon after morning meditation, thoughts still slowed in their activity that it's now so easy to track their moment of appearance, how they linger and then begin to fade. This is when I most notice grace, from the first absence of ideas to a sudden inspiration of words and how everything flows from this point of wonder, almost as if my fingers have no need for thoughts and ideas to reach them and have an agenda of their own, typing words at the very instant inspiration inspiration arrives.

it's how writing happens.

and life, too,

 small inspirations given over time. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Simplest Thing

Simplest thing: 

it's the simplest thing, just listening, waiting, patient, and words appear completely on their own now, no search nor effort from my part as a writer. This used to be somewhat of a struggle, at least fairly often, not so much writers block as it was failure of my inspiration. Or so it seemed. But it's a mistake to blame anything other than my own impatient drive for words to come to me, relying solely on my own imagined talents and not trusting the very source of where my every talent lies. 

it's the simplest thing...

allowing words to come to me.

yes, I have a process, a ritual to perform, and yet really it's for my own convenience, a preparation of my mood for writing and meant only to relax my mind, readying me for the listening that's just ahead. What I want to do is to release myself from any expectations, not yet being concerned with worlds or inspiration, matching myself with the facing page, empty, and at once full of promise for anything to now appear. A writer is really nothing more than capacity, a vessel between words and page, delivering gifts that are so freely given from the source of inspiration. 

wherever that might be. 

that's not to imply that I am somehow separate from this source, that it lies within another world beyond my desk and mind. Everything is right here, now, existing in this very moment, and my only task is this realization, relaxing my pursuit of inspiration and allowing words the grace of their appearance. It's the simplest thing, sitting at my desk, listening to the play of silence, and it's the words themselves that ask me to be written. The source is here, present at my keyboards, enriched through typing fingers, brimming with both words and silence. 

it's the simplest thing...

listening.

and then writing what is heard.

~

Peace, Eric 

Fragile

Fragile: 

sleep is often a fragile thing for me, it has been for many years, not being swift in its arrival and so easily broken from its hold. There's seldom more than an hour or two of uninterrupted slumber and those hours are cherished as they occur. Meditation helps, breathwork and yoga too, but there are still long stretches where the deep quality of rest eludes me. As a caregiver, this trait would serve me well, being on edge with listening, sensing any disturbance in the rhythm of my father's breathing - I could readily respond and be there in an instant. 

now, there's just the listening. 

being on edge between two worlds...

awake and sleeping.

in these hours, breathwork seems to help most, recognizing that my nervous system needs a prompt towards the right direction, easing it to a more relaxed rhythm, softening, guiding my mind and body to a restful state of being. It seems the anxiety of sleeplessness is a self-feeding issue and this is common to so many of us now. We count the moments of our being awake, realizing the deficit of sleep that's created as these moments grow to longer hours and the night slips by.

 breathwork helps me break this cycle. 

sleep is still a fragile place for me, I sometimes find myself awake, listening, on edge between those two worlds. I'll use my breath to guide me, first by simply being aware, locating its rhythm from the belly, rising, allowing an easy fall completely on its own, and often this gentle awareness is enough for me to slip into the night's embrace. What's key though, is just accepting myself as awake, to give myself to listening without need of anything specific being heard, following my breath towards wherever it may lead me, lengthening a soft exhalation, relaxed, finding peace here, exactly where I am. 

a fragile place.

and yet I find myself resting there.

simply breathing.

~

Peace, Eric 

Observer

Observer

in physics, the observer effect is generally described as a disturbance of an observed system by the act of observation. After years of reading books on quantum theory, mostly geared towards the simplest explanation to the non-scientific reader, this is about as much as I understand, and I'm sure that there is still much that eludes me even here. Yet I read on, countless books now and with no better understanding than what I've read before - it seems somehow that the mystery that I'm reading of is my own self-description, quantum physics is the reality of my own observation. 

what I am is simply the observing...nothing more. 

there are many new-age attempts to blend quantum theories with their particular belief systems, and some meditation traditions liken their effects to a quantum world. I don't discount any of this, it's all too mysterious for me to make claims of what's so and what isn't. But I mostly lean towards a scientific view, not through any bias, it's just easier to understand the basic nature of things from this description, before it's tied to any story or belief. Although science itself is a story and often clings to its own traditions as well - so understanding this leaves me open to all that I read and study, not being firmly in a single camp of an infinite view of mystery. I believe only in possibilities. 

when I began my practice of meditation, decades ago now, there was a description of a witness stage, of reaching that point of observing mystery, being the observer. It's a wonderful feeling to simply be the witness, passive in observation, free of the effects of what's observed. It's so easy to get stuck here, as if it's the final point of years of meditation. Yet witnessing, witnessing, continuously and then even this has disappeared...there is no ultimate observer of the world, no final stage of understanding. Everything continues to be mystery, empty of any lasting state of self, even as a witness emerges from this endless fold of mystery. 

and that's it, really, my only true understanding...

witnessing, and there is no observer found separate from the observed, everything is let go of, and yet there is no one present actually letting go...life is simply happening, spontaneously emerging in events and structure, form being ultimately formless in its nature. 

there's just and only this,

whatever it is. 

and even it's a story. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Branching

Branching:

branching, infinitely so, and with our every intent and action we come to many worlds, versions of existence displayed through countless possibilities. Or at least that's the quantum theory proposed first by Hugh Everett III in the late 1950's and almost immediately dismissed by leading physicist as fanciful thinking, too outside the box for even quantum contemplation. Through the years though it has gained much traction and support, greatly elevating Everett's standing, a postscript to a career he left behind due to the dismissal of his theory. It's a quiet popular interpretation of reality now, a commonly accepted possibility of how time branches into infinite conclusions...

our lives displayed differently in every one. 

it's a beautiful term, branching, time being likened to a tree that ceaselessly reaches for the very next possibility, giving us another version of reality, our every choice and action, even those not taken, that each has an outcome lived through the many worlds of our existence.  

which version are we? 

what I love most about this theory is that reality itself is described a process, a fluid expression that's continuously at play, creative, and always changing in its arrangement. The real world implication, for me at least, in this one existence that I know of for certain - is that perhaps there is no certainty at all, that I am a process, infinitely branching, and that at each moment I am only really displaying motion, the fluidity of my expression that's even now being told in a thousand different ways. No, it's not many worlds, just this one, reality, consciousness, whatever term that suits our fancy...

branching. 

infinitely so.

and displaying right now our every possibility. 

~

Peace, Eric 

*Not science, and not written as a non-duality pointer - in the many worlds of every possibility, it's just the words wrote this morning. Nothing more. 

Beautiful Line

Beautiful line: 

there are some key themes to which I return to, ideas I often write of, this is a blog that serves of self-interest, allowing my thoughts to wander and explore. I write to be creative with the things that come to mind, not firm in any spiritual belief other than what the moment holds. With this in mind I grant myself the freedom to be wrong, or at least so in the opinions of others. My only real goal here is to create and share, a personal agenda of expressing a singular beautiful line somewhere within an entire page of writing, and with that one line completed, I feel joyful as a writer, a mission now accomplished. 

of course I hold these topics as important to me, my life has been drawn to meditation and it's tradition, yoga, non-dual philosophies, all things science and nature. Everything is tied to these themes, my writing circles around them all, playing with ideas that best fit my current mood and understanding, sifting through phrases until that hoped for beautiful line is finally delivered. 

and virtually none of this is planned, I generally arrive to the page only minutes after meditation and begin my writing as soon as my fresh cup of coffee is made, a ritual now of words and waiting, content to sip my coffee until an idea stirs me into writing. Generally it comes to these familiar topics, my interests are here, my life based upon exploring these concepts, curious as to how they will unfold. It seems that I am thoroughly an artist, as even my daily existence is a creative act, everything in service of a beautiful expression, however it might appear through me, 

so the meaning here is beauty, every theme and idea circles this, honing close, letting go of favored words and phrases that refuse to work together, symmetry is in mind, that it all should be a lyrical flow or nothing will be written at all. A beautiful line,yes, just one, built within a theme of interest, a layered text to deliver its expression. That's my true pursuit, my only aim of writing....

and it doesn't have to even be completed. 

I am content to be here every morning, joyful, simply doing as I am this very moment - 

writing, waiting, another sip of coffee, 

somewhere within these words...perhaps a beautiful line is written. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Of Coffee

Of coffee: 

my history of coffee - I've enjoyed coffee for most of my adult life, first discovering it's pleasure and ability to wake me me in my early 20's working an early shift at a job that didn't require much interaction with others until later in the day and the caffeine served to keep to keep me alert throughout my morning. At first I drank it for this benefit alone and only later acquired an appreciation for its bitter taste. I was a several cup of day drinker, without thought of being kept awake, coffee fit into my active lifestyle perfectly and seemed to have no negative effects on my health or sleep.

much later in my life, making and enjoying coffee became a small bond shared with my parents as I became a caregiver, aiding my father in his effort to keep my mom at home for as long as possible through her long struggle through Alzheimer's. My father particularly enjoyed a cup or two each day and reluctantly switched to decaf after suffering a stroke in his later years. Even then we still enjoyed the ritual of preparing coffee, small talk and watching the news together, an easy, unspoken of connection. 

after our divorce my wife and I still had a ritual of coffee together, a not severed connection that kept us close, intimately involved in each other's life. Our plans were shared, concerns aired, and our conversations kept us in the most important aspect of a true relationship. We communicated, deeply so, how important we remained to each other by keeping this ritual alive.

my own health concerns keep me to single cup per day, nothing serious, but it seems that coffee agrees less with me now, not as easy on my system as it once was, and any more than this seems to affect the quality and ease of my sleep. So I keep it to that single cup of day, it's a ritual of my writing now, still hours before this hint of dawn, my mind quiet from early meditation, and the act of preparation brings me to the task at hand, writing whatever words come inspired to me no matter how long the wait. 

a long owned mug sitting on my desk.

a gift from my mother long ago. 

really, a single cup of coffee is all I need, savoring its bitter taste, feeling the long connection of what feels like infinite cups shared with my parents, with my wife through many years, and now in the aloneness of these early, early mornings when it often feels like memories are all I have left. Yet this single cup, a link, and the words come to me each morning, these moments are never really kept alone - it's a ritual still somehow performed together, across porous borders of time and distance, an intimacy that's always shared between us. 

 and every cup tells me this is so. 

~

Peace, Eric 

This Particular Line

This particular line: 

perhaps the most famous and meaningful line from any Buddhist text is from the Heart Sutra, which states that "emptiness is form and that form is emptiness". It's a lovely expression and can be studied for a lifetime to reach its meaning. There is a depth here that pulls me to new levels of realization even after years of giving the text, and this particular line, some serious study. With that said, I won't claim to have any grand revelations to share, no wisdom to offer from my own understanding. Mostly, the Heart Sutra leaves me quiet, deeply so, and without need to speak of any insights gleaned. 

it's all too personal, fragile, to speak of. 

at least for now. 

so my writing is really the perimeter, a continuous line of words surrounding my present understanding of this particular line, a description, but not the actual insight. The truth is, I have nothing to share that would make little difference for anyone to read, as every insight is personal, a revelation for ourselves alone. What matters is how we live it, how our lives become a measure of a growing understanding, each insight being a seed that eventually blossoms to greater fields of joyful living. 

...emptiness is form, and that form is emptiness, this particular line hones in to my sense of joy, of knowing myself as capacity for the emergent world and being settled in the appearance of all that arises, serene even in my sense of grief and loss, being intimate with the briefness that life offers. This particular line reminds me to cherish whatever's brought for me to hold, and yet to grasp it all so very lightly, lightly, as nothing in the appearance of form is ever meant to stay ours for very long. With this, it's seen as well that the lightness of my grasp holds the formlessness of the world, nothing ever truly lost, just the changing of appearance. 

and the insights of this particular line...

continue to unfold. 

~

Peace, Eric 

My Potential

My potential: 

I've come to to truly love the emptiness of the screen, an empty page, and the promise that it now holds for me. Once there was some anxiety caused by its appearance, an expectation that I was to write something of particular meaning, or express a beautiful flow of words. But that's no longer so, at least not entirely, as I always hold out hope that something meaningful will follow, and that my words will have a certain quality of  beauty - the emptiness itself though, that's no longer a concern. Words will come to me in the time they're ready, no hurry, I'm patient, willing to embrace my own emptiness as well as what's offered by the screen. There is nothing here but my potential...

waiting to be filled. 

two things have changed for me, the first was starting meditation, decades ago, and its practice has freed me creatively, allowing me to simply trust and surrender to the ebb and flow of words. I no longer consider myself to be the sole authority on what's to be expressed here, and I will wait for the perfect phrase of words to find me without concern for exactly when that might be. The second change was the realization that came by seeing myself as capacity, a beautiful word as applied to both my own inherent emptiness as well as the infinite hold of my potential, being at once the promise of an empty page and its fulfillment through the appearance of words, beauty, and meaning. Writing happens through emptiness, an occurrence of words and phrases, ideas, and it's capacity that allows for their arrival, everything that appears is first through me, and this includes the belief that I'm the author of these words. The truth is that each word is spontaneous in its appearance, gifted somehow, and almost instantly received by the emptiness of my potential. 

capacity. 

and so I now see the page as not being truly empty, as it's literally brimming with its own potential for words and beauty, a blank slate provided for any meaning to then follow. The empty screen is the actuality of my potential, a reflection, and whatever spontaneously appears is simply life in its fulfillment. Writing is the pleasure of being alive, serving as capacity...

of seeing my own potential, as well as it's achievement.

instantly, and at once.  

~

Peace, Eric 

If I'm a Yogi

If I'm a yogi: 

it's the practice itself that brings me deep joy, not seeking anything past the present yoga posture being held, this single breath observed, or the silence brought through repetition of my mantra. If I'm a yogi than it's not so much through self-identification as it is for the pleasure of my practice, the wisdom found in so many ancient texts that still hold meaning to me now. an easiness of motion brought to my body from the asanas held each morning, and perhaps most joyful of all is a peaceful and inspired mind that seems to extend from my sitting meditation. These are all benefits, fruits of my practice, but it's the actual performance of each one that brings me the greatest joy, simply practicing for the vibration of the manta's sound, or the easy glide of motion as my body stretches between postures.

if I'm a yogi -

than it's for the pleasure of my practice alone.

and nothing more. 

no, I can't say there's an end to my seeking, although there was a definite shift of energy from a wish for enlightenment towards a sense of exploration, being filled with curiosity and wonder as to whatever next might unfold. It feels that now I'm being led by grace, offered new avenues to discover what life has in store, and that there is absolutely nothing at all to be achieved, nothing to be earned, that everything arrives completely on its own, exactly in its perfect time. This doesn't deny effort, or that there's any work involved - but that it's the work itself, practice, that offers me enlightenment. 

again, it's a subtle shift...

chop wood, carry water, as they say in Zen. 

if I'm a yogi, it's a label lovingly earned through the pleasure of my practice. Yet it's just one more concept that's easily let go. All there is...is what the present moment holds. And it offers infinite avenues that I'm eager to explore. 

~

Peace, Eric 

4: a.m

4:00 a.m 

well before sunlight hints at arrival, earliest morning, and there is much to do as I match my pace with the slowly coming dawn. These are my most favorite hours, productive even as I move without hurry, never at a rush at all, and yet so much seems accomplished by the time they're gone. Usually I'm at at 4:00 a.m and this seems to have mixed reviews health-wise by many experts, with some claiming it has negative effects on certain measures of our body and mind. I don't dispute this, it's a practice not meant for everyone and seems to an hour that has mysteriously called for me awaken without a choice given to my reply. I am up generally well before my alarm sounds, as if the cells of my body have been awake for hours now and are only waiting for my conscious mind to join them. 

4 a.m is the time my body wakes me. 

this is when I first meditate, almost immediately after waking, and it's usually easy to slip into the gap between thoughts at this time, brainwaves still slow in motion and without the morning light to hurry them to action. It's by far the most quiet point of day, seldom any noise aside from the natural occurring sounds of nature, not even birds active now accept for occasional call from an owl in a tree nearby my window, a rare gift received and cherished when it's heard. Meditation has a quality of silence at this hour that is unmatched at other times, I sink easily in its depth, half an hour or more, mantra fading to a faint impression, and then nothing more but my own sense of pure and easy existence, beingness, simply the quiet nature of my soul. 

this alone is worth my waking early. 

from meditation there's motion, still without rush, there's plenty of time ahead, everything moves slow at this hour and my pace is matched to how the morning will unfold. Here, it's the ritual of preparing coffee, sun salutation while it brews, and then it's time for writing - 4:00 a.m is when inspiration calls for me to awaken, rituals performed, and now I listen, words appear, ideas form, and writing seems to happen on its own. That's a full day for me, everything that I would wish to happen has already occurred and the sun has yet to even reach me. So much ahead of me now...

and I pause, enjoying the still quiet, magical quality of the morning.

waiting for light to greet me, 

~

Peace, Eric 

light Bearers

Light bearers: 

we are meant to bring light, that we are luminous in a subtle fashion, emitting a visible glow in small quantities, about 1000 times less intense that what the human eye is sensitive to, and science believes that this is a byproduct of a biochemical reaction within the body, perhaps involving our metabolism. There is also infrared light, electromagnetic radiation with a frequency lower than what we visibly measure. Both of these are the faint glow of our existence, biological, produced by the functions of the body. But in a greater sense still...we are light bearers. 

and there's a more subtle light still, biophotons, emitted from cells, and thought to be a form of communication, intelligence shared between the trillions of cells that constitute our bodies. We literally glow with this intelligence, and it truly makes us luminous beings, light bearers, producing the brilliance of our own existence. 

it's here that I veer from science, at least the modern understanding of our luminosity - biophotons are a recent detection in humans and not yet generally understood, although it's now suspected that there is more to this light than previously imagined. Science is just now opening to the possibility that our subtle light is a communication of energy, intelligence itself expressed through cells, and that perhaps even our DNA plays a role in its production, likening it to the rise of consciousness itself in some possible way. Of course these scientist are on the fringe of an ancient understanding, that we are light bearers, made of luminosity, emitting a frequency that it only truly understood and measured by the soul. 

vedic sages knew this long ago and offered us the salutation of namaste, recognizing our subtle luminosity, an intelligence of divine origin intimately shared between us. Artist too have always known of this light, painting images of a halo effect of those who consciously show their light in a more obvious fashion, perhaps living closer to its source, being light bearers by their intent as well as natural function. On my part, this is all speculation, poetry really, only meant to fill page with words of my imagination. Yet somehow, this too seems to bear a light, words shining from the page, ideas reaching me from a source that I can only call divine no matter of its origin. This is the universal namaste, my light recognizing the subtle luminosity of the world, everything shining forth with an intelligence of pure imagination and infinite creativity. 

we are meant to bring light. 

and just by our existence...

we do. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Sun Salutation

Sun Salutation: 

and so I perform the sun salutation before even a hint of first light, as if greeting what's soon to arrive, my own ritual of fulfillment done and given to the new day. This is indeed a prayer, full body, gratefulness stretched through every vertebra, opening myself to receive every measure of the coming light. I am thankful to be in motion, able to move through this ancient sequence of postures that has awaken so many before me and will continue to do so for ages more. I am a link in an endless, ageless chain, and every morning I am reminded of this connection, of yogis centuries ago in this same performance, a ritual shared between us all. 

we greet the sun together. 

 I so deeply love this morning prayer, truly being a celebration of life, showing how grateful I am through the gift of body and attention, mindful of breath and how it moves and pauses through the entire sequence of poses, flowing with a wisdom completely of its own. My body knows exactly what to do, not just from the sake of years of practice, but something much deeper at play here, ancient, cellular, embedded in the DNA of my very existence. The sun salutation is a memory of previous bodies, yes, I'm talking reincarnation, yet not of a continuing soul, but of molecules and atoms, particles that were once gathered in other forms and prayed to sun light in a similar fashion as I do now. 

and still we greet the sun together. 

the sun salutation is a specific yoga practice, a series of postures meant to flow in sequence, opening energy channels, stretching fully and gentle every aspect of the body. Yet we can each offer up a morning prayer, a yoga of our own affair, a private gesture performed through whatever grace we're now given. Even a nod, when done with purity and full awareness, is a complete salutation, an entire yoga system contained within a glance and slight motion. It's just a means of being grateful, appreciative to a sunlit day, a small prayer that's offered to the morning. Through this...

we greet the sun together. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Self-Understanding

Self-understanding: 

it sometimes feels as if there's a kindness deficit in the world right now, a lack of empathy and self-understanding - and I know as well that this must be true within me if it's recognized at all, a deep place of hurt that's not yet healed or come to light in my own inquiries and time spent in meditation. The world doesn't need healing, I do, and through this I will come to see the world as my reflection, already whole, healed, full of kindness, love, and empathy. 

being a yoga practice of kindness and compassion. 

and it is a practice, allowing this natural gift to come to surface, with just a little awareness and it becomes a spontaneous surprise, my true self being shown to the world in every act of grace and kindness, easily and without effort of my own. That's what's meant by self-understanding, exploring below the surface of my initial reactions and finding a deep reservoir of compassion, that by my very nature I display kindness simply being as I truly am, and that any practice done is really only a means of self-revelation, my own love shown to me and now given to the world. 

this isn't a yoga of denial, negating any emotions that arise, it's much more free than that, allowing, allowing, and always allowing my world exactly as it is right now. It's with this that I find myself whole, accepting every cloud as it passes through the spacious nature of my soul. I am clear sky, continuous, never darkened by any cloud or storm, and my real practice is in recognizing this, deeply so, associating myself with this ever present sense of loving-kindness, even as I get lost amidst the clouds of judgement and anger - there is still the self-understanding of my clear sky nature. 

that's my true yoga practice.

returning to this depth of loving-kindness, empathy displayed by acceptance of my unhealed pain and any faults that might be shown. My practice begins and ends with this, an allowingness of all that comes to surface, everything instantly healed through the lens of my awareness. 

in this self-understanding...

I see that I am whole, complete, a clear sky of infinite loving-kindness.

~

Peace, Eric