As My Reminder

to just let it all arrive - my own 

agenda is right 

now

and from this point it's all spontaneous, words appearing in their own order, the page giving emptiness in a trade of meaning, and my own clear reception to whatever might come through to reach my fingers. 

the message itself (for me) is always wonder - and 

words only serve as my 

reminder 

~

Peace,

Eric 

Attending

to this we attend - even briefly to note the spaciousness between thoughts, words, and every object. It's here we explore, inquiring, seeing how one thing simply gives way to formlessness and only then lends itself to the appearance of something other. Yet always there remains just one thing. There is no break from sky to ground, we breathe the same air that's touched upon clouds - nowhere will we find a line to offer division between objects and the space between. This is the openness of nature, one thing allowing itself to the form of earth, while still retaining it's formless air. It's all happening here, this moment, and we are not excluded from this play of nothing in it's sudden becoming of things - our truth is as much emptiness as object, capacity as what's held, and view as well as seer. 

~

Peace,

Eric 

It's Almost Like This

it's almost like this - yet however detailed in my 

description, and still I find that it's

not like this at 

all

words bring us just past the experience of each moment - almost, but never quite capturing our encounter with what's given. Only the experience itself, wind to the flesh, flowers reaching with their scent, or the view and the beauty that it offers - can be known in the instant that it happens. My words will always tell a story - no matter how true they once belonged. 

~

Peace,

Eric 

Without The Weight Of Meaning

everything belongs without the weight of meaning - until the moment that it's given. Ours is a clear space of allowing, an openness that begs for one more thing to be added to it's nature, and always we're obliged to bring more by thought and view. Yet nothing comes to us with a meaning if it's own, nameless until assigned, and clear of all agenda - we add words to beauty, and ideas to the formless, giving qualities to a world already made complete. It's not that this is wrong, for even labels fit within this welcoming. But there is another way to see, the first way, natural, and it happening now even as we view the world. It's always just before - our seeing, and only in an instant later does it come to us to add a single thought or label. So we return, our original view, noted in clarity and then allowed to simply be before a thing is added. It's here we rest. For just a moment - and even as the weight of meaning begins to add itself to what we view, we abide in our restful nature. It all happens on it's own. 

~

Peace,

Eric 

Weather Doesn't Lie

the weather doesn't lie - there is 

always the immediate 

truth of this

moment 

and rain to skin, or a breeze in it's final

reach against us

here, we find ourselves not removed from life in all of it's offered conditions, but fully a participant to what's given, and our preference not even brief in consideration. It's always and only life in constant happening - ourselves included too. 

in this regard we find ourselves as every storm, and each drop of rain continued to clouds and sky, we are starlight and further on the infinite source that starts it all. 

it's found here, this moment, right 

within whatever's 

happening.

~

Peace,

Eric 

First Snow

it's the fresh laid snow, first of the season, and always heavy with the promise of more  - there is a weight to this season for me that no other one offers, a despair that falls as silent as each snow. Yet the season, and every storm, brings too the beauty of change, an opportunity to not turn away from cold, nor wish for days of warmth, but to allow the grace of what is to open me to my own shifting seasons - for I have clung to some beliefs as surely as the last autumn leaf, and now the bareness of winter comes for what is due.

Letting go, there is this, and 

all is welcomed to my

world. 

It's fresh laid snow, first of the season, and always 

heavy with the promise of it's

moment. 

~

Peace,

Eric 

A Continuous Welcome

it's a continuous welcome - and 

nowhere is this not

so. 

~

as if the sky - no wing is denied it's flight, no tree refused in it's expansion. Our very nature is open in the same expanse as the sky itself. Nothing is refused. Even our argument that things should be other than presently found is accepted without note. 

Everything is welcomed.

Without fail.

Our only role is to know this - and even that is not really needed. It's automatic, a free flow of what comes, lingers, and leaves all by it's own accord. 

To see this is just a bonus.

~

Peace,

Eric