To Suffer

To suffer:

it's about not wanting to suffer, coming to just a few basic things - the ease of breath, to have the needs of life met, and yes to have love and know a true connection. Philosophy takes a shift with these concerns, no longer the drive to find a certain truth, or reality exposed in a final find. 

sometimes a single, clear breath is enough. 

life is often found to be a struggle, and even as tragedy is dodged suffering seems to loom near. Loss is in inescapable. It's how life goes. I've spent years seeking to come to terms with this, to find a place where hurt didn't...hurt. It's often said that pain is unavoidable but suffering is an option, that once a level of equanimity is developed there comes a point of surrender to the cares of the world. I find that doubtful. Yes, meditation has brought a sense of ease and balance to my life. I'm able to flow with the rough aspects of life, quickly returning to a sense of calm. 

but right now I'm suffering.

and I find no need to add the weight of spiritual disapproval to this, that I should transcend and heal my mind if not my body. My suffering belongs to the moment, it's the pure pain of what's happening now without the hope of change. It's just what is. Of course even the wish to escape this pain belongs, hope and the belief to heal belong too. Whatever is present is true to the moment and most certainly belongs for the moment of its appearance. 

nothing is chased away.

to suffer is not an option - or if it is I haven't reach that level of charmed equanimity yet and doubt I ever will. But I do have some understanding of how things are, that what's present is what I have to deal with and I may bring any level of strength and grace to see me through. Or sometimes none at all. This isn't a matter of what I can do, my strength of body and will mean nothing. 

it's about not wanting to suffer - and right now I am, with little I can do. This is what the moment brings me, and it's simple really. Sometimes there's just suffering. 

that's all I seem to know. 

~

Peace, Eric 

A New Reality

A new reality:

sometimes there is a new reality, at least a personal one, a fundamental shift in a long held perspective. Even as things appear the same, the world has been transformed. It happens in an instant, or perhaps it was a longer becoming, unnoticed until now. 

but it always feels sudden. 

it's been said that reality is what remains after all beliefs disappear, that the world is always viewed through perspectives and the filter of belief. Reality is unchanging. I'm just not sure that this is so - reality seems to fluid, always in motion, and never really the same from one moment to the next. It's like looking at light stream through a window in the dawn, there is a subtle dance of dust motes and the beam, shifting in angle and qualities of play. 

the dance stays the same. 

my own dance is changing, there's a new reality streaming through my window - and it certainly feels sudden. I wonder about beliefs and perspectives, and if letting go of a former self will change this dance much at all. I really don't know. Maybe light itself always remains and only dust motes are rearranged for another morning's dance. The truth is that I may never know, and it's that uncertainty that offers to dance with me now. What's constant is motion, that reality has shifted with sudden notice and a new dance has begun. I will do my best to keep up, to stay in motion. 

to dance. 

~

Peace, Eric 

A Heart Sutra Of Sorts

A heart sutra of sorts:

it's the same words, always - nothing is new but their arrangement, and with this comes infinite means of expression with every session writing. This is my chance to explore the possibilities of an empty page, to trade space for words, and allow some meaning to emerge. Everything I write is a heart sutra of sorts, simply an exchange of one thing in a different show of emptiness to form. 

to be creative is really just to allow what's present to make itself known. Inspiration is always available and only needs to bypass my internal edit system, the critic with a wish to take charge before even a single word appears. There's an insistent call for meaning, that every page hold some secret that only this author can reveal. It's this belief in the special privilege of an artist that often prevents true art from appearing. Too many voices from the very beginning, arguing for control. 

the truth is there is no control.

there really isn't even an artist - there's only life with an urge to expressed through the means of words, or lens, or stroke of brush. It's all art in constant making. Each moment I sit and write. It's not a time in search of words. They will make their appearance known and through patience I will be aware of their arrival. It's then that I play with their arrangement, the magic of an empty page allowing itself to meaning, to an artful display. This is creativity and it's a subtle difference from being creative - I make nothing happen, there's no control here, and truly I'm no different than the page. It's an equal emptiness, a matched capacity for things to appear. 

it's an allowing. 

but not an allowing assigned by the artist, or anyone really - the flow of words is life expressed in the motion of writing. It's the same with every aspect of life. Again, it's a heart sutra of sorts, energy exchanging it's empty potential for a momentary expression of what seems solid, or holds a certain meaning. Art is a beautiful illusion, emptiness in temporary form. An artist is simply part of this allowing, graced with an awareness of it's happening. 

to be aware is to be inspired.

~

Peace, Eric 

In Fragments

In fragments:

it comes in fragments, each word and then to phrase - yet always they belong to some whole idea, an inspiration giving itself away in measured terms. My role is patience, listening, and to arrange what's heard within the framework of page and theme. It's without true effort, just a joyful response to an inner call urging for expression. 

it mostly happens on its own. 

in the beginning it often seems random, just a few words and not yet a direction known. It's playful, trading space for words in any manner that inspires. The meaning is always the same no matter what the theme may be - that words come from mystery, not delivered but revealed as my own voice as well. It's all mystery and grace, one thing in various expression, and for now it's my own sense of being the author that claims this as my own. 

but I know better. 

there's is no true author, only inspiration, life as poetry itself and my own particular, unique voice to express this moment. It's a gift, but not my gift. Life is what's giving, always in motion, waiting to be heard and seen above the din and illusions of our busy world. We're all artist, of any sort, and all it takes is a pause - to recognize and remember that in it comes in fragments, ideas belonging to the whole, and that this wholeness too is our belonging. 

it's all art, really, life - just waiting to be revealed. 

~

Peace, Eric 

No Escape

No Escape:

yet here I am - and I find myself with no escape, no option to a avoid a certain suffering, just accepting, allowing, and to let even my denial belong. Of course this is the last place I wish to be, here, unwell after a lifetime of care and healthful practice. I will do all I'm able to heal, to be strong...to continue. But here I am, feeling broken, scared and scarred by something unseen. 

there's no escape from this moment.

and I'll try, the mind is often an unreasonable thing, bargaining for another option, anything but what's now and what looms uncertain. I will bargain and deny. I will go through every stage of self-grief. It's what the mind does. In the end, whatever the end, it will be exactly as it is. No amount of denial will change this, no wishful thoughts, nor magic pills. 

here I am, always, until the very end. 

there's no escape from hear, from wherever I find myself and from whatever is happening now - yes, there's healing, there's change, and sometimes even miracles. Life is motion after all. But what I deal with is right now, this instant of struggle and sadness, pain, and even anger. This isn't where I wish to be. 

yet here I am. 

it's here, only and always. I will deal with this instant, nothing more - even as my mind rushes forward and dreams of past. It all belongs right now. 

And that's where find myself, knowing that all I wish wasn't present - is. Each moment I will try and heal. I will care and tend to health and my sorrow. I will do what I can to heal. Yet here I am, and I have no idea where that may lead. Uncertainty too belongs to the moment. 

everything does. 

~

Peace, sincerely, Eric 

Nowhere

Nowhere else but here: 

there's nowhere else but here - which seems obvious, and much exaggerated as well. I am always present here, my particular awareness and it never seems to exceed the scope of my attention. It's always immediate, never not exactly where I seem to be. I am here, now. Of course being  here, for me, is localized, my own realm of influence and awareness. The world doesn't end without my presence found. 

but my presence does expand the world.

to be aware is without limit, expanding with each step, always just ahead in both view and imagination. Here - is wherever I find myself to be. It includes the potential of where my steps might lead me, being place-less, there are no boundaries for my travels. I am always here. And in this sense, at home in all the world. There is no place that's not my true belonging. 

presence is the intimacy of the world. 

this is where I find you, nowhere else but here, presence merged to our together. It's always been so, that I've always held this place for you, my capacity, here, and that it serves only for your own true belonging. This is the only real reason to talk of emptiness, it's temporariness, existing only as a welcome for what's to come and then expanding it's embrace further. 

to be here - is to be both empty and fulfilled. 

~

Peace, Eric 

This Could Be Called The Soul

This could be called the soul:

my sense of being, not just alive but that I'm aware, and somehow belong to the greater whole as well. A function, vital to it all. Perhaps this could be called the soul, this feeling that emanates from my belonging. 

everything points to this connection - my breath drawn air, and my body the same stuff as earth somehow given form. My every action a movement of the world. To add that I'm aware, a sensing capacity that knows the touch of wind against me - from this I find no separation from what I feel and what seems to cause this feeling. It's an experience of one. 

perhaps this could be called the soul of the world. 

this is no claim of a universal truth, it's not a belief, nor a religion of my own - what I'm calling soul is simply this moment, what arises, and how it all fits to a singular experience of now. I offer no explanation, just these words in brief description, and how they too appear within this moment, an expression of the soul as well. 

this could be called the soul - of a thousand other names. Or better yet to leave it unnamed, allow it to stay in the silence of its first home. But I find that even words belong, the urge to give voice as holy as its silent origin. It's all soul. One expression. And there's no point, nor will, to censor what arises to be told. I call it soul, but just for now, only in this moment. How it will expressed tomorrow I have no idea, another name, different words I'm sure. 

for right now though - this could be called the soul. 

~

Peace, Eric