Of Original Intent

Of original intent:

it's all wrong names, the world mislabeled, and now believed to be made of separate things. It's not seen as seamless anymore. Once, there was the language of original intent, spoken from the senses on how we perceived the world. We spoke of the depth of things, of what was invoked through our participation with life...

of our belonging. 

the world now is simply labeled, no longer invoking a shared sense of being. It seems there's little magic anymore. Yet there might be still enough, just enough to again see our seamless nature. To invoke a bit of magic. This is true sight, seeing without a need to immediately define. 

it's resting as awareness.

this isn't the magic of make believe, it's really more reality before beliefs - the simplicity of how things are before we rush to name and offer meaning. It's life before our definition. Our original, and still present, awareness. There's nothing to be believed, only perceived by our senses, to be known first without language, and only then spoken from original intent. It's not a practice, no ritual of magical charm. Just seeing first, listening in innocence before meaning, tasting life in that first, single bite, and feeling the world brush against skin in that initial reach of breeze. 

it all happens on its own.

and this isn't what we strive for - it's what's always present, and we're aware, but forgetful that it's so. Our true and first language is awareness. When we speak from here it's the poetry of life, silence somehow spoken, and the world again known seamless. 

the language of original intent.

~

Peace, Eric 

Original Meaning

In original meaning:

to repent, truly so, and not with sorrow, nor regret - but in original meaning, turning back towards a different understanding of myself and of the world. This is to repent in innocence, literally to see myself without mar, unmarked by slights of my own infliction. 

my true self.

words lose their original meaning through time, becoming something other than their first intent. It's the same with life too. I carry the weight and scars of many years.My first innocence lost to beliefs that I was separate from the world, that life was meant to be a struggle to achieve a certain status. It's what I learned, and no one to blame, just a long line of inherited tradition. But it wasn't true and never questioned. I never really lost my sense of being, my original meaning. 

it was simply forgotten.

or perhaps better said - it was overlooked. My original meaning, and only real purpose, is to be, to just be, and not strive to be something other than a joyful part of life, aware, and grateful of existence. This joy is not untouched by sorrow, but belongs to life in full, with every aspect accepted as belonging. This includes my story too, all the weight and scars, the beliefs of something being wrong. It's just how life unfolded. 

and back to the word repent and original meaning - to repent is to surrender, to return to the truth of who I am, and life's first intent. It's to turn around and see my original self, empty of all but joyful existence. This is seeing myself as capacity for life to be expresses through me, as my own personal expression too. To repent is to allow myself to be, to simply, and only be, exactly who I am. 

it's my true meaning. 

~

Peace, Eric 

As Our Connection

As our connection:

by breath - the very air of our existence, drawn true as our connection. To say that we are one is not simply a philosophical wish, nor spiritual in belief. It's the essence of breath, that we are joined in breathing one thing touched against us, air in the same life given for countless years. 

our connection is deep and infinite.

we are joined through air, by its touch, and not one thing found separate from its caress. It's the emptiness of our potential, of our reach, and carried voice. I hear the world through air, the view opens to its expanse, and everything arrives within its hold. 

air is our existence.

life appears in what seems like emptiness - that I leave off for the world to begin, objects with distance found between. Yet this space is a swirl unseen things, it's essence, energy, life. There is really no place where I leave off, it's all one caress, my reach continued without end. I am as much this swirl of energy as I am the form of my appearance. It's the somehow I found myself more solid than air, a body, mind, and aware of my existence. But never not connected, still the qualities of air, always endless in reach, and unseen potential. 

and every breath is my reminder.

~

Peace, Eric 

Lost in Pursuit

Lost in pursuit:

 it's in the pursuit of something other, to chase a preferred present moment that the fullness of what's offered now is missed. We become lost in constant seeking, convinced that one more experience, something better than the moment that we're having, will deliver us to the life that we've been promised. 

we're lost in the only moment that's available. 

there's a tragic irony in this, chasing Nirvana, seeking our true nature, and all the while life unfolds in simple, glorious mystery. This, and right here, is where we're supposed to be. It's not effort of achievement to be present - it's simply relaxing to what's happening now, whatever that may be, and wherever we may find ourselves. 

we're not lost at all. 

but we often seem to be, forgetting our true selves through an image we've projected. What's true is who we are, without projection, nor belief that we are anything other. It's enough to be alive, to be aware of this privilege, and grateful that it happened at all. With this ease into being we can relax the pursuit, continue more now as explorers of what's present. 

an explorer is never lost.

in this sense than, everything belongs, accepted in an instant - energy has shifted to being, relaxed from frantic effort to escape the unpleasant, our sorrow, or any faults perceived. It all belongs, and in this acceptance the world s transformed to original, ordinary wonder. Just what is, nothing more. No longer lost in pursuit - we've arrived again to where we are. 

never lost again. 

~

Peace, Eric 

To The Moment

Belongs to the moment: 

nothing is pursued, what arrives belongs to the moment that it's given, and even the effort for an end result happens only now. It's not a point of patience - this is simply acknowledging what's present, knowing that nothing comes before its time, indeed all that's really known is found right now. There's no need to chase anything. 

all effort is always in the present moment.

writing is my example - there are two beginnings; an empty page, and the first thought of inspiration. There is no rush to fill the page, nor to chase words. This is not my process, it's the art of every beginning, formless potential with a willingness to lend itself to form. It's creation itself, genesis, and I find myself a participant without command. 

it's the process that includes me. 

words come on their own, writing happens, and so often I find myself with a smile and the motion of fingers - this seems to be my main contribution, a willingness to set myself aside and just allow it all to happen. My only real effort is not to interfere. This isn't magic, nothing is invoked, and inspiration isn't courted to appear. It's just being with what's present and sometimes this includes the absence of words, no proper thoughts to begin with. 

sometimes there's only waiting.

so it is with life, wishing for something, or someone that isn't here, a rush to fill a seeming void. But sometimes, often times, there's only waiting. But it's the void that allows creation, it's essential, the raw, innocent potential to become the present moment. There is no need to wish for more, nor to wait in vain for something to arrive. It's all here - or it isn't. What's found now belongs to the moment, and this may include effort for the next appearance, waiting, of even frustration. 

everything belongs. 

and nothing chased arrives any sooner - it's always, only, now. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Message of Kabbalah

Message of Kabbalah:

that which is received - and it's the message of Kabbalah, reception, and that words are passed on from some higher source. It's a beautiful tradition. Yet for me, I find that it all takes place through the tradition of  writing, a true alchemical means of words appearing though the invitation of an empty page. It's patience, and perhaps the wisdom of allowing words to find their way to me without the need of petition or prayer. 

inspiration is the grace of receiving. 

what takes place is mystery, an expression of the unknowable making it's way to me and my words simply a rough translation. The words themselves aren't special, no secret or higher meaning - the magic, the only and true magic, is that moments before there was no inspiration, no words to be arranged. Just emptiness waiting, abiding in its creative energy. Knowing. 

the clear message of Kabbalah, for me, is to wait - my agenda has no role in this process, only my surrender. Words will be received, emptiness fulfilled. I am part of this reception, a creative means to reach the page. If I wish to write, to join the alchemy of form from the formless - I only have to show up, open to receive.

to be as empty as the page. 

in this way too I am fulfilled, a served capacity to express a certain will for art, perhaps some beauty, and insight shared. It's the simplest form of Kabbalah, no more than primal cave art, desire itself, creation, and the grace of inspiration. 

this morning - I showed up to write these words. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Just Before

Just before: 

just before interpretation - that the world exist without a single story told, everything happening in the purity of first moments. I see it all through filters, personal, with my own beliefs added. As now, with every story, the world is my reflection. Yet...

and equally so, my truth are those first moments as well - it's here that I find myself just before interpretation, without story, or the need to explain the world in certain ways. Everything just is, existing, happening in the only way that's possible for now. This is how things always are, this moment has no story until I come to offer one. 

sometimes it's a beautiful story.

but often it comes in tragic tales too, stories of disease and harm, war, and a world of sorrow. It's a mystery why these stories are told, how events are interpreted and reactions come to play. Any explanation would only be another story, my story, just a version of what's so. 

of course I prefer the beautiful, and there's a wish for it to be constant, or at least to be available for my demand. Somehow, that's not how the story seems to go. It seems I'm not always free in my interpretation. But I know that the word does exist just before every story - there's a sense of freedom in this, that reality plays on a deeper level, impersonal, yet intimate as well. It's a call for me to live life not only on the surface, where the stories are told, but to feel, truly, really, feel myself alive, as I am now, both storyteller and the emptiness that gives rise for every story to be told. 

at least that's my interpretation of it all. 

~

Peace, Eric