As Our Salvation

As our salvation:

karma is explained and literally translated as action, simplified as cause and effect, and commonly thought of as the golden rule, believing that we will reap what we have sown. Our past deeds have brought us here, living the consequence of our actions, and how we act now will define us in the future. Perhaps this is so, as it seems perfectly linear in its view of cosmic justice, that we can't evade our past behavior, and that we are responsible for our own conviction as well as our salvation. It's certainly backed by long assumption to be true, thousands of years and across many cultural traditions, the role of karma is central to the lives of many, even those who've been raised without it being a common theme in their religion. It's now deeply part of our belief system. 

of course that doesn't make it true.

that isn't an argument against causality, it's not a debate at all really, and I have no stake in offering a counter view to the role of karma. I'm not a philosopher, and certainly not a Sanskrit scholar. Although deeply read on many Eastern traditions, I know little more than anyone else does on this matter. But I do have my own insight here, provided by deep meditation and hours of self-inquiry, there's my own intuition and thoughts on the role of karma, grace, as well as our salvation. 

and it all seems more subtle than I once believed.

so here it is, my own insight, easily dismissed as it's only a momentary expressions given in consideration to these matters. This is less of a belief than it is art, creative writing, temporary in its offer. Karma is motion and it's only translation is life. It's continuous, constantly shifting to it's own dynamics, and there's no lasting effect in it's ever changing flow. This who we are, karmic by nature, motion, and we are served by grace and mystery. Each moment is free from the past as well as being a current display of all that's ever been before, it's seamless in the best of our descriptions, and the only truth that can definitely be stated is that life is simply mystery, unknowable by any definite, but something that we deeply live. Each moment is who we are, and karma is not the cause nor the effects of this, only the action of our display, everything being a show of some greater work of art, and we are at once artist, the brushstroke, and canvas to it's touch. All things. Everything. 

as well as our salvation.

for we are free of any karmic hold, being always motion, life,and never once exactly the same in any single moment. Our salvation is grace, and we are already free of every past restraint, self-creating another world to show. Continuously so. Karma isn't punishment nor reward, and in truth it isn't really our salvation...

it's simply who we are.

~

Peace, Eric 

No Rules to Follow Here

No rules to follow here: 

what I've realized is that I don't always need to be inspired towards a theme, nor a particular idea of which to write of, there doesn't have to be any great meaning to my words. Neither is it from a sense of obligation to the page, practicing my chosen art form, not any reason at all really. Writing is simply a means of expression, and there are no rules to follow here, I am free to write whatever the moment holds for me, and if there is no grand inspiration to follow then it's enough for me to write whatever words happen to appear, giving verse to how I feel, or even just my fingers to the keyboard and allowing whatever thought is present to fall directly to the page. 

there are no rules to follow here. 

of course I love those moments of great inspiration, when every words is so freely given and expresses a sure and certain meaning. There's magic there, truly, as those inspired moments are simply beyond my skill and talent, arriving completely on their own, gifted to me, and I am grateful that they seem to be so often and easily given. Yet there's also many moments of a more quiet inspiration, more of a wish to put words on the page without any reason other than to see if any beauty will appear. Those moments too are cherished, although it took sometime for me to come to this sense of freedom, letting go of my demands to always be inspired towards some grand theme, and to just allow myself to write for the sake pf something smaller, nonsense really, an expression of whatever the moment holds for me. I had to learn to break my own self-imposed rules and write easily from the heart in any given moment. 

like this one, right now,

and with no rules to follow here...

this is what I offer. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Necessarily So

Necessarily so: 

that I have faith, and necessarily so, as it's cause for my surrender as well as the means of an awakening to another way of seeing the world. My faith is given to the mantra, a sound, vibrating all the way to the depth of cells and carrying me to the point of my original stillness. My faith is just a thought repeated, saying the mantra to myself, silently, a faint idea playing through my mind and at first mixed with the infinite other thoughts that always seem present. But I keep returning to the mantra, not focused, loose, an easy repetition of words that have no meaning other than the role of their vibration. There is silence here, that's my faith, the mantra simply revealing my underlying state of mind, allowing me to notice a gap between one thought and another, however slight at first, yet eventually it's here that I surrender. 

that I have faith, and necessarily so, as it's cause for my returning home. 

faith is of a different quality than belief, lighter in it's hold, and having no concern to whatever's past this present moment. My faith is here, now, and not given to anything that isn't able to be noticed. I claim no faith beyond this moment, my salvation is at hand and belongs only to my surrender, letting go of everything that isn't absolutely sure and true right now. With this I have the utterance of my mantra, ethereal, and yet always available to my notice, until it too vanishes to the faith of my surrender. Only silence then remains, primordial, seamless to every sound and thought that arises. 

my faith is here, and necessarily so. 

nothing else is present. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Once I started Listening

Once I started listening: 

once I started listening to the morning, deeply so and in hours long before the show of dawn, there was never a wish to have it filled with sounds that didn't seem to belong here, sounds not fitting of the hushed tones that these moments offered. There is a tenderness to these hours, soft awakenings, nothing yet rushed to know the coming day. That will happen soon enough, but right now is a time of listening, catching silence in its pure allowing mode, how each sound is eased towards my hearing, seamlessly so, as if a secret whispered for my ears alone. 

once I started listening to the morning, to the silence existing just before the edge of any sound, I heard the world slowly stir itself awake, tentatively, emerging from a softer mode of its expression to one more suited to the light. This is a magical time, nothing ever seems sudden, a slow but instant manifestation of dawn, and that its every shifting shade offers a slightly different tone,  each with a vibrational quality of its own, it's own secret sound to share to those that care to listen. 

so I guard these precious hours, being holy to me now, waking earlier and earlier still to catch every quality of their expression. I meditate to ready myself for further listening, deeper, offering my own silent mind to match what the morning offers to me, sharing an allowing nature for whatever wishes to emerge. Once I stated listening to the morning everything about the world changed, I grew accustom to subtle shifts of sound, almost anticipating the exact moment that silence parts seamless to a thought, ideas form and then commit themselves to words. This is where I write from, an infinite field of silence touched by those subtle seeds of inspiration, ideas then gently nurtured to the page. 

my morning slowly stirred alive, awake...

once I started listening.

~

Peace, Eric 

No Clear Agenda

No clear agenda: 

with no clear agenda other than words to page, no urgency of message, nothing greatly inspired and yet there's still a wish to listen, to see what words may appear to me in this most quiet point of early morning. There's no question of writing, it's a promise sure to happen, and I am committed to this time, willing to wait without judgement for any words that grace my presence. 

it's enough to simply be here.

that's important to me, my commitment to show up for words, listening to the subtle qualities of silence offered through my wait, content, and whatever words do show will be exactly what I need to hear this morning, filling the space of page as well my wish for writing. It works out perfectly this way, each morning without fail and the only requirement is to release myself from the demand for words, to have no clear agenda other than to be here, and happily so. Worlds will always find me, they know I'm here, present, appreciative for their arrival, and with no concern for whatever message that they hold. It's always enough to simply be here, writing when words appear, listening to the quietness offered by their absence, no real preference between the two. 

sometimes though there is a great rush of words, inspiration so quickly given and then swept against the page with an urgency to fulfill. Some mornings are like that. But most aren't, many more are softly quiet and reflective, with only a few words made through silence, and those being gratefully collected, arranged with deep care and tenderness on the page. It's all an act of love, my devotion shown through waiting, listening, with no clear agenda other than my presence here. 

it's enough to simply be...

everything else is optional, a favor of appearance, and I am grateful for it all.

~

Peace, Eric 

We Say Paradox

We say paradox: 

we say paradox, meaning we believe that somethings exist in contradiction to another, and yet the truth is always mystery, a cooperation of the whole that we don't fully see nor understand. We find ourselves uncomfortable with this situation, wishing to come to certain terms and bridge a sense of understanding between the two, living less with mystery, holding a more mundane view of the world. But we can't escape mystery, paradox, and to live deeply, expressing ourselves in a sure commitment to all that life offers - we must accept that what we label paradox is simply the seamless nature of the world, one thing in a vast display of possibilities. 

there are no true opposites, nothing in opposition to another.

just life.

and in accepting mystery, dismissing paradox as simply another view beyond our present understanding, we come to know the heartbreak of what appears to be lost to us now, we embrace our deep fears of non-existence, and come to see sorrow as a true appreciation for what was once so intimately ours to hold. This is the end of a certain kind of suffering, the angst of contradictions now coming to a close. Everything's accepted. 

everything belongs. 

as life holds every possibility, nothing can truly be believed to be in contradiction to another, not really, as again we see the seamless nature of the world, that what appears to be an opposite is just another expression that life displays in wonder. We say paradox as simply a means of description, giving a name for a current mystery that life now shows, knowing full well that it's really just another possibility, a new moment offering the joy of its expression. 

life.

we say paradox,

and all there is...is mystery. 

~

Peace, Eric 

One True Line

One true line: 

within everything I write there is an essence, a one true line or phrase of inspiration waiting to be revealed through the craft of writing. Perhaps this is so for every artwork, a singular brushstroke that ties an entire painting to a complete show of beauty, a perfectly cast piece of clay lasting only for a moment and now the entire work revolves around that instant - intuitively an artist knows when this happens, feels to deep to bones and further still as the soul responds with joy. What an artist doesn't know is when this magic might happened, what line might reveal itself as pure and true, gifted from the muse. 

it seems the secret is not to pursue those moments, they must be allowed to find an artist unprepared for their arrival, shocked that such a thing of grace and insight truly exist, and now an entire structure of their medium is rearranged to support this inspiration. Writing is always a surprise for me, seldom do I have a finished planned and most often even the next line is a mystery shown only as I'm writing. My wish is to remain open to the exact point of change that mystery takes me, holding on to nothing that was written before and simply give myself to the present word alone. There is one true line to be revealed and I will know it just as it is being written, not the slimmest moment before, but only as it pours from my fingers to the keyboard, shown to my delight and surprise. 

everything else is written to support this. 

and now those supporting words take on a great importance, to clarify the essence of that one true line, not to highlight but to support in subtle ways, blending, lending themselves towards conclusion. I've often wondered what great works were based upon a phrase that held the entire meaning of a book, poem, or play. Perhaps Leonardo da Vinci painting the entire Mona Lisa around the framework of her smile, or Shakespeare held one true line from Hamlet as a vision for its completion. That's the mystery, and of course we're not meant to know the answer - our role is to wait for our own one true line to be revealed, gifted to us from the muse, and then to create an entire work, a life really, based upon this inspiration.  

one true line is all that's needed. 

~

Peace, Eric