My Own Approach

My own approach: 

it's always been more of curiosity, never really a driving passion that takes me to an extreme, but gentle, to simply explore the nature of my mind and identity, a relaxed approach to knowing who I am. It's been been said that to truly realize this ultimate truth, deeply so, it has to be similar to someone drowning and their desperate need for another breath - this seems to be true for many and I don't imagine myself to be the exception to this rule. But my own approach is different, again just an easy curiosity of experience, being watchful of the wave of thoughts that play through what appears to be an otherwise silent mind, exploring every shifting frame of reference, each belief I tightly hold, all the things that shape my current view on who I truly am. 

and of course it's then surrendered, every answer...

my own approach is letting go. 

many wise, insightful people have given me answers through the years, some may have even been enlightened. Yet I've never been interested in holding someone else's answer as my own, although I do have a keen interest in what's offered, an appreciation of their view and the path they took to come to their realization. My own approach is curiosity, not really seeking, as that would imply an end point, an ultimate answer, and there's little interest for me their. Each moment holds something elusive and at once knowable by experience, not truly a paradox, there's no contradiction here, just reality, and it only becomes confusing with an attempt to be told, given as an answer to another. 

my own approach is to simply know, to experience...

and a continuous letting go. 

there's no need for enlightenment with an cosmos for play, no single ultimate answer to hold on to - awakening never ends, and perhaps enlightenment itself is simply curiosity. My own approach urges my surrender, to continuously, ever gently, explore the present moment and every possibility of its arrangement. If enlightenment is anything then it's motion, ongoing, and yet always present just the same - and with this, still curious...

I continue to explore. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Of The Wind

of the wind. 

wind, easily defined as the movement of air at any speed, its origin explained by uneven heating of the earth by the sun and the earth's rotation. From here the science gets more involved, complex, any in depth examination of its cause and the many systems of its currents is well beyond my understanding. But I know the wind in a very real and natural way, we all do, it's a quality of experience, felt gently on the skin as a cool caress offered on a summer's day, or a sharp winter's gust that cuts through every layer of clothes and chills deeply to the bone. The wind doesn't really blow against us, it's not an outside force that's separate from our involvement, no, it's an event that we belong to, joined to it fully by our own experience and participation. 

we are fully of the wind in every way. 

as I write this, still so early and well before the sun's consideration, there is a breeze in strong whisper to the trees outside my room. I hear the rustle of branches and the few remaining autumn leaves are blown free, joining those that now sweep against the ground to wind's delight. There's a story here, told of the wind and it's far travels to reach this point, of the stoic nature of trees, how they bend to the breeze, branches often lost, and their root deep hold within the earth  It's my story too now, listening, feeling some primordial response within me, a soul's urge to join the breeze, the strong desire of my body to extend itself within the earth, anchored, rooted with the hold of every tree. 

it seems that I'm an even of epic proportions. 

but not really, not in a way that's so easily stated - because mostly, even as a listen to this story of the wind, of trees and earth, mostly, I have vanished in the breeze, each stir of wind against my window carries me away, and their is simply and only a sweep of air, just a caress now, no objects, it's all motion, and the story of the wind and all that it touches comes after, later, as objects reappear....

as I reappear.

writing of the wind, of trees and earth,

and my own participation. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Exposed

and then finally we're left exposed, our true sense of beingness simply laid bared, a deep inner silence prevails and is found to be our original peace of mind. That's the art of meditation, an easy journey of mantra, of listening to its subtle play of sound, a vibration, and then exposed as being a silent field of information, an allowing space for thoughts to pass by, feelings to exists, and that everything belongs here by virtue of appearance. 

nothing is excluded.

 we don't chase a quiet mind, there's no need, we exist as silence, as presence, undisturbed by thoughts or sound. Meditation is our exposure, a revelation really, we're left being exactly who we are, without identity to gain purchase, raw, primordial in our truest sense. This doesn't come by any effort, it's not achieved in any sense - it's the mantra that leads us here by its vibration, or the breath as it grows ever more subtle through the gentle note of our attention. Whatever means we use it's all finally the same, we're left exposed, revealed, knowing ourselves as presence, dynamic, alive. 

beingness. 

it's nothing special, it's just what we are, life, a bare essence that holds the taste of personality, a play of duality, having a sense of being separate from other aspects of the world. Meditation exposes us as whole, unified, that it's all simply and only presence, soul. It's nothing special, and yet magical just the same, to be revealed as this, finally, through the long years of our forgetting. Meditation isn't the cause for this, neither mantra nor breath create this state of mind. More truly, it's not a state at all, but again being that bare essence that allows this sense knowing ourselves, awareness in its most primordial way. 

through layers, discarded...

we're exposed.

and all that's left is who we are. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Cold Mornings

Cold mornings: 

cold mornings are difficult, harder to move from under the covers and begin the rituals of my day, joints stiff, an ache of middle age that's growing deeper through the years. There's many reasons to stay in bed a little longer, allowing the day to gain in light and warmth, some extra sleep to help keep me sharp and alert later in the day, or simply to extend the warmth of covers and bed for just a bit more. But there's something special to these colder mornings as well, magical, as it seems a deeper quiet prevails at this hour, life waits to stir until the sun begins to warm the world. 

these cold mornings are completely my own.

that's what draws me from bed, risking the discomfort of that first step from bed and the crisp bite of air that greets me. I wake early, most especially eager on these cold mornings, in order to embrace that deep quiet, knowing that for just longer moments the world will be so private, a sense of aloneness hanging in the air, and not even my own thoughts wish to disturb this silence. 

a deeper quiet prevails.

and so it's the same cold that tempts to remain in bed longer, burrowed in blankets, warm, and yet now it draws me out to face its discomfort, urging me to sit, meditate, listening to the silence that it offers. Cold mornings are difficult, there's little real reason to wake so early, my actual day would be much the same, and perhaps the extra sleep and warmth would serve me well, better, at the very least it would extend my comfort. That's no small thing, being mindful of self-care, offering myself a little kindness in the morning, just an easier way to begin my day. Yet it's the same cold that draws me forward, easing from my bed, a bit slower now in middle years, but know they'll soon be magic, a quiet world, a few hours undisturbed by even my own opinions, thoughts being brief and passing, as if my mind has been cleansed by the cold morning air - and only my soul remains in silence. 

a deeper quiet prevails,

and for this...

I wake early, eager for the morning. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Touch of Light

Touch of light: 

it's been warm lately, early November and has felt much more like the first beginning of fall and not so near the start of winter. But the days are shorter now, less light for the sun's appreciation, and deep down I feel the approach of colder weather and darkness of the season's mood. I'm not limited to just a few months depression, it's not seasonal, yet winter strikes me harsh and a certain sadness seems to linger a bit longer than other times of the year, being harder for me to the coldness from my bones. So I am grateful for this touch of light, a last reach of the sun's warmth and comfort. 

I don't take this light for granted.

well, that's not entirely true, there's an assumption here on my behalf, I know that light will always somehow reach me and that's been my one true salvation. In a sense, for me at least, depression has always been seasonal and subject to the change of light. It has never paralyzed me as it has for so many others, keeping me completely in the dark, remote from others, motionless as the world passes. There's always been this hope for the return of light, and I know how blessed I am by this, that overall depression is less acute for me than it is for some others, and that to even have this hope for light is a gift that somehow keeps the worst away. I've seen how severe depression can be, darkness so bleak, not a hint of light remains, with no hope for its return at all. 

I don't take this hope for granted. 

or really, it's faith, I simply know how my inner seasons work now, there's been a lifetime of swings from darkness to light, recognizing the signs of my depression, just as same as that first hint of brown frames an early autumn leaf, there's a sense that it's presence is near, some longer days of darkness are approaching. I now take greater self-care, not to keep depression at bay, but to prepare myself for its length of stay, a reminder to have faith that light returns to me. 

I don't take this faith for granted. 

so now, winter's near, these last few days of warmth and sun have reached me, providing me with just enough hope, a bit of faith....

and I am grateful for this touch of light. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Sacred Topic

Sacred topic. 

politics, it's a topic I seldom turn to here, reserving this place for subjects held sacred to me, my own expression of art, spirit, thoughts on meditation, nature and science. My interest is in exploring and writing of these themes through poetry and prose. Yet politics is an interest as well, having a passion for a better world, safer, and protective of its environment and people. 

it's sacred topic too.

of course it doesn't often feel that way, so much infighting and squabbling over petty issues far from the needs of people and planet. Science and facts too often seem dismissed, as does the well-being of those less fortunate among us, people struggling for a proper living, seeking a better life through immigration, or simply holding on to certain rights that should be inalienable by law. Yes, politics is a sacred topic by these virtues, worthy of poetry and prose, and I will allow myself turn my attention here more often, writing further on these lines of interest.

right now, it's my usual early writing time, right after a long stretch of meditation, enjoying coffee and the quiet sounds about me. It's the morning after election night and I've yet to check results, anticipating a change of power that might upset the very very fabric of the country, taking a mean spirited turn towards harming a women's right to reproductive choice, refusing to even acknowledge the environmental crisis, harmful treatment of those seeking asylum, and a frightening embrace of true authoritarian figures. These are hard times for democracy, for the protection of our rights and the safety of the planet. As of now, I have no idea in which direction the country has turned. 

it's often said that it's a split electorate, a much divided nation. I'm not sure I believe it, the population itself trends towards an advance in science and education, having deep environmental concerns, strong desires to help the less fortunate. None of that is really political, it's basic human values, compassion, caring for the planet, for our neighbors. Those are sacred topics, and with politics being the means that we can be most helpful to the largest extent possible. Sadly though, it's turned tribal, and us vs. them mentally penetrating deep within the soul of the nation. It's now, at this pivotal point, that politics must return to it's truly sacred origins, governing from the heart, individually as well as collectively. Honestly, I don't know how to do this, not overall at least, not on such a large and overwhelming scale. 

but I do know how to write, to express myself creatively lending my voice to poetry and prose.

to write of sacred topics. 

and so I free myself to write of politics, my own way, through my own voice and terms, expressing my view in a unique and creative way. Politics itself is simple, it's about one thing only and that's helping the people that it represents, it's not meant to be given a fake power to wield against others, not even those who appear to be another, different tribe; There are no enemies here. None. Only a lack of understanding, a failure of education and outreach of compassion. We are of one tribe, and it's truly universal, inclusive, and extends to the deep roots that hold us to the planet. 

finishing this, my early morning writing and last sip of coffee - and soon the news will greet me, I'll see which way our nations turned. These are scary times, so much is unknown as to how each political decision immediately effects us let alone for generations yet to come. But we know the right choice, deeply so, even if it's layered by tribalism and the false narrative of media and beliefs preached to us by others. The choice is always kindness, difficult at times, yes, but never impossible, and not quite naive as we imagine. Politics is the voice of sacred subjects, it's our voice and it's time that we reclaim it. 

and now, my own voice expressed...

I'll meet the day. 

~

Peace, Eric 

A Few Words

A few words: 

it only takes a few words, my obligation isn't to fill the page, but only to note it briefly with my presence, showing that I arrived so early in the morning to allow myself this creative moment. Art is for its own sake, and the first commitment is always to simply show up, prepared for inspiration, being ready to capture whatever words or visions that happen to appear. Before dawn is best for this, being an instant between worlds, and with a hush that seems almost holy in its feel - it's the perfect time for poets to receive words, a shaman's time, a mystic's, it's when inspiration is heard most deep and clearly. 

and it only takes a few words.

the promise I made years ago, several decades now, was to write daily, making no excuses, not allowing myself to be concerned by inspiration, trusting in its presence, that it appears when I show up and commit myself to simply sit, listening to the silence of the early morning. My promise has little to do with writing anything of great meaning, there's just a mere hope for something of beauty - and all that's ever been asked for is a few words to show, confirming my faith in inspiration's presence, and to then leave a note behind that fulfills my promise to be here, listening, willing to receive those few words given.

not a single day's been missed.

it's been a fairly easy promise to keep, there's no pressure as to what's to be written, no count of words, nothing to be achieved. I'm writing for the sake of writing, a practice without purpose aside from joy, the happiness of being true to the nature of my dharma. I'm a writer, not by declaration, and certainly not by anything I've written before, the past has no hold on my present inspiration - I am a writer because of these few words now written, a brief note, and that I showed up this morning, sitting, listening, patient, having faith in inspiration's presence. 

I am a writer...

because I'm here. 

~

Peace, Eric