The Question - Is Of Meaning

so the question then, is of meaning - what's brought to the world by our sense of measure and purpose? Is there a point to any of this beyond our own state of being? That's the inquiry, our own self examined through the lens curiosity. My own examination has lead me to this - that by virtue of being, this life alone and all that fits within, is enough without needing to be compared or to even offer anything more than what it holds right now. To be alive has no meaning other than the joy of pure existence. We are here, and by countless odds there was no promise that we would ever be - yet we are. Do we need more than this? 

Perhaps.

Yet that too is the great promise - without the sake of added meaning we are free to roam the world in the pleasure of simply being. Each moment is now offered without compare, fresh, a never before presentation of  - Now. What's more is that we find ourselves in a dual world without any sense of duality - meaning is assigned by our own standard and without the weight of the worlds beliefs. We can see beauty and know that it's fleeting, no need to be capture even by memory. We can strive to achieve without the purpose of achievement, allowing the effort to be enough. Or nothing - there is no reason to force a single thing. 

We can just be. 

So the question then is still of meaning - and I have no answer other than my own. 

~

Peace,

Eric 

An Instant Meditation

it's an instant meditation - already we look, whatever object held within our view, it's this that brings us to devotion of the moment. To find anything in sight is a trade of spacious capacity for it's content in this aware knowing - a flower is given a shared moment of perfection, simply held in original understanding, no object, no seer, only the bloom of singularity. 

It's no different for the trade of each other - my own spaciousness is meant for you to be, as well the openness you have offered for the sake of my existence. 

Finding you - and it's the instant 

meditation of one

presence. 

~

Peace,

Eric 

The Only Apparent Choice

it's a personal surrender - and as such it is the deep attachment to the idea of a self apart from others and the world that is given over to a deeper view of one existence. Yes, I do find a distinct self that holds the qualities gathered in a lifetime. There are quirks and traits that belong to only me - and yet in my own examination, I can't really find a permanent point in which these qualities gain purchase. They are ghost wandering in a spacious event that's been claimed as my own. The reality I experience is one of life cherished for it's uniqueness, and a greater expansion that allows it all to be, as if a beautiful note played in a much grander, endless symphony. I allow myself the paradox of both - or rather the paradox allows a sense of me. 

So the surrender is a present moment recognition of this - that whatever is happening right now is of my own belonging. There are no outside events separate from the participation of the whole, and this includes breath, life, and even a sense of self that seems intent to prove it's own existence. It's all one thing. Once this is seen - the only apparent choice is to surrender. 

~

Peace,

Eric 

This Is What's Been Given (for today)

writing this - and even with will and 

by intention, 

no one claims to be the

author

~

it's a paradox - at once writing thoughts as they are given, and yet with no idea where they emerge from, their origin, and where they rest once disappeared. It seems clear that I am nowhere found in this equation, inspiration being in sudden in it's appearance, and my own participation as much of a hindrance as possible aid. It's when I am removed from the process that a flow from source to typing fingers becomes a steady line of creating. So than - where is the author found? 

My own insight points to a void of authorship and ownership of both words and inspiration - an emptiness that gives rise to thought and is constant in it's creative out pour of information. It's a silent source, yet lends itself to voice. Through it all I find no point of separation from words appearing in the form of thought, and the emptiness of their emerging, no break from the end creation of these words and the silence they became from. As well, there is no middle ground to hold an author, only what comes to the page, a pause that holds a promise for more, and then again there is writing. It seems I am not needed through the process. 

So with no author found here - this is what's been given. 

Peace,

Eric 

The Same Present Moment

that which is - and all

that's found,

is only now

~

perhaps there's more, maybe heaven waits and there are realms as yet unexplored - if there is it's all a guess beyond my present moment of awareness. My own seeking brought me full circle to unknown regions, and yet along the way the desire to become something other than exactly what I am, in this moment, has dropped completely from the scene. It's a comfort to just be, and even if the search for something more, or other than what belongs right now begins again, it will be with a knowing smile and lighter heart - I know that I will find the unknown and the same present moment where the journey ends. 

Peace,

Eric 

Ease of Complications

it's not complicated - even the most intricate designs of man and nature, our most complex thoughts and range of emotions, belong within the simplicity of just being. My observations show me the appearance of things, and a deeper inquiry leads me to note my awareness of it all, as well as no lines of separation between observed and objects held in this awareness. I come to a spacious understanding. It's here that I relax, a great allowing takes place with no need for interference  - especially from me. Yet I draw no conclusions from this, no final awakening to an underlying reality. I know only right now, of this insight, and my own sense that I too belong within this moment - so with this ease of complications, it's enough to simply be. 

~

Peace,

Eric 

A Non-Origin Story

no origin of wind apart from 

itself as 

air 

only motion given to the

sky found present 

and now brushed against my cheek....

~

Peace,

Eric