silent thunder

i write this, staring at a box, while sitting in a box. typing letters onto a keyboard made of small inverted boxes. that when pressed, store letters in the box of a computer. the words are made available to other boxes. your attention may stray upon them, while staring at your own box of lights. box life. we form in a womb we are born in a box we grow up in a box we live in a box often with locks where we voluntarily lock ourselves in at night... to be safe born in a box. we go to school in a box. to learn about life... in a box. then we go to work in a box. earning money to pay for a box. in which to voluntarily lock ourselves in, to sleep at night we wake up in a box. eating food from a box. that was stored in a box. within a room that is a box. in the home that is a box, with locks. make babies in a box go on vacation and travel from box to box, in a box... perhaps the occasional tube... take pictures with a box. watch movies on a box. transition to death and get viewed... in a box. we put lots of stuff in boxes. made in factories that are boxes. stored in boxes of rooms stacked in giant warehouse buildings... that are boxes. deliver the boxes to other boxes, in moving boxes. store our food in cold boxes. or boxes hung on the wall. keep our utensils in boxes. our tools in boxes. our clothes in boxes. then we shit in a wet porcelain hole and send that... to a box. my son goes to a box for 6-10 hours a day for 13-20 years and at the end of that, he's expected to go out into the world and be prepared for and excel at life... and is expected to know what box he wants to voluntarily sit in for the next 40 years, so he can earn money in order to 'pay' for another box that he can voluntarily lock himself inside at night to eat, sleep and be 'safe' in... box life.

boxes... often keep my valuables in them yet, i'm constantly being told to think outside one... as for dicks... george pretty much nails it.

ancillarily... we keep our criminals, in boxes but the bullets and bombs we use to stop them, are dick shaped... hmm.

I love stories... here's one. there once was a policeman who beat his drum and chanted "i am coming for you criminal!" ah yes... very practical.

The fish trap exists because of the fish. Once you've gotten the fish you can forget the trap. The rabbit snare exists because of the rabbit. Once you've gotten the rabbit, you can forget the snare. Words exist because of meaning. Once you've gotten the meaning, you can forget the words. Where can I find a man who has forgotten words so I can talk with him? ~ Zhuangzi

How does one drop a heavy bag that one is tired of carrying?

I don't use conscious awareness to pump my heart, regulate my hormone distribution and production, grow my nails and hair, digest meals, regrow bone material, replace/repair worn out tissue, develop organs and skeletal/nerve structures in the womb... The processes of life, take place beneath the threshold of 'conscious local awareness'... So is conscious awareness all that important? Or is it an easily awareness consuming passtime with little input into the raw process of life? Like the phones seem to be?

The Vikings were a people of Fate. You died on the day you would die and never before. No amount of struggle would prevent it. And no amount of folly would compel it prematurely. They conveyed the notion of one's life to being in a river. You can swim, you can wade, you can submerge, but you are in the river. You can swim with the current, looking downstream trying to avoid obstacles, or you can strain and swim against the current and bump along while blindly looking back upstream. You are still in the river. The river will carry you, no matter what you do, or don't do along the course of the river. you will flow with the river. you and the river are one flow. the river holds your fate and your fate is unavoidable. This irks most folks who like the notion of great individual power being demostrated through the process of choice. Causing them to reject it. Understandable and fine. But one of the main admirations and terrifying aspects of encountered Northmen and women (not Vikings, Viking is a term that is a verb, it means to 'go adventuring... Northmen went Viking, they weren't Vikings), anyway this fearlessness in the face of death of Northmen was their unnatural lack of fear of death. Given to them through their mental relationship to this allegory of the River of Fate. This notion of fate, of the river that carries one along the path of life afforded them a freedom from fear that was admirable and enviable in some aspects. If it's my time to die, there's no escaping it, embrace it and 'ride the ride' to the Valkyrie's Embrace. If it's not my time to die, there's no inducing it, live in freedom and 'ride the ride' to the fullest. Life is relational... how we relate determines the qualities of our experience The river is likened to the conditions of life, about which we have little, no control. These aspects of life act upon us and carry us along in life. We can twist and turn, 'make choices' within the flow of the conditions of life, the river, yet the banks of the river lie beyond our ken of perception and outside our modest sensual organs and methods of interaction and 'control'. Death is not a savage denial of life. But the full release back into Love. Death is Love in its fullest sense, for me. Life is an acquisitional, greedy process, always taking and imbibing and consuming. Death, is the ultimate loving, giving all, returning to the sea, to source and unfoldingness in raw essence. Death loves so much, she waits endlessly, patiently to allow the inevitable, unfolding, all encompassing embrace. Pure bliss...

'woke' this morning with these successive thoughts floating in mind, before coming to da bums here and being re-minded of this thread... the qualities of the external experiential world are dependent entirely upon the organs of perception through which the interpretation of the range of energies these organs accomodate and relate to are processed... the world as thought about, as talked about, is not the world as it is conscious mind, sensual awareness is not the world as it is but the world as related to. It is the world as it relates to our sensing and interpretational processes it is relational as a skin on a drum conveys sound when struck is relational to the skin, the hand and the ear that hears... without the skin, no amount of force will bring noise without striking, no noise without ears... reflection, relational of the primal love or despise, all seems to arise from one source the differences lie in the interpretation and depend in large part on the method of interpretation, or the nature of the organ through which the relation of the nature of experience is acquired/interacted with drum skin, hand and sounds blood, organs and sensations life, forms and awareness

lol... extrasensory... synchronicity

soundtrack of my life last few daze...

the thunder that arises in true silence... so soul shatteringly loud... i was certain that should the roar of it not break, were it to endure moments longer, then my sense of self, surely would break. sound beyond sound... roaring in utter silence. of few things have i ever experienced such surety... but the thunder within that silence was so penetrating that were it to saturate me any further, i, as a sensing, thinkable thing, as a being... would simply cease. the name derives from a description of the memory of the roaring silence my wife and i experienced, an experience of pure, piercing silence. death is for me a lover, the most adoring... death is the ultimate giving of one's very self back to the soil. life seems inherently acquisitional, almost greedy by its virtue and traits of ever imbibing and consuming other life. thunder in silence love in decay bliss in emptiness

relishing the reemergence of psychedelic and funk... live in london... so. much. yes.

of the universe... formerly perceived 'out there'... unveils now, within

Boy do I resonate with you Brother. For yeeeears it was resist! Acceptance was not possible. Acknowledgement though, that was already happening and became, rather welcome, became my bridge to acceptance eventually. For long years, from myriad books, lectures, satsangs, my mind knew acceptance was the process to my freedom. And for those long years, while the flea was screaming 'this is is!', the elephant wasn't listening. Void of any but random happenstance responses from time to time. There was no practical method of application in my life in the present moment, day to day, when i needed it to impact my life. Simply Couldn't 'manufacture it'. Some things were inherently beyond accepting, no matter the passion or certainty of my intention, or how much my logical, conscious mind appreciated the simple truth of it. How to live it? How to manufacture what one was not? How to feel acceptance? for the inherently unacceptable? this koan has roasted my awareness most of my conscious life. Acknowledgement arrived instead of acceptance. After years of yearning for a method. Acknowledge came naturally. Eventually it revealed itself as a deeply appreciated inroad into presence. To engagin in the now. The most practical. Always available and utterly natural to me. I could acknowledge whatever occured. And then I could acknowledge my response. It was a cycle that gathered inertia and minimalized the incessant need to conjure stories of judgement that used to spin in my mind for days, weeks, yeeears in some cases. Acknowledging and not feeding became a natural method. Resulted in all this 'letting go' I spew nonstop lol. Now, rather than dance away in denial, or rise up in fierce resistance, or wither in despair, or wallow in sadness, or thrill in manic happiness, i acknowledge. And when my response arises, i acknowledge this as well. Both are utterly natural occurances. Unpleasant or joyous. Many expressions. One face.

Heyokah Hey! Today is a Good Day!

Wow my friend! Such poignancy! your words ring like a bell for me, through me. Recognition and resonation of similarity and familiarity. Thank you for sharing!

I do not seek my death now, but when she comes, I will not flee her. I will turn wholly to her smiling and reach out with such love! I will smile and flow into her embrace with such love... that it will take all of me to express it fully. And i will give it in such joy as i have never experienced in the acquiring side of livingness. Life is at its core to me, an acquisitional flow. Imbibing, consuming, reaching and seeking and bringing in. It is a greedy process. Death is love in its ultimate unfolding. Giving all.

It is a beautiful day to die! Don't often talk about this one, it earns me blank stares, and drawback. Though this is the place for it, if any... thank you for sharing this @manitou! It is a good day to die. All days are... On my birthday some years back, my gal and I went for a walk on the beach before breaking fasts. We'd parked the car and were strolling up to the beach, across a driveway when a flutterby approached me, veritably introducing herself. I smiled, greeted her, opened my hand in front of me, chest high, near her. She landed in my palm... and moments later, died. It was a shatteringly potent moment for me, so simple. So natural. So beautiful. I carried her body with me for several minutes and left her near the beach head for some bird's breakfast. Death is love... pure as can be... Life is greedy, acquisitional, but decay, decay is giving, death is love. Shortly after it occured to me that I'd been drawn to decay for some time. Whether walking through the neighborhood, or at the beach. My eyes drawn perpetually to focus on the decay, to the dead. No specific reason why. No thoughts in particular... until this one. Life is acquisitional, it is always acquiring and imbibing and seeking that which it will take into itself. Death is giving, the utter giving back what has been acquired. Decay is the act of ultimate giving. Death is love... purest way I've experienced it. Death is life. All life, derives it's energy through the acquisition of life... be it vegetarian, carnivore, or omnivore. All life feeds on life and derives its vibrancy through the decay of life. To realize this was akin to my experience of no longer seeing forms, but focusing on the space around the forms. For some time wherever I went, while at that very spot on the beach, I'd been drawn to watch the decay and ceased staring at the ocean with its humpbacks and dolphins and waves. I found myself perpetually seeking out the dry, brown dead stalks and the silver decaying ice plants (rich desert succulents with fat vibrant deep green leaves) that grow along the ridge line leading down to the beach proper. As ice plants decay, their decaying parts turn a rather vibrant silvery color, and peak out in poignant contrast from the vibrant green of the live plants that sit atop them. Their silvery smooth decay shines more brightly for me than the vibrant, spongy, vital green leaves. And from that moment i understood why... this realization was dawning in that time. Seeping out to conscious local awareness through the depth of the wisdom of the body. Death is the ultimate giving back, the beautiful unfolding with no holding back. How much love is there!!! It shames an unfolding flower! Life is grabby, acquiring and greedy by its very nature. Always imbibing and drawing into itself... whereas decay... such bouyant, unfolding of givingness. I tell you, there is a longing in me now, since this realization rang that only the unfolding of death and decay will quench. I've never had a fear of death, based on my earliest memory of this life; but now... now i anticipate her as a bridegroom awaiting the approach of his bride in their private chamber. Longing for the embrace, not in a way that denies my livingness, nor hurries or that in any manner depreciates living, quite the opposite. I anticipate her to bring me into wholeness. To finally become all of life wholly and completely as the ultimate expression of love unfolding, the completion of a cycle and the giving back of what i have held onto in the living part of the process. Shatteringly beautiful. No part is left untouched by this realization. It is a good, beautiful day to die indeed!

after 'sharing the news' with a few friends...

me... reading the awesome tidbits shared here

over, and over, and gratefully... over again, and again... for decades...

"All my life I've been waiting for, I've been praying for, for the people to say 'That we don't wanna fight no more. There'll be no more war.' And our children will play. One day One day One day"