silent thunder

From my be ing... ? I appreciate that in english we call ourselves human beings, not human doings, or human havings... that seems significant to me. The life/decay contradiction is a palpable one. Part of my body is always decomposing, while others are still growing. Life energy is nourished by the decay of other life. life and decay are what comprise my being?

the rules reveal themselves as such: if there is a box, it's definitely part of the game. unless of course... otherwise revealed in the rules.

Phones are tools. Like a knife, or a pencil. I am conversing with a dear friend daily/regularly, trying to aid him in fielding his emotions and thoughts as he transitions through a painful divorce. The stakes of this conversation, taking place for about a year now, has evolved our friendship from one of workmates who had a lot in common... to one of deep abiding kinship. Texting is the majority of our communication. We work freelance and often work together, but also go for months without seeing one another. A verbal conversation is now always an option. We talk when we can, but much of this conversation has played out through texts. Due to the nature of the topic, it's not always possible to talk without affecting others in the home environment, texting is a wonderful option. Allows as well, for the formation of thoughts intact, without interruptibility. I suspect thinking shifts with the mode of communication. Mind operates differently in writing than speaking for me. Tao is present in all things, yet indistinguishable. Meaning is what it is in my mind, provided by the storyteller. The storyteller defines what means what according to the story created from the stimulus. I have developed cherished friendships all across the globe due to this dao bums interface, so like my phone, but larger. How i use a tool seems to determine its nature. This seems exemplified at how often many other objects are transformed into hammers when a hammer is needed. Does the knife cut? Does the pencil draw? without the hand applying pressure directed by Mind? What cuts? Knife? Mind? Hand? Knife never cuts itself it seems. Pencil can't draw itself. from where does meaning arise? what is the source of the story we live?

not things but happenings? be com ings? th ing happen ing becom ing ing. My ancestors had a symbol for ing. They named it 'inguz'. It symbolizes the force flowing through our bodies and minds, driving us to connect through our personal innate pleasure of being alive and bring the next generation to manifestation. be to exist come movement relational/subjectivity ing a process an unfolding presence un fold ing perhaps we are ings, inging ings...

I pictured it like a series of buckets, tiered over one another. Cultivate to acquire energy to fill them up, overflow them, store, horde and maintain energy... that sort of thing. Feel vital? Buckets are full. Simple. Feel shitty? Buckets empty. Simple. Looking back I see the wholly unsustainable tension inherent in that model. A fear based, materialistic notion of gaining, hording, losing energies, having energy stolen or leaked, worry, constant need to oversee and remain watchful. lol... the high energy and certainty of youth. Seeing and relating to the energy body as another material body (same shape even), just more ephemeral than the one typing these symbols now. This model crumbled painfully, gratefully and spectacularly under its own tension. Then the buckets were replaced with ideas of tubes. Tubes that could constrict, or expand to account for vitality or weakness... tubes that still kind of flowed into buckets. More of same really, but a new awareness in the relation to the constriction/expansion that replaced the notion of empty and full buckets. Flow constricted, feel shitty. Flow expanded, feel amazing. I'd found a similar tune sung in another octave. Still much tension in the tubes, obligations to cleanse them, worry over potential sources of constriction that then become sources of... constriction. More crumbling. Pain and relief simultaneously. As uncertainty has expanded, stress has diminished. Certainty breeds tension in me it seems apparent now. Then there were streams and rivers, that led into eddies and pools. Tubes and buckets gone. The flow of the streams converging into rivers naturally. Energy flows as it flows, not as directed. Allowed to be and go without forcing, seeking or obsessively directing. Flowing through banks of... hmm what are the banks made of? what is the river made of? Fuck... constriction. sneaky devil... Lately it's light. Light that flows like warm oil, or cascades like stars made of sound. Varying colors of light flowing directionally as rivers and directionlessly as isness, depending it seems on awareness and identification with sensation. Patterns of light flowing into, diverging. Light of myriad variety as tangible as they are ephemeral. Gold light, white light, lavenders and blues lately. Swimming in light. Unfolding as light. Made of light, singing out light in thoughts and words and deeds... deeds and movements generating light. verbs verbing verbs...

relishing the heat in the paradox hot tub! i find i don't mind... that it's actually soup! who's the main ingredient? when i eat of the world, it becomes me? so the land is now me, from the fruit of the tree? is it cannabalism if i'm consuming me? ****************** relishing the heat in the paradox hot tub i find i don't mind i find i don't mind that it's actually soup comprised of just me for all that i eat transforms into me you see not i into it yet are we not we?

mmm. paradox for breakfast... again.

exactly

hmm... are whirlpools made of water?

yummy paradoxicals water constant in everchanging... unchangingly changeable afternoon mate!

deeply appreciating contradictions lately. reveling, dancing through paradox. sublime it seems grateful when perceptual projections do not reconcile readily so: if change is constant... as it seems in localized mind constancy is changability? if change is constant.. what is it that changes? and if change is constant... this is unchanging change? where does change occur? in reality what never changes? does it, can it register in awareness? is awareness unchanging? seems all things change, and this is a constant. so: seems my concept of constant is... somehow suddenly suspect.

even if i never went hungry or thirsty even if my wife and son and all my (remaining) friends outlive me even if my investments grow vast and my house never crumbles in earthquake or fire even if i never lose another cherished bauble of memory even i remain able bodied as i age this body will grow age, this body will cease and there will be discomfort this body, born from the molten remnants of a bursting star every story ends the same... the star of the movie dies in the end. such treasure as life to have had the chance to even share words and ideas let alone a lifetime of hardships and victories with friends and foes alike such treasure. unimaginable bliss that there should be something instead of nothing

Hear you on the harsh aspects. It can be relentless. Reminds me of this. But I sense the folks 'lost' in phones now, would be no less disconnected, without the phone to focus on... They'd be just as checked out from connecting locally by looking at a magazine, reading a book, obsessing over some thought of their own devising, or something someone said, or what they wanted to buy, or pissed about what they wanted to buy but couldn't afford... instead, they are obsessing not about a thought of their own devising, but they are consuming other's thoughts through their phones, instead of magazines, books, newspapers. Phones are the magazine/movie theater/television/radio/newspaper/telephone all in one. But seem a symptom, not the source. Remember when we used to connect on the subway or the bus? Ugh, not me mate... I've always been a loner in most public settings, though very gregarious in private. As someone who used to draw much unwanted attention, I cultivated invisibility for years, before achieving some deeply relieving success. Rode the bus to University in Minnesota, and used the Subway for seven years in Brooklyn. I didn't leave the brownstone without a book and a walkman to keep folks at bay... (lol walkman!). The only thing they weren't good at distracting awareness from, was smells... dear god the smells in NYC in the summer. walking around lately feels a lot like this me. and I connect with a few folks now, whether shopping or wandering. but it's rare. true, undistracted presence is a rare gift indeed. i cherish it and return it in kind when i encounter it. I find folks who encounter me in this blissed out state and notice me, regularly avoid me, it's cute. My son says between my very slow gate, penchant for squatting and staring at seemingly mundane things for long periods and the blissed out grin that I come across as a very stoned viking who's wandered in from another century. It was my son who taught me that the only thing he ever craved of me as a toddler, was my attention and presence. The toys, stories were secondary. He craved connection. He knew what is real.

patterns recognized in local awareness... my storyteller always has a story ready it seems. thinking in english... tends to require mind to associate an assumption with reality... that verbs arise from nouns that create them. the whirlpool swirls. the girl plays. a man sings... which for me, seems like a list of all verbs... verbs verbing verbs are there any nouns? nouns are verbs are they not? patterns comprised of patterns within patterns ever shifting, changing, adapting among co-arising conditions is Self shifting? what abides that never changes?

does a whirlpool exist? is it a thing? or a happening?

Good stuff mate. I find such windows in my house. They are open briefly, but the view is earth shatteringly potent. There particularly seems a choicelessness in this state, a pure connected mindlessness as I recall my experiences, where though mind has gone utterly quiet, awareness is never more vibrant. Full presence. Where pure, authentic relevant action arises spontaneously without thought and flows without any perceived effort. Action, utterly pertinent to the exact conditions co-arising, as no story gets in the way, the storyteller is quiet, mind is blank, open and simply reflecting all. Clarity. Appropriate action arises naturally, action flows without tension or resistance of any kind. Pure action. In recall the words 'touches tao' seem to fit. Only after the window closes and identified mind returns, does the storytelling restart and the anaysis of what occured transpires. Time particularly reveals its seemingly fluid, subjective nature when experienced through such windows. And to specify, not mindless with the slightly pejorative western connotation of dumb and unconnected. Mindless in the eastern sense of vibrantly unobstructed, wholly present and aware without judgemental storyteller present. The kind of raw awareness where false notions we tend to identify with in daily sleeping life, evaporate in awake presence. Reminds me of Kali who, tongue drooling blood, dances on the reclining form of Shiva. Holding the severed head of 'identification with form' in one of her hands, severed by the sword of enlightened true seeing held in another. She also bears many gifts in her myriad other arms, for those capable of severing the head of mis-identification of absolute truth and self to receive. She typifies to my identified mind the truth I've experienced in moments returning to tao... of pure action/presence. And that is... when experiencing god, tao, awen... one transcends identified mind, forms, and notions of concepts. Like returning to the state of a child. Raw. Pure unobstructed presence. Beingness.

fascinating. don't recall considering it quite so simply... but it seems nothing really is permanent, isn't it? nothing being no thing, does not change, thus... seems permanent.

this. looped... until further notice. eta: so much yes. lyrics if interested: Album

in trying to share what is experiential it seems mind must intellectualize it aaaaand it's gone. when intellectualized... what was being conveyed... no longer present cannot be conveyed words will never suffice it seems the word water will not slake thirst though mind knows that word represents... an aspect of reality. and yet the thought is wholly unreal? mind is mind mind directs finger finger points to moon finger directs mind moon is moon who points at whom?

This is akin to how it feels when my awareness is co=opted utterly by the presence of some magnificent trees. I gasp audibly, sometimes stunning and alerting folks I'm walking with not accustomed to me. It's not a passive thing... it's visceral. active. and soooo deeply appreciated.

ok

nothing was taken negatively only answering of a question then some explaining of said answer and how it arose in localized awareness why do you think the world is so messed up? i don't think the world is so messed up. there may be discomfort there may be pain this does not mean there must, or will be suffering. suffering is a crisis of perception a product of the storyteller

Missing @Zen Pig. Good belly laughs and keen insights.