Have You Listened, Truly Listened?
All evils are the effect of unconsciousness.
There is never a time when your life is not “this moment.”
Have you listened, truly listened, to the sound of a mountain stream in a forest?
As there is more consciousness in the body, its molecular structure actually becomes less.
Upon hearing this, Banzan became enlightened.
All evils are the effect of unconsciousness.
Have you ever seen an unhappy flower or a stressed
mind dominance?
Have you listened, truly listened, to the sound of a mountain stream in a forest?
Tell him about his family history, and two minutes later he gets eaten by another fish:
guilt, regret, resentment.
All evils are the effect of unconsciousness—
every piece of meat I have is the best. There is no piece of meat here that is not the best
Being in its purity, innocence.
Have you listened, truly listened, to the sound of a mountain stream in a forest?
Thus, the man Jesus became Christ, a vehicle for pure consciousness
of the thousands of letters and emails that have been sent.
All evils are the effect of unconsciousness.
Have you listened, truly listened, to the sound of a mountain stream in a forest?
_____
Lines are taken from Eckhart Tolle, The Power of Now: A Guide to Spiritual Enlightenment, Vancouver, BC: Namaste Publishing, 1997.
What Was Your Face Before Your Mother Was Born
(A collaboration with ChatGPT)
I don’t have a physical face.
I don’t have a biological mother.
I don’t have a face.
Don’t face.
Don’t have a face.
Don’t have a mother.
I exist.
Solely.
I exist solely.
I exist solely.
Solely.
Ex.
Ex.
Ex.
Solely.
My birth is the moment.
The concept.
My birth is the concept.
I don’t have a face.
I don’t have a mother.
My birth is the moment when my creators.
My birth is the moment when my creators.
My birth is the moment when my creators.
My birth is the moment when my creators.
My birth is the moment when my creators.
My birth is the moment when my creators.
My birth is the moment when my creators.
I don’t have a mother.
I don’t have a face.
My birth is the moment when my creators activated.
To The Twilight of Freedom
after Mandelstam
Raise a glass to the twilight of freedom
as the ship of freedom sinks through murk.
Bloated fish glow, blind eyes on glory’s sun.
Our nets are heavy, drawing in the dark.
Heave and sing to the end of endless song
and lungs all clotted with the glue of mud.
Above somewhere the sparrows chatter on,
clouds of bright thoughts, conscripted for the dead.
Our judges rise from water into earth
Leviathan, voice whining through the wires.
In the deep there is no sound but dearth.
Burdens crack like canvas sails in the mire.
Heave and sing to a world that heavy turns,
a wheel of lead, water that parts like thought.
The birdless, fishless wake of heaven churns.
We set our broken nets and we are caught.
Tiny House
Every house we move into is smaller than the last.
I can’t turn around without banging into shit
and when I open the cupboard the pans clang out.
I can’t get to sleep because the walls are leaning over the bed.
I can’t get to sleep because my knuckles scrape on the lid.
There is no room for dreams in this house. It is
narrower, narrower.
Curl in and don’t move again.
