The One With Water and Duck Metaphors. The Dino Is Mentioned.

03/31/2006 7:32 AM - 7:54 AM

-I know and am convinced by the Lord Jesus that there is nothing unclean of itself; but to him who considers anything to be unclean, to him it is unclean- and what did he mean by that? Context, they say, context. But there it is and Paul wasn’t the best for respecting the context. But –who then is Paul, and who is Apollos?- We just pick it up and go. We smell the cool, clean breeze that passes by the window.

What will I do? I’ll know when I get there. Just put some aside and go with it. What is it that you’re wondering? What is it that disturbs the surface? The fish deep down only feel a gentle pull that is there then gone. The boats on the surface are thrown and smashed. Eventually, we all sink down to the level of the sleeping rock. But that is faith, and an unorthodox faith at that. We venture out on the path with little assurance. Is it our nature to do so? Is it a divine mandate? Is it an accident – further effects of the minute fluctuations of the trench seaweed quanta? Pick it up and set it down. Set it down and pick it up. Listen to the Dino and slide deeper into the sleeping bag.

Where were you just that second ago? It was fine. Come back to fine. The ripples scatter and are reabsorbed into the ripple-maker. It isn’t a matter of putting on the brakes, remember that. It’s just taking your foot off the gas and watching. Watching all the girls, watching all the girls walk by. Never forget, it’s just a song: the trumpet swells and then falls off. Say, “thank you,” and get up from the table. Do the dishes and then watch TV and have a cocktail. There’s this. Just this here. What do you want? Why do you want? Where is the spark kept? But do you deny the existence of the spark? Do you know, one way or the other? It looks like a duck, walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck. But it’s only a movie of a duck. And a cartoon at that. So foolish to be fooled! Odd though. Because it’s still a duck. What do you want to be when you grow up? Haven’t you figured that out yet? You are what you want to be when you grow up. There’s that breeze again. It smells like the dawn. It smells like the spring. It smells like today. Close your eyes and inhale, floating through the star-filled water. It’s all right here. You can’t catch it; you can only make a home for it and invite in to stay. It’s all right here.

Which Is A Further Reifying Of the Primacy of Doubt

03/28/2006 7:13 AM – 7:35 AM

What is it? What is it that you’re looking for? Is it the fact? Is it the emotional experience? Set doubt there. Doubt everything. Even your own being. What will not smash when dropped? What will not break no matter how hard you shake it? Is there anything? We pick up and start again. We remember that all we are doing is noticing that the air comes in and the air goes out.

What is it that there is to fear? Is there death and hell thereafter? Is there marriage and regret thereafter? Who was it that you were waiting for when you decided to settle on the one you were with? Wasn’t it She? There is no She. There is no Spoon. There is only this spoon. There is only this she. Love is transient. Romance is a moment that is gone like the pretty girl on the other side of the counter. The scent of her perfume lingers, and then, it too is gone. There was a moment when you were there. There was a moment when all the universe sang in perfect harmony of your blessed enchantment. But it was only a moment. That moment is gone and a new moment is, creeping in with the air that whistles through your nostrils so amusingly.

She was here and now she’s gone. You were there and now you’re here. Will you give up, give in, settle for what is on your plate? You already have. Are you nothing more than an automotion? Where is your data? Where is your proof? Neither side will win. We cannot know. The act of observing changes the experience. There are no pure experiments. So grow up. Or grow down and let your root obtain food from the dead matter. There is only this and now it’s gone. So be it. So be it because it is and there is no other way. Recognize yourself in the squirrel, dead in the road, so long dead that it can’t rot anymore. Recognize yourself in the boulder in the park, never living, never dying, without joy, without sorrow. Recognize yourself in the hands you see before you. They are your own, but they care nothing for the girl. Feed them through the bloodstream. Wash them when they are dirty. Moisturize them when they are dry. Do not crush them. Do not overwork them. And there is your foot. And there, your knee. If the scientists are right, there is your brain and there your heart. Ask these organs if they care for the girl. What then is it that loves her? What then is it that rejects all others in pursuit of her excellence? Where are you? Where do you reside? Then let it go and be. This breath. This breath. This breath.

So this is what I'm reading right now.

Great doubt, great faith. Little doubt, little faith. No doubt, no faith.

Which is Further Contemplation on the Problem of Perceiving Innate Tranquility

03/08/2006 6:20 AM - 6:46 AM

The problem, if it is a problem, becomes: if one learns to be content in all things, if one discovers the tranquil silence beneath the buzz of all existence, why do anything? But there I go again. I’ve asked this question many times before. Embrace our dual nature, I think I’ve said before. But if we reach down to the tranquility that we were searching for, the mind becomes tranquil, the body becomes tranquil and existence resembles a smooth ocean, equal in all directions. Why move?

If one discovers the tranquility under the surface and syncs up with it, I suppose that one would be able to do whatever God wanted them to do. But we already figured out that we can’t know what God wants in a particular sense. Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your heart. But there are so many things a hand could find to do. I could clean the bathroom for days and still find more to clean in there. What do I want? Does it differ from what God intends? Is there any way to tell? I know that there is a general set of rules for determining the rightness of action: avoid harming others, help others, love God, love yourself. But how does one ascertain the direction for a life?

A life of learning not to be manipulated by others and stories start to lose their pull. “Ah, this scene is supposed to make me feel this.” Then you don’t feel it. Good writers can sneak it up on you. Great writers can make you feel it in spite of yourself. What am I supposed to be doing with myself? What do I want? I want to live in a cabin in the woods and read and meditate and contemplate and make pictures and write and make things out of wood. Play in that, I’m-old-and-my-body-doesn’t-heal-as-fast-as-it-used-to sort-of way. I know the goal. But I’m not sure of the way. By writing? By working a jobby job? Robbing a bank? Okay, probably not the last one, since that would seem to violate the “do no harm” clause. I’m not sure. And yet I am content. Strange. I will contemplate. That is what I do. I’ll watch the steamy exhaust twirl out of the tailpipes of passing cars. I’ll sit. I’ll go to work. I’ll read. I’ll watch some TV. I’ll go to sleep. I’ll wake up. And maybe I’ll write. It is what I do. Te deum.

On Being and Knowing. Milla is mentioned.

03/04/2006 9:45 AM - 10:18 AM

What is being? What is non-being? I don’t know. How could I know what non-being is? I have no data of that experience. And not having experience of non-being, how can I know the limits of being? Pure categories, these being and non-being. There is no such thing as half-dead. Nor half-alive. Even those men that die without ever having lived, lived. Notice. That is all. We cannot think the limits of being, unable as we are of experiencing non-being. Notice this. This. This.

What does the big toe of your left foot think of Natalie Portman and Milla Jovovich? How about your pancreas? Are these not you? Remember the mind of the dust before God breathed spirit into it. Do not despise the dust. There is a reason God encased the weightless soul in the thick mud, the ghost in the machine. I do not know what that reason is. Nor do you. Or, perhaps, we do. But we cannot be sure. The ground may decide not to hold our weight at any moment, but we still must walk on it. Remember this. Remember this in the dark nights. Remember this in the moment of She. Remember you are here now. Remember that the cloud of unknowing still holds you. That which you cannot know has held you all your life. As far as you can know. All of this is knowing. All of this is existing. All of this is being. Be. You are being. Notice. Notice. Notice.

Look at the birds of the air. Are you not of more value than these? No. Yes. I don’t know. Mu. I am here. I am now. That now is gone. This is now. That now is gone. This is now. Do you remember the eleventh hour of your 7,000^th day? Do you doubt that you existed at that moment? What happened to it? What happened to two seconds ago? Does it matter? No. Yes. Mu. Can you call the leviathan up from the depths? Can you issue commands to the storm? Can you sit? Can you type? Where is your spark now? Here. Here. Here. When the spark is gone, will I know it? Here. Here. Here. Sit. Just sit. Notice. Are you distracted? So is this. Let it go. Come back to this. This. This. He was and is and ever yet shall be. Where is He? There is snow on the pine tree that sits in the front of the house down the street, on the corner of Elmwood and Highland. Steamy air pours out from a metal tube in the side of the third floor wall that faces the pine tree. And now it has stopped. A dryer? The sky is a glowing gray. Where has your spark gone? Where is your spark now? Here. Praise God with noticing and with the hitting of plastic keys. Praise God with the sound of the flute and lyre. Let all that has breath praise the Lord. Do you understand? Nor do I. The metal pipe is steaming again. It is. So is Milla. I am here. You are here. Be here. Here. Here. Let all that has breath praise the Lord.