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the Heart of the Truth) flower
Rhythmically beats Blossoms
for
who(ever) is caring
enough
too
(Deeply Perceive
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You can choose your friends but you can’t choose your reality. Either face reality as it really is or adhere to something false that will render you blind in the long run. That is the gist of it! (Facing reality as it really is involves looking without the accumulated past… involves not looking with what you were “taught.” Very few are willing or able to do that. To face reality as it really is involves there being no fear, no desire according to someone’s system and promises… involves looking very scientifically, but without hoarded conclusions and beliefs. Most feel naked and afraid without being clothed in accumulated beliefs, practices, methodologies, and conclusions.)
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I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again: Just as true humility or love cannot be mechanically practiced, neither is there any real practice to discover truth. Discovering and living the truth is too profound and dynamic for it to merely come about by way of calculated practices. Real mindfulness and true meditation is being truly and profoundly alive (beyond mere methodology)… and no one on earth can, nor will they ever, practice being alive.
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His boss wanted to fire him because he was accused, by his coworkers, of moving at a snail’s pace.
“I realize that I’m a bit sluggish,” he exclaimed, while red with embarrassment.” He then said, “There are a lot of sluggards in my family, I know; we were brought up wrong, and some of us are trying our best to get out of the vicious spiral that we are in; please give me another chance.”
“Well, OK,” said his boss, with a straight face.
And so he happily continued in his job of cleaning the inside glass of aquariums… not once thinking that his job sucks.
[If you are still working for an employer, remember this little story, and realize that (in deep reflection) the observer may not be all that separate from the observed.]
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some minds are open
some minds closed
some are separated from the earth
some have deep roots within
some minds blossoming
some withering away
some sharing bright beauty
others darkly cruel
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Two Haiku Poems… one from the Japanese poet, Issa (year 1822) and one from my (elderly) self (who likes to preserve plum tree scraps)…
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1822
.梅見るや梅干爺と呼れつつ
ume miru ya umeboshi jijii to yobaretsutsu
viewing plum blossoms–
they call old men
pickled plums
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In the blossomed Spring
plum trees recognized themselves
taking photographs
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Do not merely make a meditative silence into something that is isolated and separate from noise in life. Be very careful in what you accept and do. In all probability, a separate silence that is cultivated, that is practiced at a special time or place, is a rather second-hand, merely learned, rather dead, kind of silence. Actual, profound silence is an effortless phenomenon that occurs without premeditation, beyond calculation, and beyond techniques involving time. As such it is a timeless phenomenon that may occur often, spontaneously throughout the day (without some separate controller “making it happen”), such as while one is walking, looking at nature, petting a dog or cat, or exercising. If it occurs at all, it occurs naturally, without any false effort expended by a supposed “center” or “controller” that is essentially a learned image (involving separation). It (i.e., such deep silence) is not something that is isolated from the rest of life. It is of life, in life; it permeates life, it flows with life. Real life is not something that is practiced; it is something that is lived. To manipulate the mind into some isolated silence may be like trying to catch the wind in a sealed bottle. Attempting to confine the wind in a separate, little, “special” space — called a bottle — may be rather ludicrous.
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(Just a few days ago was the 150th anniversary of the night Abraham Lincoln was fatally shot by John Wilkes Booth.)
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the energy… it’s swirling,twirling
moving through the hand
of a man named Lincoln
some leader of a land
the play went on the gun was cocked
the killer took his aim
some say the twirling,whirling cells
could only move in vein
precise premonition lying listless
across a sordid balcony floor
as disbelief and shock called out
and raced through the narrow(minded) door
icy hatred’s revenge seldom is ever beautiful
as twirling life flows beyond perceptual range
warm grace lies beyond cold malice and vengeance
apprehension leaves,arrives, as the winds of change
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If you are a diminutive jumping spider, by all means jump! Jumping is your life and calling card. If you are a human being, by all means jump with your legs and feet too (and exercise a lot). However, it would be prudent not to — like so many do — jump to conclusions. Jumping to conclusions often stifles the mind and often causes it to perceive things that are not legitimate and true. So many of us jump to conclusions. When we jump to conclusions… we are those conclusions. Being a conclusion may be rather dead and “unalive.” Go visit a cemetery; most of the people there (I’ll bet) probably came to conclusions! 😉
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A furry ball, with legs,
mischievous, bandit-like,
omnivorous, curious, stalking,
walking in our area,
which is also his area,
our area,
his kind were here first,
in a way, we are the intruders,
bare-skinned, bipedal, tall,
like-wise mischievous, ape-like,
dangerous, stalking, stealing…
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The whole realm of thinking is figurative, fragmentary, and of symbolic representations (that are conditioned). Don’t merely dwell in the field of the conditioned virtual. You can’t hug a concept of a child. Don’t — as so many do — mostly exist in (and “as”) symbols; symbols (as words and mental images) are mere tokens. Most, even when they look at the world, see with (and “as”) the patterns and symbols that they were taught. Look without separative symbols and learned images.
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For the sacred to visit you and be palpable, your innocence must be discernible and unmistakable. That innocence must penetrate far beyond crude conventionality. That innocence stands alone and is different… not for the sake of being different, but because it perceives deeply beyond the ordinary.
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Close to the dazzling ocean
I wanted to mentor them
each and every single,spraying drop
each and every friend
Inside the combative,clashing waves
I tried to comfort them
within endlessly flowing life currents
with end inside of begin
Deep within the winding forest
we shouted loud to them
but no human sounds were ever heard
nothing but bold,towering trees within
Inside each of the ever joyous trees
perennial,green life continues to grow
without neural networks of pain
without the need to know
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Mr. Average walked along in his very average way.
Mr. Average — according to his father — was born on a very average day.
Mr. Average, when he was young, went to a very average school.
Mr. Average, when in class, was around average with the breaking of the rules.
Mr. Average, within his mind, partook in an average degree of thinking.
Mr. Average, regarding his eyes (each day) blinked with around the average blinking.
Mr. Average, like most everyone around, saw his self as being separate and apart.
Mr. Average, when shopping with his wife, was a typical shopper at his local Walmart.
Mr. Average, regarding his diet, ate all of the typical meat.
Mr. Average lived in a rather typical American suburb and lived on a typical street.
Mr. Average, regarding his shape and weight, was not excessively round.
Mr. Average, regarding his thoughts and feelings, never felt anything profound.
Mr. Average, throughout his life, worked at a very average job.
Mr. Average, regarding living things suffering, was never inclined to sob.
Mr. Average, as a father, sent all of his children to an average school.
Mr. Average had around the normal degree of anger… when someone would call him a fool.
Mr. Average uttered the typical saying as he uttered his very last breath.
Mr. Average, when they hurriedly buried him, was interred at around the average depth.
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we think we’re modern
but we’re not
we’re rather primitive and unrefined
and all the pundits in our world
don’t understand space and time
we think we’re free
but we’re not
our causes are all effects
and all the reactions that we’ll retake
are what spacetime already expects
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You were
green with envy
and those big, greedy eyes — of course — were
a large part of the reason why.
And those massive, attentive ears of yours,
upon your knees,
were nature’s way of letting you stand up to what you hear
about yourself.
When you passed by that radiant tile
and reflectively peered at yourself,
you vainly realized
that you were
the most beautiful
Katy(that ever)did.
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(Note: Katydids actually do have hearing mechanisms on their front leg — knee — areas; this affords their narrow bodies with wide, stereoscopic hearing. This better, stereoscopic hearing aids greatly in locating prey and in evading predators.)
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i stuck a stick
into the mud…
a stick in the mud am i.
i cut a paper
into many fragments…
and i fell to pieces.
i stared at the moon
on a dim blue night…
and i became very pale.
i zigged a zag
on the computer screen…
and ziggyzags became my fate.
i smiled at some children
who were frightened and sad…
then i became happy two.
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give the stripes back to the zebra
give the bark back to the dog
give the insanity back to the politician
give the bulging eyes back to the frog
give the climb back to the mountain
give the remote back to the television show
give the red blood back to the warrior
give the water back to the plant (and watch it grow)
give the turn back to the brass knob
give the yellow leaves back to the fall
give the Cretaceous back to the raptors
give the baseball bat back to the ball
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Towering skyscraper
beyond the roots of pain
endlessly growing
touching the heavens
tossing winds again and again
Perfect being
beyond shallow wants or needs
purer than proud
straight among brothers
never feeling hate or greed
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compact and entwined
in each living Spring
are Life’s splendid creatures
majestic living things
like a chrysalis patiently waiting
to joyfully unfold
Spring has books of living stories
waiting to be told
from nothing comes something
it arrives every year
few love it enough
the Treasure is near
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On an extremely small, green planet, there was a large animal called “horse” that had four legs…
and not one of the legs felt it was separate from the other legs.
Each leg — of “horse” — walked and galloped in great beauty and harmony with the other legs;
had one or more of the legs felt it(they) was(were) separate from the other legs,
“horse” would kick and buck in disharmony.
Upon this diminutive planet, called “earth,” there were also billions of inhabitants, called “humans,”
and these “humans,” with bipedal legs, mostly thought that they were separate from those
upon other legs. They often fought in vicious wars and kicked others who walked and ran on two legs.
They also hunted and harmed many of those walking on four legs and were also often mindlessly indifferent
about the environment containing all the legs. However, a small few sagaciously and harmoniously realized
that their legs were not at all separate… and that none of the legs were really separate whatsoever.
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(Note: Left click on the art-oriented one to see the detail. Click on arrow to return.)
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Tonight, go back in time to when you were a young child.
(Revisit that immortal youth that was)
far beyond the jaded, stodgy, leaden views of the overly-busy adults.
Soar again in those floating dreams… then go beyond dreaming to how
you were so very amazed at life’s wonderful, majestic living creatures.
Remember, back then, how you were small
but your perceptions were magical, large, and vast.
Return and youthfully run and fly again through that enchanting world.
Then never grow up.
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Time is space and space is time
Mountains take some time to climb
Space is time and time is space
It takes some time to wash your face
Washing in space is movement in time
The soap and the bubbles say they feel fine
The clock’s hands move in a confined, little space
Along with the hands that wash your face
The face of the clock washed away time
As moving hands took away hours of grime
Our hearts keep on ticking at a regular pace
As helping hands smile at our round, cleanly face
The hands of the clock in each stage and each term
Say its time to wake up, to feel, and to learn
The chronology of you is swinging in space
A minute of love is an occasion of grace
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“I think I’m separate from what is seen,”
said the complacent, lazy man.
“You probably are,”
said the wise man.
“I think I’m separate from what I visit,”
said the complacent, lazy man.
“You probably are,”
said the wise man.
“I think I’m separate from what is heard,”
said the complacent, lazy man.
“You probably are,”
said the wise man.
“I think I’m separate from what I want,”
said the complacent, lazy man.
“You probably are,”
said the wise man.
“I think I’m separate from what I dream,”
said the complacent, lazy man.
“You probably are,”
said the wise man.
I think I’m separate from what I think,”
said the complacent, lazy man.
“You probably are,”
said the wise man.
“I think I’m separate from the earth and the animals,”
said the complacent, lazy man.
“You probably are,”
said the wise man.
“I think I’m separate from people and their well being,”
said the complacent, lazy man.
“You probably are,”
said the wise man.
“I think I’m separate from whom I rob,”
said the complacent, lazy man.
“Your separate ‘eye’ is probably illusory,”
said the wise man,
as he closed a door
between
himself
and his blind complacency.
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One man, a complacent, indifferent man,
looked at life as if through a distorted, little peephole;
everything he saw was of limitation;
everything he saw was fragmentary and small.
Another man, a dynamic, caring man,
looked at life as if from a majestic, magical mountain;
everything he saw was from a panoramic, unbroken view;
everything he saw was connected, limitless, and extraordinarily special.
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The crossing of the street
turned
and realized it was
the crossing of the street.
The flowing of the river
churned
and realized it was
the flowing of the river.
The oven being touched
burned
and realized it was
the oven being touched.
The aching of the heart
yearned
and realized it was
the aching of the heart.
The slavery to the job
earned
and realized it was
the slavery to the job.
The words of the poem
learned
and realized they were
the words of poem.
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Personally, I don’t care to travel far — and photograph only locally — largely due to the fact that mostly fossil fueled vehicles are involved with the traveling… which is extremely bad for an already terribly abused planet.
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she loves me
she loves me not
she loves me
she loves me not
she is me
she is me not
she is me
she is me not
images of her are me
images of her are me not
images of her are me
images of her are me not
Life wants us to rip up living flowers
Life wants us to rip up living flowers not
Life wants us to rip up living flowers
Life wants us to rip up living flowers not
Blossoming is me
Blossoming is me not
Blossoming is me
Blossoming is me not
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This is what I wrote on Twitter:
Merely recognizing things as you were taught is looking through the implanted programming of others and is not profound perception.
This is what someone replied as a response, after they retweeted what I wrote:
We have to unlearn the old systems that are detrimental to us. Once we become aware, we perceive things differently.
This is how I replied:
This going beyond the old systems is not merely a process of time. If it is, it is merely a subtle extension of the old systems.
(The reason I wrote this is that if we use patterns and strategies to, hopefully, eventually evolve out the the old systems, we are — in effect — merely a continuance of the old systems. Though this may sound rather fanciful, it isn’t. Either it is done instantly, without time being a factor… or it is intrinsically merely an extension of the same, old systems and processes… all of which take — and “are” — time.)
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Add a New Post
Read an Old Rhyme
Break a Grecian Urn
Wind up what’s called Time
Glue the Urn together
Repeat the Same Song
Mend a Broken friendship
Stay Impassioned Long
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