softness

When transitions of consciousness are edgy, the flow is disrupted, and turbulence is induced. It takes an act of will to guide the awareness back to a smooth, continuous flow.

Thus a practice of softness can help the edgy individual. Softness with our choices, with our actions, with our emotions, and with our thoughts. Softness on the inside, and softness on the outside- softness to allow the motions a smooth transition. The one's curve of consciousness can become a smooth (infinitely-derivable?) manifold, and then one can be said to live with grace.

Alwaysness

The always-ness of the Now makes it unnovel, uninteresting to the unstable mind. It knows and assumes It will always be there, and decides instead to focus on the opportunities of escape purported by the tantalizing future, by the known masticated past, or by the immediate fancies of fantasy. Yet even in success, comfort, and achievement, these do not - can not- satisfy wholly. For whole satisfaction is found only in wholeness, and all of these temporary means foe scape (if we could only remember!) are but incomplete fragments of the Now.

Doubt not what you do. Heed only that your consciousness is open, whole, and awake as you do, live, and are.

Continuous, unholding, bright Awareness. Of all you perceive.

Soft, joyful, regretless Choice. At each fluid step.

Live. Whole and True.

outbreath

Sometimes I write with the intent of inducing a reaction.

Of having others observe my experience

And agree with it.

Of finding support in the readers

in the hypothetical future of my fancy.

But then there are other times

when reception is not the aim

when the written does not need a reader

to accomplish its intent.

These are times when the written

has no goal but itself.

The expression of a truth within

allowed to bloom as a mere outbreath

of the complexity I've become.

Reproduction.

Those times the written holds truth

and need not be read nor remembered

yet exists

as an outgrowth of my being.

Seeker

if you wish to know the truth of this world,

you must come to know yourself.

For there is no seeing without the seer,

no knowing without the knower,

and even the purest lens cannot remedy

the vision of a distorted observer.

Take your unhappiness and ponder, whereby does it come?

"Is it really mine if I never accepted it to be?"

Why feel so much struggle, distress, and frustration

for something that is not of your own creation?

Take your happiness and ponder, whereby does it come?

"Is it really mine if it cannot stay with me?"

Why feel so much pride, attachment, and greed

to achieve an emotion that always recedes?

See the animal you inhabit, consider its shape

its organized tissues in form incarnate.

Are you its desires, its hungers, its needs?

Do you wish to be ruled by this living machine?

Look in deeper and ponder, what steers its actions?

"Am I just a wondrous Rube Goldberg contraption?"

Is the choice I experience a constant illusion,

and if so, what's the goal of such needless collusion?

Sink deeper and wonder, what is this existence?

"Does the flow of pure Being need my active assistance?"

What matter if my hopes and my path diverge,

if all possible roads eventually merge?

Be still then, dear seeker, and merely allow.

What you feel and see is the Truth of the Now.

A gift of experience for you to observe

what occurs when the world tests your strength and your nerve.

A chance to take on the hero's stride

and save yourself from a dreary ride.

Act yet allow, therein lies the key

that opens the door to a life full and free.

Pristine

In her tiny newborn body,

in the mechanics of her unwilled breath

in her tender reactive spasms

in her immediate responses to minute details

in her frequent frustrations and discomforts

in her unfiltered coos and cries

in her unpolluted nature

I see the gift and plight of humanity.

Absolute sensitivity.

Continuous stream of senses and consciousness,

All of it queueing to be seen, to be felt

To be digested and assimilated,

Incessant, relentless,

very often overwhelming,

and thus much of it ignored.

And initially uncolored.

Merely swaths of data looking for some organization.

Then the new vehicle, this body of old design,

identifies what it knows, and evokes pleasure and pain.

Pleasure towards what helps it grow,

and pain towards what hurts it.

The conscious self then, instigated by these inner forces,

shapes its own mold from the body's opinion.

Thence comes the polarization of experience,

the separation onto the good and the bad.

And if this duality the mind is allowed to believe,

it yields its authority to the happy and the sad.

And in this fall onto desire

due to a lack of mental fire,

lies the crux to the wealth of lamentations

that have lived alongside humans for many generations.

For then one assumes that one's consciousness becomes aware

to serve and fear and slave away to our body's core alarms,

when in fact it is but our vehicle, and though it needs good fuel and care,

Its outer details are minor, like its pleasures, pains, and harms.

And in this newborn's nature, and what I feel her rile in me,

A fractal-like reflection of the human self I see.

When she feels any kind of pain, annoyance, or commotion,

the unfiltered feeling expresses through her coos and cries and motions.

And somehow I, the father, feel pulled to appease her dislike,

much like her hunger was my hunger and her discomfort my own plight.

And if I neglect to first think of why she might be feeling this way,

Inner chains pull at my instincts and coerce me to help her right away.

But if I pause and consciously choose to first think,

I train my mind and will to override that primal link.

To firmly hold the reins while handling her with care,

just like one can feel one's urges, yet walk through life aware.

My newborn manifests in flesh my own inner child,

her body an innocent automaton, unfiltered, raw, and wild.

Her pains and desires I feel just like mine,

and they pull me to attend to her every little sign.

Yet her wellbeing does not always lie in the utter negation

of her every itch, ache, pain, and little frustration.

Her mission in life now is to simply explore,

and my role is to help her without overriding her will,

or to take away from her changes for exposure

to the effects of her actions, to deprive her of closure

for her own choices, for her highest concern

in this life she came into is to gradually learn.

So her body, emotions, and desires, just like mine,

are in perpetual flux, unpredictable in time.

And though it is prudent to heed their signs,

what should best hold the reins are our will, soul, and mind.

Birth

We all come from blood, pain, gore, marrow, and void, 

All of which most humans prefer to avoid.

Perhaps because their first entrance was not soft or clean, 

But felt rushed, unwelcome, tossed, or demeaned.

The essence of newborn is soft and simple,

New body absorbing every tiny speck and wrinkle.

Each whisper, each light wave, each friction on skin

Vibrates the pure white slate of consciousness within.

And just like our own selves when we listen and stop, 

The gentle is pleasing, the rough sudden is not.

Laying down in dark silence with her, I learn to observe

How many mean sensations I've grown to tolerate.

Quick zippers, rushed footsteps, sudden clacks and bangs,

Common plastic rustling, loud voices and fans.

Even soft rustles of sheets and sheers

Can be jagged prickles to a newborn's tender ears.

Each flicker of candle, each unaccounted lumen

presses unto the eyes of this new sensitive human.

And just as our smell carries subtle detection,

She too feels fear, anger, joy, and other affections.

The vast of the world she's thrust into is overwhelming

And her first need, once she breathes, is observing

The myriads of new inputs flooding her brain

And training to deal with her sensorial pain.

For the suddenness of birth can be a trauma

From a dark, red, warm cave to a sudden flood of drama.

One's body is helpless, strange giants are all around,

And the world that was home is nowhere to be found.

So when a new human first comes out to the light,

We ought to imagine that we share her plight.

To pay the utmost attention, and like her become pristine,

So her entry is seen, soft, careful, and maximally clean.

merged

she and I have grown. Deep and softly. Inward and outwardly. I tell us at times: we are one. We have merged into a literal being we call our relationship, our partnership, and now we are learning the art of loving ourself with the help of loving one another.

Subjective or metaphorical or fantastic as it may seem, I feel this is what is really happening. Loving myself has been reflected to me over and over again as I engage with her, and then loving her has been reflected to me as the Love that I can give myself, and that I sometimes deny.

In the One being that we have merged into, I see complementing attributes arise out of each of us. In her I perceive our sensitivity, and in me our... Activity? I don't quite know what I bring to the our being, but I do feel that we balance each other. In more than one way. And sometimes when she falls out of balance, I help support her. And when I fall out of balance, she helps support me. And step by step, day by day, we grow and learn with ourselves and with each other. Day by day, event by event, fear by fear. At the pace of nature - one step at a time.

Libido

I wonder at times why

my libido has diminished bit by bit

since finding the prize of my desires.

Day by day and night by night,

my enthusiasm for sex is not quite as bright

as I had known it to be

as I had suffered it to be

as I had assumed it to be

as I had needed it to be.

Twas always my experience

that the chance of female liaison

would drive me to great lengths

would lure me to real risks

would move me to long journeys

would have me dream great plans

just for the chance to share

that

look.

to touch

that

hand.

to smell

that

breath.

to feel

that

warmth.

to live through that alluring

dancefloor strobe of enticements, one by one.

her eyes

her hands

her hair

her smile

she laughs

she plays

she is glad

I am there.

her feline walk, her playful lure.

to play that game with a willing partner

is all my child desired to procure.

that ride of seduction, the waves of desire,

that prize was the explosive

fuel for my inner fire.

It made me cross countries

It made me traverse

new journeys I otherwise

wouldn't know were there.

My life line drew richer

as it explored new paths

and the fuel that prize gave me

took me long, far, and wide.

Then one day, unwitting, a partner arrived

and our partnership lasted unintentionally.

And as night by night, we'd seduce us and fuck,

my girl-hunting psyche realized its luck.

That sweet prize, adored and sacred

was now with me each night.

And if my past goal was now a given,

what use was the fire without the fight?

So little by little, and naturally,

my libido decreased for the sake of efficiency.

Her allure still attracted, and though it felt very nice,

more and more would I think about doing it twice.

My mind began drifting and wandering off

and I seriously wondered, "what's going on?

My energy is dormant, my playfulness is subdued,

Do I, wretched ungrateful, now dislike my own food?"

"Her sweetness is real, my prize is finally here.

why doesn't it shine as bright, now that it's so near?"

I'd heard people say when man settles, his belly expands,

concordant with less energy from satisfied glands.

It wasn't inevitable, there had to be something more,

and I dove in to ponder into my core.

And in there, I realized the problem was straight.

No fire need burn to reach my current state.

What I missed was that power, that passion, that fire

that propelled me to places farther and higher.

As on this I pondered, I realized the truth:

I could not the same thing possess and desire.

I suspect that others, when reaching this state

are perplexed when their drive gradually dissipates

and may then, if hungry once more for desire,

seek other prizes around them to kindle their fire.

A woman, a mission, a shiny new car,

an office that's bigger, a journey afar.

More money, more power, anything that sparkles,

and lets the hunger for hunger continue its cycles.

I think, though, that that path is but a distraction

that repeats old paths through unconscious reaction.

I suspect the way out of such doomed iteration

is to transmute base desires into aspiration.

That is, to observe that the desired was obtained,

and that through it nothing of essence was gained.

The hunger was sated, the rush is now quiet.

Can we hear the silence, and sit calmly by it?

Deep down in the silence, one can only accept

one is neither good, bad, better, worse, or correct.

For any such judgment tips the scale at the center

and deviates pure Being onto the Presenter.

And if one attends to that silence inside,

one can also feel base desires fly by.

Attractions, repulsions of body and mind,

tug at one like magnets many-a size, shape, and kind.

And as they fly by, the astute observer

can see that those urges are not truly theirs.

They only concern the body and mind,

while our essence is of a subtler kind.

So when one is no longer glamoured by desire,

what then is there that can light our fire?

This question I ponder, and so far I surmise

one can still dance with attractions

and not fall for their disguise.

We can harness their forces to our ideal

rather than fall slave to their appeal.

Having then seen the nature of desire,

one can turn to the Self, to fully aspire

to Truth and to Love, which reside higher

than the goals and prizes many yearn and admire.

Breadcrumbs

February 25, 2025

Flowed have I here. Not run, nor marched, nor coerced. Flowed. On waves both strong and calm, in skies both stormy and clear. No plan my mind designed wove my path, and no built-up expectation found here its satisfaction. In a place of flowing surprise live I, and bit by bit, day by day, my mind and nervous system learn to trust that the flow of the seemingly random waves leads us true. Gentle, sudden, resonant - the waves bring me the full extent of their spectrum, and I learn to listen. Day by day by day.

I find myself the steward of a large villa in the mountains on an island in Greece, together with my wife Tilda. We learn to live in flow together, and we share the fears and the delights that we experience thereby. I find this experience is truly that of love. That of which gradually bonds two human beings into a larger being. We share our fears and we no longer hide them, we share our joys and its brilliant flow courses through us in resonant delight. We share our habits and we learn from each other. We share how we feel and think and act, the tiny details in our consciousness, and we realize how similar, even identical, our life essences are, and we see in each other the mirror of ourselves, showing us in full display what we are like when we feel worthy, when we feel insecure, when we feel joyful, when we feel vulnerable. I see my own needs and desires and insecurities reflected in her, and I know them to be the same as mine because I feel resonance when we connect at that depth, and she allows herself to be seen as she is - raw, true, unhidden and fearless to be seen by me, and the clear lesson I listen from Life itself is "Love". "Love". "Love those needs and desires and insecurities in yourself as much as you urge to love them in her, as you desire to let her have an open space to shed her tears and speak her words and yell and laugh her emotions out, as you desire to allow her to BE who she is, as you feel compassion for her, guided by this game of human mirrors... Love. Love yourself just like that too. For she is you, fashioned into your partner so you may help each other and play".

Day by day our habits dance with one another, as strands and shards of us are slowly revealed - even to ourselves. Through knowledge of the other we grow bolder, through recognition of ourselves in the other we grow kinder. Step by step we align our purposes, as they meld to become one. The purpose of the both, the purpose of the family. Our family. Together we grow a family, together we welcome a child. And I understand now (more) the importance that the family holds in our human race. Honored by society and revered by religions: the family manifests the creation of the new life from the union of opposites. It expresses the critical recursive step of that literal fractal of which humanity is but one branch: the Tree of Life. Creation. Generation. The offering of oneself and of one's body, skills, presence, and purpose to the building of the new, which like the partner, also reflects to us more of what we are. Or so I surmise (still).

Our unborn child is truly our guiding star. It guides us to find a country to travel to, a house to live in, the people to connect with. It guides our actions and it guides our priorities. And along the way we see, once and again and again, breadcrumbs we feel are left for us to follow the fortunate path. That gently reminds us that there IS a fortunate path, and that we need but listen and trust the wisdom of the self, the quiet certainty of the heart, to guide us true across our meandering, surprise-sprinkled path.

We see the crumbs in the little girl's sweater on the street as we came back home to Ellikon. We see the crumbs in Tilda's sister's baby gift. We see the crumbs in our doula's rag doll. In a perfectly-timed shooting star. In my sister's oblivious congratulations note. In a leftover soccer ball in our new house, on the used pink play rug we bought second-hand, on the walls of our new house's bedroom wall, and today on our midwife's sweater. Clear as crystal, our child's mark again and again, inspiring both slight disbelief and laughing smiles in us, for we do not seek them; they merely show up for us again and again and again. And we are re-fueled with joy and with laughter, and are glad to take our next steps with trust in the life that we dance day by day, that we learn, which we meld, and which we create out of ourselves. We are the flowing, growing, seeking, consuming, melding, spawning, recurring Life. Unrestrainable Nature. And the method whereby it aligns, joins, grows, and creates itself is Love.

Re-Mother

If I knew that you were like my mother,

my path would've very likely been another,

For fear would've caught my attention

and told me you'd bring me too much tension.

A voice within would've told me "don't bother,

do you again want to be ruffled and smothered?

Your voice once more trapped and imprisoned

between walls of 'should' and 'don't', unreasoned?"

I would've recoiled with forgotten horror

from the times of mute and pained sorrow

when I wished that her care wouldn't reach me

for I felt her distortions when she tried to "teach me".

But no, when I met her, she accepted

all my quirks, tastes, and unpolished bits

laissez-faire, untroubled, easy-going,

I thought that being with her,

I wouldn't need to change any parts of me.

But today as we arranged furniture

in the upstairs of our new house

I realized, one year forward,

that her patterns do follow my mom's.

They both have numerous sharp preferences

she hurts if we do other than what she asks

and I've gradually, always willingly

tamed my own choices to fit with her tastes.

And a part of me feels shocked and affronted,

even actually, ashamed and betrayed.

How could I have given up my pure freedom

and have my shape dictated by her space?

But my conscious mind knows with clarity,

(for each choice that it took, it did with care)

that each single change I allowed had a reason,

I knew the how and the why, and accepted the hence.

I know the things she cherishes,

I know what brings her fright.

And since I continue to choose to be with her,

I prefer that she feels safety and delight.

And I understand, over ten years later

past my mother's body decease

that her smothering and her overbearing

were but distorted expressions of love.

Discomfort is contained in this path I chose

but also in every possible one.

For the pain need follow the pleasure

as the valley comes after the hill.

And as I've learned this geometrical theorem,

I now seek neither pleasure nor pain.

I follow my truth at each moment

and expect neither success nor gain.

And my truth at this moment is that with her

I feel a resonant connection of soul

our hearts say a silent "yes" to each other

though we know not any definite goal.

I cherish the truth that her eyes speak.

It inspires the truth that lives in me.

So regardless of the old fears she spurs in me,

I choose her daily, uncoerced and free.

So though now I know that she is like my mother,

I realize the gift is that we can now love one another.

Meeting the fears and pains misunderstood in years past,

Life now invites me to heal them, so that love can last.

Motive

We all die. All of us - whether we rise to be sublime poets, powerful financiers, acclaimed celebrities, prosperous family founders, or whether we merely float our whole life as wisps of dust. Kings, merchants, laborers, paupers - all of us death sweeps away eventually like the wave destroys our sandcastles. All our glory and worries and fears and comrades and treasures - naught but recycled sand in the great void.

So what is it we do here? Why do we birth and grow and learn and build and love and care and strive and CARE? What role is it we fulfill in the order of the cosmos? And why should we care at all about fulfilling it?

Materially, the fruits of our collective lives and toils would seem to be the building. The history that we have inherited back across the ages, the knowledge that our forefathers have cultivated, grain by grain, is a mountain of structure and wisdom, some of it more nebulous than other, that each generation inherits, tries for itself, and builds upon. In a word, the fruit of our effort may be SOCIETY - the collective material remnants of all that previous generations managed to keep alive for those born after them. Like a tapestry - it is a collective weaving of stories, languages, customs, science, technology, and insights, including sections for the various races, nations, and groups that have contributed, upon which we continue to weave on and on.

But all these fruits matter not to he who dies, to he the I within who is swept away from this world by death and oblivion. What gains the soul from this creation and decay? What fruits does it reap from the buildings that break, from learning that stales, from partners who die? What is the role of the "I am" being that inhabits this very body that coordinates the typing of these words? Why is this intangible conscious I included in a system where only matter appears to matter?

Nature obviates the unnecessary - no pebble is forgotten and no thread is left unwoven in this vast jigsaw puzzle we inhabit. What are the motive and purpose, then, of this consciousness that we are and live and feel and exist as, day by day?

I posit matter alone does not build these structures of earth and water and flesh. That the deterministic effects and diagrams now long stale in physics textbooks are in actuality choices - a continuous stream of choice emitted from within every vibrant particle in the universe, at times called "Brownian motion" or dismissed as randomness. This stream of choice is emitted from the soul within, seen from above as disordered chaos, as one would expect from an uncountable throng of atoms. And yet from such choice emerges cohesion when groups are formed. Atoms combine to form molecules, molecules to enzymes, enzymes to cells, cells to organs, organs to plants, animals, and humans. Plants onto forests, animals onto packs and ecosystems; humans onto families, tribes, and nations. Nations unto mankind.

As a billion trillion water droplets combine to form cohesive clouds, flowing rivers, and level mists, so do our atoms combine, find each other, and weave into the cells and organs and bodies that we inhabit and use, day in and day out. The consciousnesses of the myriads of servants at our disposal care for the continuous maintenance and the minutiae of their own tiny domains, so that we, the cohesive consciousness behind our individual conglomerate body, may materialize intelligent and directed choice, our words and our actions, onto this buildable, malleable, and ever-receptive world of matter.

What for? Whence comes the choice, and towards which purpose? It comes from our essence, and it seeks satisfaction. Satisfaction of equalizing the inside with the outside, or finding balance between the intrinsic and the expressed. For with each choice we follow our urge to express who we are in one way or another, in one or another of our many dimensions, to flow out our essence, to imprint our relevance, the WHO of our ARE, onto the world. In other words, to eventually see out expressed in the world the essence of WHAT and WHO we are, in our complete and refined glory. And the answer to that universal mystery of ours is yet to come (if it ever can be fulfilled) only eons after all the bodies and knowledge and structures we have built have been discarded as mere scaffolding along the way to our final epiphany.

Thus Life flows, as us within it.

Who are you? Exercise

Who are you?

I am me who feels, who plays, who enjoys the pleasures of thi world, who dances life. The world is around me and it penetrates me, and I feel as its waves course unto me, splash me, and flow through me. The sky and the sea andthe life are mine to dance with, to feel, to sense, to dive in deeply through with my whole being.

I am one who lives in the eternal void, forever shifting and waving and cresting and troughing through peaks, voids, spectres and rainbows, symphonies and swamps. And all of it is mine, and in all of it I delight. I am one who lives. Who Lives. Regretlessly, undoubtedly, unerringly, whichever my steps and attempts and results may be.

I am one who Lives. Who Loves. All that I feel, for it is all the same essence as Me.

I am Me. The One Who Lives.

I  am. Am.

I am the One Who Delights in that I Am. I am one who enjoys the creation of the sea and the destruction of the fire. Who flies the freedom of the Wind, and walks the Foundation of Earth. I build upon myself to feel myself in all my dimensions, to know myself all that I CAN.

Who are you?

I am one who learns. Who observes, who experiences, and shares. Through sharing I grow, through feeling I know I am one link in the chain of the Life that we are. Linking and weaving our knowledge, our histories and our lessons, decade to decade, century to century, with kindness, attention, and leave? I knit carefully, conscious to pierce the needle with kindness and with consent, with their knowing that this web connects them to the rest of Life. To their origin and to their Future, if they so wish.

Pinprick

Always through the pinprick specific

do we penetrate into the general abstract,

into purer, ideal substance.

As the needle breaks into the skin to find the bloodstream,

and the specific problem situation calls upon

the help to learn the general knowledge that helps thereward,

(Necessity is the mother of intention (invention?)).

and it summons helps from others around oneself,

thus penetrating into deeper knowledge,

a deeper meeting point,

and deeper interconnection.

Thus do we live. To penetrate from the surface matter

into the knowledge of the essence.

Hierarchy

Lasting order requires hierarchy.

It is impractical for the common majority to retain a substantial connection to their individual purpose in the role of the whole if this whole is detached, standardized, global in scope, and overall faceless and unrelatable. The collective does not feel like the individual. That which we understand only through statistics is not relatable to our day-to-day lives.

Alternately, the global whole can be organized into a dendritical hierarchy, to which each of us belongs at some level. The unit to the family and community, the worker to the team, to the department, to the company. Such hierarchy retains the feeling connection between unit and group, and allows us to retain our purpose, our driving force, as we cycle with the daily toil and grind. For if we keep in contact with peers and leaders close to us, in culture, in knowledge, in origins, and in scope, we hold a substantial relationship to the whole, through our physical, emotional, and mental channels, and thus feel like, being who we are in the role that we fill, we rightfully belong to our larger whole.

Familiarity

"Familiarity breeds contempt"

is a common adage.

This occurs

not due to repetition

nor predictability

nor lack of novelty

but because one oft forgets

the motive that begot it

the purpose that drove it

the connection to the heart

that ignited the spark

that first turned the wheel

whose cycles one then

comes to loathe.

For one equivocates the cycle

with the subtle counterparts it comes from.

For one sees then only the creation

and forgets how and why it came to be,

the creator.

It matters not whether or not

the cycles are well-kempt.

What matters is their true connection to oneself

is clearly seen and felt.

When that occurs, correctness flows.

Comenzar y Terminar

Lo que comienza suele terminar, incluso cuando hay expectativas diferentes.

Más importante que el resultado, me parece, es reconocer lo que se ha aprendido de las experiencias vividas, y discernir si aún hay potencial de aprendizaje y crecimiento en tal relación. Y si uno siente expectativas específicas sobre el resultado (relación continúa, relación termina, pareja cambia, etc...), me parece crucial entender los orígenes de estas expectativas hasta la raíz, y así obtener claridad consciente sobre las dinámicas inconscientes en las que es común perderse.

Las expectativas, decisiones, y entendimiento de otra persona son ajenas. Intentar alterarlas infringe en su dominio, y causa repulsión territorial. Uno puede comunicar lo que ve y lo que siente, mas la receptividad y la interpretación de tal comunicación depende directamente del receptor.

Más importante que lo que comunicamos, sin embargo, es tener claridad sobre nuestras propias dinámicas - deseos, emociones, fricciones, motivos - para que nuestras acciones sean concordes, y para que nuestra comunicación sea verdadera y libre de violencia - el fluido verdadero que al cuerpo le hace bien expeler.

Opino que los humanos nos atraemos y nos repelemos según resonamos, y que tales resonancias suelen indicar un potencial de aprendizaje - oportunidades para ver en el otro partes de lo que somos, lo que admiramos u odiamos, y para disolver tales irregularidades. Se puede aprender mientras se comparte - con placer y con dolor. Y lo que no se aprende/disuelve en una oportunidad, permanece para seguir resonando con futuras oportunidades.

Mariposa Asustada

Hoy Tilda y yo nos vimos en la mesa

ojos suaves y penetrantes, en contemplación mutua

(después de escuchar Earthsong

y sentirme fluido-a-través-de por energías altas

a través de mi cuerpo - brazos levantados, atención interior)

y tuve una impresión, una visión, de una interacción entre nosotros

anterior a ambas nuestras vidas

de nuestras almas.

De nuestras almas más jóvenes.

Y luego bailamos, nuestros cuerpos,

a la música de piano suave en la cocina.

Ella dibujando curvas suntuosas

con sus brazos y con su cuerpo

y luego al vernos, cara a cara

le dije lo que vi/sentí:

"Sentí a nuestras almas, hace mucho tiempo

cuando te tomé con fuerza, queriendo tenerte

y tú, mariposa asustada, te escapaste

y me costó mucho tiempo volverte a encontrar".

Lágrimas rodaron en mis mejillas

saturadas de anhelos antiguos recordados

y ella me dijo

"Me tocó mucho lo que dijiste.

Ahora estoy aquí, contigo,

y quiero estar contigo".

Y llorando, comprendí el dolor de hace tiempo,

que al forzar su presencia conmigo la ahuyenté

desde edades olvidadas

y desde entonces, he aprendido

a sentir y escuchar.

Rhythms

We meet again tonight, my child

as we have each night.

We build rhythms into us

by the repetition of ritual.

We build rituals into us

in order to harmonize with the cycles

that transcur all around us

and the cycles that iterate within us.

And as we build each rhythm

we gain the momentum of the harmony

with the world around us and within us.

Dynamic, living flywheels

sources of energy and strength.

And with each rhythm built

we express gradually

the true essence of our self.

Building a rhtyhtm takes time

sincerity and diligence.

Each step taken is one woven thread

into the fabric of our rhythm.

Therefore we meet each night

to build the rhythm of our family

to weave the tapestry of our family

with love.

Love knows the harmony

with other rhythms

with other cycles.

With the sun and stars above

with the heartbeats nearby

with our thought currents within

with our fears and desires.

Each thread woven with love, therefore,

can best produce a fabric

that joins the parts in harmony

in coherent, joyous union.

Each step taken with love

each thread woven with love

adds to the fabric of the family

that we are building

you, your mother, and I.

That is why we meet each night

to build the fabric of our family

since the stage of seed

so we may be joined through love

as our family grows.

Children

Children, truly, all of us are.

regardless of years, experience, or scars.

We play, we fight, we laugh, and we cry

but many after some years, we learn to deny.

To deny the anger that asks us to fight

because for convenience, we're taught that's "not right".

To deny fresh laughter that makes us shine bright

after so many told us that that's impolite.

To deny our wonder that brings us to play

when we're trained to be adults, who "have to work all day".

To deny the pain buried under those fears

who dare not seek help nor to shed repressed tears.

And instead we carve ourselves intricate masks

that avoid confrontations and focus on tasks.

They focus on survival to get the job done,

barriers and defenses to stave off everyone.

So when our anger wakes up to something unfair

our mask filters it to a despondent "I don't care".

And when something in a stranger lights up our spark deep

it filters to "nah, I'm busy, plus she'll think I'm a creep".

Our laughter spontaneous, we hold and restrain

for we fear it may boil in them anger or pain.

And instead we echo its squawks and its hisses

to pretend our approval with fake little kisses.

And inside of us, buried deep, barely a trace

lies the pain we never took the time to embrace.

For from it spring the fears spring the masks spring the walls

that keep us so lonely in this world full of souls.

Our child seeks connection, and looks out to see

"who'll truly understand me", "oh who will save me".

But when we reach out, we find them all flawed,

"no one truly sees me, no one truly knows".

"And even close partners, friends, and family,

there's just *something* that I can't quite make them see.

They relieve my thirst, and calm my desire,

but no matter what I do, they always expire".

Too often the seeker is thus led astray

he most oft does not know he seeks the wrong way.

The walls, the thirst, and the sought-after grail

are all on the inside, behind his own veil.

Deep within the layers grown so thick with time,

each time the pain oozes, a new cover of fear slime

hardens and encloses, not unlike a snail,

except that in our case, we're not quite as frail.

The pains at the core of our walls are old

oft too old for memory, can't even be told.

However, its psychical structure persists

and will do so as long as we try to resist.

To resist the message pain wants us to hear

a simple and primal "I am still here.

I hurt and I cry and though I've called you for years

not once have you dared listen nor share my tears".

"I'm scared and alone and I cry out for help,

and all you do is echo that out of yourself.

You seek help in others, and fail to see

what you've truly been seeking is this lonely you/me".

"No lover nor offspring nor safeguard can give

you what you have been missing to THEN fully live.

You see, the only way that both you and I can heal

is that you dare listen to me, and let yourself feel".

"Feel the old wound whence spring all your walls,

that inside you are broken, at your mortal core.

Accept you're imperfect, inexcusably,

for only then the flaw of perfection you'll see".

Only when the path of inner pain

is walked and you embrace the one at the core,

can the years of grief wash out and drain,

and through awareness, soften the fears galore.

And little by little, when you least expect,

suddenly you'll find you're able to connect.

Sometimes yes, to others, but most peculiarly,

you'll find yourself feeling your true inner "me".

The air may feel fresher, the colors less dull,

gradually you'll have much less need to control.

Your laughter will pop out, your wonder will grow

where no plan for either had been made before.

And when anger rises, you'll now have the choice

of how you will manage your hands and your voice.

No longer a youngling, when you are wounded again,

you'll know to take time to care for your pain.

When people around you react at you with fears

remember that behind them is a dammed lifetime of tears.

Greet the child within them, even if with your eyes,

for yes, he feels it, even if the people retain their guise.

While you, recovered traveler,

can now walk and see.

Equipped with wonder, joy, and laughter,

Child Eternal, live free.

Day of Flow

• Flow level felt yesterday: 4/5
• Walked with flow.
• Made food with flow.
• Made love with flow.

Things Tilda said yesterday that ring true (for I laughed when I heard them):

1. "I think when you are with me, you begin to disregard your own needs in favor of mine. And I fall in to this dynamic, as it feels good being taken care of. As we both fall into this dynamic, you lose your focus and I lose my strength."
2. I think when we're living together, your unconscious is looking for tranquility, and it can't find anytime during the day when I'm awake. So it seeks to stay awake at night and then do the things you want and like, because only then you feel such a tranquility.

Value Increase

I posit there are multiple ways to add value to a system.

One can increase the number of people working on a process, such as in manufacture, or one can increase the amount of resources that one works with, such as using more land for agriculture. One can take the resources of another, or one can work/process for a longer time, in order to obtain more value out of the processes one applies.

Such increases of value are additive, for each increase of a constant amount of inputs (invested value - e.g. an extra worker) results in an additive increase in the number of outputs (resulting value - e.g. an extra 8 shirts made per day). Such increases are commonplace, and are present in common daily life.

One can also improve the process through which one produces value. The introduction of a machine to manufacture yarn, for instance, substituting the manual labor that used to produce it, can increase the production of this process by a certain factor (say, +70% output), in addition to reducing the cost of manual labor (say, -30% input).

Any method that introduces efficiency into a process is multiplicative, for each increase of a constant amount of inputs (invested value - e.g. one-time substitution of machines for manual laborers) results in a multiplicative increase in the number of outputs (resulting value - production ratio increase of 1.7 / 0.7 ~= 2.4). Though the investment of such improvements tend to require more effort or deeper analysis, and they are not as commonplace as the additive methods, their value increase grows much faster, and their improved effects are (in theory) long-lasting.

Furthermore, there are changes that occur in the world that bring about ways that can increase the value of processes even faster than multiplicative ones. Such improvements change the way in which a population itself produces value in their daily lives. In such a change, each individual is given the opportunity to improve his/her own production processes in multiplicative manners. As the processes between individuals interact with one another, and critical flow paths between them are unclogged, and flow quicker and easier, the individual multiplicative factors compound, resulting in exponential increases in the value of the entire population.

Such improvements, rarer over the course of generations, tend to bring about revolutionary changes across a population. Examples of such changes in our collective memory have been the Industrial Revolution, the introduction of Computers, the Internet, and most recently Artificial Intelligence.

On Raising Our Child

May we never force coercion

as a form of discipline.

May we keep upheld the value

of the Truth that lies within.

May we do our best to listen

to our child's concerns and fears.

May we with love, fully see him/her

as he/she bursts with cries and tears.

May his/her primal spark of laughter

wake up our inner girl and boy.

May his/her play be seen and valued,

guided towards what brings him/her joy.

May he/she be our little partner

who helps our home and family thrive.

May we include him/her in our banter,

in our chores, highs, lows, and cries.

May we know the proper timing

for his/her petals to unfold.

May we let go as his/her blooming

sheds old layers as he/she grows.

May we trust our own emotions

so that he/she may trust his/her own.

May we keep fresh aspirations

that he/she not need fear the unknown.

May we live through many channels,

language, science, arts, math, play.

So that he/she has ample options

as he/she crafts his/her own way.

May we keep fresh the light within us

and may we see it in the other

so that Love pervades our daily life

with the world and with one another.

May we daily feel truly grateful

for the lives we daily lead.

May we trust well and be faithful

to the path on which we proceed.

Mundane prison

Afraid of a mundane prison

I have been.

Pulling away from the ropes that bound me

resisting being considered/mistaken

as one with the place,

the people, the land, the systems around me.

The culture, the details, not me.

The routine, the friendships, not me.

The shapes, the specifics, not me.

So anytime I felt the tendrils

of any vine nearby grip my arm,

hug my body, pull at my leg,

repulsion flared up in me,

and the pressure to run away

overpowered the call to stay.

Disgust at what I know,

contempt of the familiar.

And so I fain uprooted

again, again, and again,

each time sincere yet shortened farewells

lit up the prideful feeling in me of

"you are not me, and so I leave".

Dissatisfied repeatedly, that what I found was not me,

frustration that I could not make the world and me align,

Her places always "but"-able,

her people always flawed,

why did desire always lead me

to what looked shiny, but close-up dull?

Then gradually I came to see

what caused such endless chase.

The problems were not the objects,

'twere the eyes with which I gazed.

Twas not the people who were flawed,

the flaws were my own point of view,

for each object existent in this world

has a true path that cannot be askew.

For it Is, self-proven existence,

and thus contributes to the True.

The instinct I grew up with,

that which insists "not me", "not me",

somehow it knew that people, groups, and objects

are not where lies the worth to Be.

And yet the shine stoked my desire

and signalled a subtle hope

that in this new place, partner, or job

may lie the sought-for "goal":

That which is really my own.

That which sparked my joy.

Which reminded me of my purpose.

Ineffable, elusive spark.

But while I knew that in the matter

lies not the worth to Be,

I half-forgot that I myself

also inhabit a body.

A complex mass of tissues,

beliefs, thoughts, shapes, and skin.

They also were what I repelled

because I knew it was not me.

I forgot I live within which

shines the very spark I seek,

and I cannot lose it truly,

for it's the essence of me.

I have been very afraid

to dive into the depths of the world

of groups, places, jobs, people,

of chains that bound me to the details

to heavy rocks on the ocean floor.

That I would drown beneath the water

and forget the sun above.

But where I had been mistaken

were not that the details were not me,

for that was true,

but rather than within each rock, prize, and flesh

I haughtily pushed away

after losing sight of the spark that drew me there,

there also lives the same essential light

that inner me,

of which I had been unaware.

Sometimes this realization

blipped in my unconscious, then faded.

But gradually, as I attempt it,

my feeling for it becomes greater,

and my path a little straighter.

For I now suspect this mundane prison we inhabit,

that blinds us, weighs us, hurts us, baits us,

we entered of our own accord.

And here we can find other sparks

which twinkle up our own inner flame

with whom we can remember together

our inner Sun.

That we really are Light within,

and what we wish is to shine our Love.

Onto all that Is.

the reins

hold the reins

oh so so softly my love

so gently, love, my mind

that a feather's touch would be too harsh.

you are the master and rider, yes,

but too often you are startled and rattled

not trusting the ride

offered to you by your faithful

horse.

Too often you hold on tightly

yanking on the reins hither and thither

afraid of the ride

afraid of the death

because you do not yet trust

the wisdom of your horse.

hold the reins so so gently, my love.

so soft there is no touch

so soft there is no sound.

direct your own ride, yes

but not with yank and whip

not with rush to escape the dangers

or to soothe your budding fears.

direct with clarity, mind.

know the aim, see the aim, and send it

lighter than the butterfly's touch.

so light you virtually do nothing

but hold your aim before you,

trust your horse to know the way,

and enjoy the ride.

micromanage not

coerce not.

send your clear direction upon

the currents of subtle thought

and see it bloom before your eyes

through the fluid actions

of your trusted vehicle.

Practice the art of enchanting yourself

with your will alone.

It trains it to be clear and to focus

through continuous consciousness.

traits too seldom used

for we have learned to rely on

fear, excitement, and spontaneous reaction

to take us where we go

even when these motivators

rarely have an aware goal

other than "scratch that itch", "soothe that fear",

which riles up

excessive stress.

Peace, instead, and build up

good trust between the two

your horse and your rider,

so the first is free to serve

and the other free to see.

Think/direct. Then wait/allow.

Patiently observe the mysteries of your own self

be revealed.

I Live

Forty years it took me, to realize that I am

a life form on this world.

Forty years I resisted.

Forty years, I would not yield to this

flesh prison.

To these solid inconveniences.

To these slimy sticky relationships.

But forty years past I am here, still.

And yes, I am: A life form in this world.

As much as I resisted.

As much as I cried, wailed, begged to come out.

To end it.

I am here, I am this.

I wish to escape no longer.

I am here. This is me.

I Live.

Amidst everything else that lives.

And we are what we are.

Audio

Highest aspiration

May we follow our highest aspiration

we can grasp in our awareness

whatever that may be.

If thirst and hunger run strong

then let them hunt their goal.

No call to the higher is heard

if the body does not yet trust the soul.

If desire for prestige, wealth, and power

have arisen, seeing the value of the hoard

Then let them soak up what they're longing

Til they stand amidst abundance, and find bore.

If desire to know and experience

lie in the ashes of the past hungry flame

let it scramble and travel and stumble

grow its mind by exploring the game.

If you realize that experience is filtered

and distorted by the lenses within

look inside then and curiously ponder

the mechanics that steer your ship.

If you touch on the point of reflection

that projects who you are to the world

poke and play with it to become familiar

with that which you have long believed that you are.

If you sink yet behind all your lenses

that have painted the picture of you

stay awhile then and wonder what lies there,

whence comes consciousness, love, and the True.

If the source of the light is ascertained,

even as mind doubts and rebels,

blend your burgeoning theories with practice,

walk the highest hope you can sense.

And if testing, you perchance catch a glimmer

of that same light within you outside,

follow the scent as far as it leads you,

seek the resonance you feel in between.

And if chasing, you find in another

those same lenses, mechanics, and light,

feel the truth of our shared global theatre,

and to recognize it train your sight.

If you grasp the illusion around you,

yet continue to play a separate part,

seek to share what you've reached on to others,

who know not that they too seek the light.

Yet remember their worldly perception

may be still ignorant to their pain,

and remember your arduous uphill

was true only because you held your own rein.

Human frame

This human frame is our legacy,

gifted to us by our parents,

whose gift it once was too.

Each of us the bequeathee

of a biological machine beyond our ken.

Literal spaceships bestowed to us trainee captains,

in order to carry out the will of the unseen.

Within this human frame are also packed

the capacities to feel and to think.

All of us make use of these frameworks;

each of us is strapped tight into the controls.

We fumble and bumble and stumble around,

pulled towards pleasure, adjusted through pain,

at times we lose track of our vehicles,

whose coordination requires practice.

At times we are led astray by

the pitfalls of pride and of shame,

oblivious to the frivolity of the details of the observed

relative to the profound unity

of the underlying Unseen.

We pretend we are somehow masters

of these vehicles we but learn to control,

and suppose ourselves the makers

of these sheaths we hardly understand.

Forgetful explorers of what Is.

The physical tasks must be dealt with

in dense, heavy, spatial form,

yet our fruits lie not in matter,

not in wealth nor fame acquired,

though they may serve as stepping stones

as we realize the nature of desire

and its role in our growth.

The riches become subtler and lighter,

as we shift our focus from feeding our bodies

to feeding our souls.

From refueling the vehicle to enjoying the journey

And learning about What Is

On this field trip we call a life.

We are not the vehicle.

We are not the driver.

We are the schoolchildren.

Decades and centuries and millennia ago,

Human life was essentially the same

as in today's fast internet world.

Our hungers, passions, and fears live still with us,

unchanged constants in our vehicles, despite cultural growth.

And many have yet to learn to steward them consciously,

to be equanimously informed by their true signals,

then choosing with conscious will,

instead of being swept away by their forces,

and resorting to their animal nature, desperate to survive,

which in its desperation, forgets love.

And in lovelessness grow greed and pride,

flourish separativeness, hatred, and blame,

like mold and pests gladly inhabit

a house left sunless and untended.

The homeowner can only tend to it correctly

if he knows, appreciates, and cares for it

with learning, wisdom, and love.

Our legacy, long-trodden,

these vehicles of senses and earth

are not our own triumphs;

they are the products of an ancient craftsmanship

which our minds are but starting to grasp.

They are the instruments that collect experience

given to us so we may grow.

So we may satisfy our thirst

of what it means to be.

Of what it means to choose and feel

a single path within the Ocean,

anchored by the service of

our persistent, ceaseless bodies.

Our aim is not survival,

it is wisdom, grace, and love.

And these, of soul and not of body

cannot be copied, but must be cultivated

into the garden of our being

with the pain and effort of experience

with the tools we craft thereby:

discipline, understanding, discernment,

efficiency, dispassion, clarity, patience.

And with trust, allowed to grow

and to continue the work of the same ancient craftsmanship

to which we ourselves are servants and tools.

Current of Humanity

We the people

are but the myriad sparkling droplets

arisen from the running current

the front of the wave

pushed forward by the momentum

of the river of humanity

since ages long gone.

Some of us leap atop the wave

and see the wave unfolding.

Some of us flow amidst the turmoil of the current

wild and ancient, caught in the strife

with little respite to breathe or to see or choose

the larger unfolding pattern.

Slip

I notice my mind slip at times. Often, habitually, it stands upon its current state and topic - restless, alert - eager to follow my train of thought to its next step. Shaky I feel it, unsettled, almost desperate to find the next "correct answer" or "logical consequence", in the ceaseless stream of consciousness.

Thus it finds it difficult to remain in any one place, steady and calm. And in so doing, it neglects the digestion of the moment - the experience of Now - in favor of the next spoonful, the next flavor, the next meal. "What is ahead?", "How can I find it?", and "Can I get there before others get there and spoil my process by telling me about it?" are anxieties often present in its subconscious, spurring it relentlessly to "more", "forward", "better", "faster", like a stallion whipped into fear and submission, unable to choose its own steps or pace of its own accord.

When new information arrives and the fear whip strikes, I feel my mind "slip" off the present, off its current state of vision and digestion, off onto the river of inner perceptions and associations, desperate to grip onto the next shore of logical consistency and "correctness". And like the loyal Igor to his condescending master, he brings him a whole pile of possible next choices, as many as he can comically stack on his arms, and waits again on his master, anxious, desperate to feel the crumbs of approval the master drops him every once in a while.

And I see now: I am that master. I, the chooser, the being nourished by the experience and with an array of vehicles and servants at my disposal, he for whom this life Is.

I am he who feels discontent, he who is dissatisfied with this banquet of sensations, he who places his hope that perhaps "the next" experience, "the next" moment will give me satisfaction, will nourish me any better, deludedly longing for the future moments to be in essence in any way different from the one I am in now.

The River is One. And that in which I flow, I also Am.

A dissastisfied chooser, feeling imprisoned by the limitation of the Moment, refuses care and rejects acceptance. He lives in perennial lingering disappointment, in ceaseless inner tantrum, as he finds, day after day, that every one of his endeavours ends in failure, for every one of the shining prizes he desired become dull clay as they settle in the Now, which he continues to unknowingly reject.

With this knowledge, I look inside. What spurs still my mind as I feel it slip time and again? Which state or outcome do I so find deplorable that it shakes my mind into trembling instability?

I feel an answer lurks in the questions I wrote some paragraphs ago. "Can I get there before others get there and spoil my process by telling me about it?"

Ah, fear of inferiority. I recognize it. It has accompanied me since at least adolescence in themes like knowledge, intelligence, personal worth, sexual appeal, social appeal, culture, breadth of travel, insight, resourcefulness, musical skills, physical skills, profession, etiquette, financial self-reliance, physical self-reliance, literacy, and such others.

A myriad faces of a single core pain: that I may not be the best at all of which I care about. That I may be sub-optimal in any of these. That I may be "wrong", that I may have "failed". And these still are an outer layer of the inner: "Others don't like me because I'm not good enough". Which has internalized in my own system as me treating my mind in this way: "We're not good enough. We're not in a good place yet". "C'mon mind, faster, give me the answers so we can be good enough". "No mind, that was stupid. Stupid. Try again. Do it better this time". "Oh, it's no use. You're not good enough".

And the trembling mind, shaking from this abuse, continues to do its best to please its master, anxious to serve, trying to make up for past disappointments. Naturally, its grip on any present moment is tenuous, and it slips and leaps ahead at each opportunity to please its master.

But the premise of the master is flawed. Mind, or any of its answers or plans, cannot bring him satisfaction. That can only come through acceptance of this eternal Now we are immersed in, and of our minusculity in it, of our frailty, and of our propensity to stumble.

The missing piece in this dynamic is Love. Love is absent (or at least unrecognized) while I refuse that Now is sufficient, while I haughtily presume that I am entitled to any particular phenomenon, while I treat my mind as a malperforming slave. As long as my mind is a minion to me, and not a partner, I do not love it, and we cannot trust each other. Our dynamic can be one of either love or fear; love flows naturally in the absence of fear, and such absence is cultivated by gradual healing. By patiently treating my mind, our entire relationship, with kindness, with understanding, again and again and again, the old wounds that sustain the mistrust and the fear are seen, cleaned, dried, and eventually healed. With unconditional love. With relentless compassion and kindness.

Thus can my mind trust me again, and feel no need to slip or jump. Thus can it enjoy the flavors and the digestion of every color, smell, shape, word, idea, movement, position, emotion, and sound - like a curious child unmarred by the pressures of the world - it can again taste, learn, and be free. And confident in its every step.