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.

Divine Presence

From the essence of the Self bloom all things - the worlds, the forms, the bodies, the awareness - all of it an expression of the One immanent, pervasive Life.

One looks inward and sees, in moments of calm, that the essential is but the Core, the Life, the Essence of Oneself. That ceaseless inner radiance One feels, which fuels every single drop of Experience.

One looks outward and realizes, in moments of clarity, that the forms are but cohesions directed and synchronized by intelligent forces, all of them manifestations of one same source energy: one which aims towards growth, purpose. The forms bloom forth/flow out from the Source as a myriad rivers from a spring, as a thousand forests from a seed. Like light radiating onto a screen, the quintessence of Life encounters the clay world of matter and projects upon it its eternal dance - throughs individuals, stories, suffering, joy, strife, striving, failure, triumph, and cycles It produces reflections of Itself, It creates actors and plays to depict Its Divine Substance.

And I find myself betwixt these sides of Awareness. This human actor, the recipient of these bodies and skills and stories, am but a finite subset, one small unit of the Whole. A single speck in the painting of Life, one cog in the machinery of this cosmic music box. My whole human life, all I know, all I've seen, all my cares: a grain of sand in the Beach of the Heavens - in this threshold between the Ocean of Consciousness and the malleable, shapeable Land of Forms.

Yet I feel not insignificant, nor deprived from worth or from love. For I see that the Divine Fluid is as true within my own finite awareness as it is within the brightest star. The same soul of Divine Music rests in me as it does in the tiniest life form, in the filthiest forgotten corner, in the highest angel, and in the most refined of Minds. We are One River, You and I, flowing eternally through our Own Bloodstream, Bones, and Breath, gathering thereby the experience that nourishes us (through pain and pleasure) and spurs us to further refinement, power, and knowledge, so that we may even better manifest the Divine. And in so doing, We live, dance, and play.

Opinions

Superlative statements tend to attract attention and outrage. Since their scope is narrow and sharp, they often meet the opinions of others either with acute alignment or with sharp collision. Both cases rile up the unconscious instincts of emotionally-driven man: those of the zeal for one's own opinions. This can cause strong emotional reactions in the other, and carry them to reply in turn, often also superlatively.

With concordant timing and circumstance, such iterative reactions can easily grow into waves of outrage and conflict, often gathering into two opposing sides, each holding tight to their dear opinions, each congealed into their side by the growing feeling of tribal belonging.

To avoid being unwittingly swept into the peaks and troughs of social storms and commentary, it is necessary to consider one's own opinions and ideas as fallible, malleable, and as separate from oneself.

True Essence

The fundamental mistrust is that of Life. That of our own experience. That it is not good enough. That it will not satisfy the desires we hoard and suffer. That it gives us the locks, and not the keys. That it baits us with treasures that, upon acquiring, become ash and sand. That it pits us against dangers that threaten our existence, and that it doesn't guarantee our protection. That it cares not for our well-being. That it threatens us, at each step and choice, with mistake, blunder, pain, and regret. That Life can taint us with the seemingly indelible label of Wrong.

Ah, but this mistrust is an incomplete interpretation. We harvest not from Life our worth, but live through it in order to REALIZE the worth we already are. The treasure lives not in this ocean of flesh, clay, and space, and the goal is not the exaltation nor the preservation of these our bodies. We come into this ocean to Live and to Shape and to Color it, as an expression of our true Being. And the truer we express, the sooner our obsolete layers slide off and are carved away from us, and our true potential is revealed.

Yes, this incurs pain, as our bodies feel the old slip away. As the familiar is seen to play in discord with the truth within us, the old survival instincts wish to hold on, as the child holds on the swimming pool's edge, unaware of the vastness of what is beyond. Yet our inner voice is always true guide, and can carry us faithfully from one lesson to the next to the next and to the next, sculpting an ever-truer form for our true essence. Trust keeps our eyes on the Way.

Vocal Freedom Second Day

Song: "All souls will praise the divine"

And as I moved through the room between the graceful churn of dancing bodies, I saw in them that praise. Those lives, there, living and singing and enjoying, are all in their own way, praising the Divine.

Exercise: Each of us sang to an audience of 3.

My song (first one) arose from the trembling sounds of my fear and anxiety. As I sang it and felt it and gave it to my audience, the trembling subsided into a stable tone, and I felt within me, my emotions cleared, and I felt free to flow and channel whatever was coming. Free to flow. And I sang of my own source, about my own worth and trust and self-confidence. That I felt trust enough to sing my truth.

Second song: I sang to another audience, feeling the children within each of them. And as I sang, I truly felt their essences, buried beneath layers and decades of pains and joy and disappointments and frustrations. Beings of Life buried beneath thick layers of their own beliefs. And as I felt their joyful children essences, and felt my own, these resonated, and I felt a connection between the audience and me. A recognition within... a remembrance in them, perhaps. In me, it strengthened my own feeling and memory of my divine essence, beneath the layers of my bodies.

Vocal Freedom Workshop (First Day)

I stood up and felt the energy of the crowd as they looked at me before I spoke. I waited as I looked at them. When I spoke, seconds later, my voice felt low, stable, soft and firm. Amazing low yet soft stability.

I said that I do not know how I may be changed by this workshop, nor which capabilities and potentials it may unleash in me.

When speaking in gibberish with my exercise partner, I let myself expand about the great qualities that I embody. In the end, my whole body and self allowed themselves to express loud and expansive, that what I love about myself is that I am Alive, Free, and that I act towards the Good/act with Love. Oh, I started by saying that I love how I value Truth, and that I seek it with a powerful Will. I also said that I possess a sharp and precise mind/agile mind.

Íntima Aceptación de Confianza

En el momento íntimo de mi alma

Con mi alma.

Me encuentro. Recién despierto en el mundo,

Conciencia fresca, en un ciclo nuevo de vida 

En el público. En la vida. Entre presiones y tensiones energéticas y físicas y auditivas.

Algo en mí comienza a sentir prisa, urgencia,

Instigación interna. Algo "hay que hacer", dice está energía, residente de mi cuerpo.

Mas siento su mano en la mía, y me recuerda el cariño que nos damos y que aprendemos día a día.

Siento su energía calma, su grácil cabeza posada con confianza en la nota,

Y me recuerda a la confianza. Que cultivamos, de la que hablamos, que compartimos al aire abierto como el aire y aliento entre nosotros.

Me recuerdo de confiar, de ese sentimiento, de esa fuerza estabilizante que vive dentro de mi, que tengo siempre el poder de elegir.

Con estos recuerdos le hablo a las prisas que surge en mí. Con estas sensaciones traigo mi ofrenda de vuelta a esas profundas regiones, donde aún flotan, en olvido inconsciente, dolores antiguos y espinas proyectadas que en algún momento interné en mi cuerpo, y luego olvidé.

Te traigo esta realidad, mi infante inconsciente. Te introduzco a este momento en mi vida, a conectarte de nuevo con mi sensación presente.

Con la forma de su mano al entrelazar sus dedos con los míos. Suaves, calmos, dormidita y en paz. Te ofrezco que sientas la conexión desde tu espina hasta esta calma externa, que sientas la aceptación de este ser suave, libre, y feliz, quien te acepta y te ama exactamente como eres, con completo conocimiento de todas esas "faltas" y "defectos" que alguna vez pensaste que tenías.

Con el peso confiado de su cabeza en tu hombro, otorgándote la confianza de su cuerpo en la buena intención de tu ser. Confiando en tu capacidad y en tu intención de ser un compañero adecuado para ella en este momento. En expresión suave, dulce, y absoluta. Sin intentar probar nada, sin intención oculta. Simplemente como ella es, simplemente como yo soy. Siéntelo, prisa. Siéntelo, mi niño herido hace décadas ya. Siéntelo. Y sabe que toda esa confianza, todo ese amor, tú eres, yo soy, capaz de recibirlo, pues somos capaces de sentirlo nosotros mismos. Tal transparencia, tal verdad... que surge desde el ser esencial que somos, a través de la pureza de un ser que limpiamos gradualmente, día a día, momento a momento, paso a paso. A veces por mi mismo, a veces en baile conjunto, y a veces en baile también con las energías que el mundo nos proporciona en olas y señales que estamos aprendiendo a reconocer.

Siéntelo, centro de mí que siente prisa o insuficiencia. Siéntelo. Te amo, eres parte de mí, y somos todos capaces, juntos, de disfrutar una vida plena en confianza, en verdad, y en amor.

...

Receive that acceptance. Feel it. Here. Feel it.

This acceptance. Of the simply, unfluffed, un-worth -proving you. Simple you. Feel it Feel this acceptance.

Feel it within. Find it within. Let them play together in resonant vibration,

Let each reinforce the other in natural being. Just acceptance of what is.. of this. This is me. This is my moment. In my life. Here... This shape... What is.

Emotional Digging

Through the emotions we dig deeply

Lifting up the pieces left on the crust

The scabs detach, the blood and pus comes out

Marks from a long-gone battle

Of growing up in this world

Blindly groping and being blindly groped and bruised

We are hurt

And we grow scabs.

Underneath these scabs and wounds

Beneath these painful memories

Lies quietly the brilliance of the spirit.