Reflecting on Awareness

Right now I feel down, a little lost, and unsure of pretty much everything.
I walked outside briefly, it was still beautiful, stunning view of the city
with the stars shining bright, and the city lights reflecting on the water.

Noticing the shine on the leaves from a street lamp here and there.
I was surprised once again to see how beauty and pain, arise together,
and possibly are the same side of the same coin.

I'm feeling tired of trying so hard.
Tired of being pretty, tired of trying to be talented, to be good.
All to get that longed after praise, recognition and attention.

Perhaps just plain and simple, bare bones life, is enough.
It might not be overly stimulating in the way that feels good superficially.
But over time, my taste grows for the nuance of THIS.
That we call here, now, this moment.

I have tendency for worry, for feeling dark. But also for seeing beauty and looking closer.
Once again, they are not separated, they come from each other with each other.

I'm remembering a Mary Oliver poem:
you don't have to be good...

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things."

Thank you for listening to me, and I wish you realness and warmth or whatever floats your boat
over the holidays, and always.
Love.

God loving itself in mysterious ways 12/17/2010

A most fascinating, interesting and scary situation to lose a reference point.
In this case to not be with someone I love deeply.

I was lying here in bed trying to sleep.
Maybe even trying to figure out and name emotions, to even know what my position is.

I found out

I don't know who I am, I don't know where I am.

It's a blank? or just a fundamental fear when the rug from under is pulled.

What is it that gets that rug pulled up?

is it a storyline, a mirage, a fantasy..

yes and yes to all.

And still, the extreme discomfort, restless, even though the bubble burst, still a residue of a ghost
Of beliefs piled on top of beliefs, seeing it doesn't makes it any less painful.

There is wanting to get out, get away, change something, do something but what?

This is also GOD, this is also LIFE.

Life is showing up in endless forms, it has a huge range.
The painful ones, the joyous ones.

Is there Joy in the pain? is there joy in experiencing?
Just plain and simple whatever is experienced.

Curious and wanting. I'm not there yet. Or maybe I've been here all along.
Where else could I be?

Just because it appears as something unwanted, which anyway morphs and changes every second
doesn't mean it's not LIFE, GOD all along

expressing itself, unfolding itself, loving itself in myriad forms.

Stories recede like those shadows in the corner of the room 12/17/2010

Waking up today in a daze, a quality of "something is wrong with me" and defeat.
Went out for a short walk, and felt 'what's the point' a sense of weakness about life.
Some indecision about going back to Toronto to take care of some important things.

The tendency is to give up on it, when things fall a part. Hiding, escaping, feeling like I can't do life.
Noticing the worrying spinning, which seems to be the kind of energy system I'm used to from as long as I can remember.

Coming back to my room, and noticing the quality of light, the light bulb has some dust moving very gently, looking at the ceiling noticing that there is not really what I think of as empty space, just 'particles' sparkles moving. That's too much to even say of what's going on here.

Having the thought, "how can I be my strongest self, most powerful self what would that look like?

Nothing comes to mind.

Closing my eyes I see the same quality of the ceiling supposedly behind my eye balls, sparkles in darkness, movement.
And echoes of shapes of looking at the light bulb in green or yellow or non-solid colors that keep morphing.

And I think is there even a self that can be strong, is there even a self that can be weak?

What is all that about? is that not more spinning of trying to grasp at what's going on here, which is unknown in human terms.
In human logic.

Wanting desperately for my story to make sense, I'm important, apparently, most that I think about is my troubles, how I can make them right, how to make decisions, flipping back and forth, all just a mirage. Because it is not the only thing that is happening here, it's not even happening here, it's happening but as energy movement not as some sort of truth.

Looking around the room, lines are forming, shadows receding, a play of light, that's all.
And even that too much to say,

What can you say in language that makes any sense of something that is illogical. of THIS.

Thoughts are a part of it, in fact are it. But not their specific contents, just like the TV, or the comforter don't mean anything in particular but have a certain quality of presence to them.

Is this true?

open question. No desire for an answer.

A movement to write, where did that arise from?

same place anything does.

The story recedes like that shadows. Not that it's not as important as the shadows, but not in the way we're used to thinking about the self importance of the story of me, just a part of the light show, not bad nor good. Even when it can feel bad or good.
also just the light show, the energy show, each word fails, reality wins. It's just what's here always.

Always doesn't cut it, when there is no time. But again a movement to describe something.

A fullness delights in itself, no matter how limited it feels, a fullness is limitation.
A fullness is seemingly a falling a part.

What can be said about something not say-able

Experiencing speaks for itself.

nothing what it seems- dancing with the dark 12/11/2010

What if everything that you are able to see, experience and hear is alive.

Alive! and has the same exact quality of presence that we might think is personal to us, to me.

What is this presence? What is what senses and doesn’t need logic to understand?

My whole world view falls flat on it’s face, and gives me a dizzying feeling when I think of that. The usual paradigm is that things that appear and that we can experience and see don’t have presence and are useful to a ‘me’ that can benefit.

Is it not a miracle that typing can happen right now? That somehow there is intelligence that is moved to type to express ideas to think of new ways of expression to contact reality even through lies since all language isn’t a BAM! POW! in your face reality, in some ways it is. Like the sounds themselves.

But not the contents. How different then what we are used to thinking about ‘the world’ and ‘me’.

Lying in a dark room, I look and notice the darkness is really bright and perhaps full of light. Nothing is what it seems to be at least not forever at least not even for a second. I look at the darkness in this room, and I don’t understand it. Of course not! How can I ? it is not logical, and the word dark doesn’t at all explain what darkness is. Same goes for sound and pretty much every symbol we use.

If we want to look and see the aliveness, and that it morphs constantly without pause. Is it myself I’m looking at? None other.

Without being repetitive from some old ideas or something heard or read.

And checking in right now with reality, with what’s going on. Well immediately I sense a bubbly joy surface and excitement felt.

And if it would have a voice it might say like a little girl ‘oh oh what is this? How exciting. What’s going on here? “ and continue playing and exploring with whatever came her way.

I am not a me, and a room is not what I think of it.

How exciting, how open it feels to not have a strict idea on what anything is.

On what’s going on here.

Discovering freshly, newly right now again and again.

What a great game is that what’s called hide and seek?

Ok time to move some shit around! 11/22/2010

So I was thinking "Fuck insecurities"
In the sense of they are alright too! just like everything else.

What is insecurity ?

I don't mean in the sense of human logic. But can we actually find one?
I can totally spin stories about a whole bunch, I can hear myself believing and extracting lots of
juice and life out of familiar tales.

I love them. I must.

sometimes it seems like nofar is one big ball of insecurity.
That sounds about right.

But then again, what is Nofar? where does she start and end?

can anything be defined for sure and finally?

It seems almost crazy sometimes to feel such strong energy of insecurity and all of a sudden move in a completely

free flowing way.

I presume that the stuckness is not in the experience of insecurity but of not wanting to have that experience
what is it even? can I pin it down? is it a thought? just one? a sensation? and another?
does it have a bottom? or an end?

what's interesting is that I talk about it like I know everything there is to know about it. And I don't.
I fight for it, I defend it. I make up excuses but what is it?

Isn't it more slippery and elusive than I believed?

I don't want to take a closer look some of the time. Even though I know it's an open door to endless discovery of infinity, of aliveness, of freshness, of pure aweness, of deliciousness, of what we all crave, complete intimacy and presence. Full and over flowing here, with what we call sights, and sounds, and tastes and smells and touch and thinking but such a richness
when nothing means anything in particular and all is undivided whole.

And the freedom of being free from needing freedom because the experience is so divinely out of my mind.

.
One definition can not capture a mystery so vast so endless. It hasn't even begun.

Unfinished 10/18/2010

I haven't written in awhile. It seemed like it hard to describe reality in words
In these squiggly shapes that seem to have a certain finite meaning to them.
Reality is so vast so boundless, so miraculous so vibrant how could I possibly
try to explain relationships, emotions, thoughts, ideas. Well I don't. It does.

If there is a spark to write the spark writes itself, it is it self, appears in itself, and is not pointing to
content but to context and to itself.

I don't know if it makes sense, but I figured I would write what would come out, and not edit
the stream.

It's not working so well, the not editing thing. I keep writing a line and finding myself erasing it or writing seemingly in front of it.
which is annoying, I felt like there was sometimes that I could write without second guessing how every word sounded and what it was referring to.

With the changes that have been occurring lately. It seems hard to be able to describe things accurately, but heck I'm just gonna give in to that.

I want things to be different in relationship I want squeaky clean, the problem is it doesn't exist. Or maybe it does.
And maybe it's that I think I am myself. And I think someone else is someone.

And the reality is that that's simply not the case. We are so much more than a description or a conceptual understanding.
It's easy to get thinking that we are the thoughts, but like the word water is not water, and you know what water is by drinking it not by saying the word.

So we are, we call our self human, and belief we know what we mean when we say that, and what it all entails for each individual pattern with it's set of quirkiness and peculiarities. The thing is we are so much more than that. and even not that.

We appear in our self.

Doorways to infinity 09/10/2010

heartbreak is usually an experience i think i know well.
sadness, despondency, tears, loops of 'i'm not good enough'

and all sorts of elements that may give the impression of smallness, of tightness in the body.
of doom, of endings.

what is it?

i noticed as i was moving towards wanting to write, there was this big openness, a vast wide open space
with it all.

heartbreak or whatever i call the feeling of hopefulness for someone or something and the collapse of it, is surprisingly pretty endless pretty big, and unbound by anything.

just here with no resolution to it.

so many flavors to reality, experience who we are. Doorways to infinity.

each state, emotion, thought, seemingly appearing one way on the surface, morphing into all sorts of other shapes
and possibilities when a closer look is taken.

maybe i never wanted what i thought i wanted. maybe i did.
maybe it doesn't really matter, and what matters is what is revealed in the process.

i want fullness and fullness is here all around, fullness and richness
are not hidden, are in plain view and are forever here, in every form

Reality shows up in infinite forms, infinite ways of revealing it self to it self, how incredible!
how profound. what a trip. everywhere you look the possibility to recognize THIS!

How can It be? but it IS 09/02/2010

Lying in bed, it's cool inside.

Not used to summer days here, both the outside and inside feel appealing.

Basking in the sweet sun, and staying cool in a dark room.

Tired eyes. Resting. It's seems to be the way of life right now.

Nothing seems all that important to take care of, and life just happens as it does.

Emotions, thoughts, states come and go. I can't find my self anywhere

and yet Here I am. Not as an idea, but as THIS actuality.

Here it all is.

Laziness feels glorious, tiredness is not tiredness, it is the mystery revealing itself in this way.

Unbelievable. Not a problem in sight. Not a problem with having problems, how interesting and fascinating.

Diving in with each tide, seeing it's just the ocean, nothing separates the tide from the ocean, in fact the tide

does not exist apart from the ocean and even then how long does it last, does it have a duration?

Or is it just a machination ? foolery, trickery of divine mischief. God tricking itself, finding itself in diversity.

A spontaneous movement to write arises, from where?

Same place everything arises from here, nowhere, everywhere.

Can not be said.

In this magnificent presence that IS

and all these appearances and changes, are so infinitely rich, infinitely divine

Infinitely interesting, infinitely delicious.

How can it be? but it IS

Time ? 08/17/2010

A ticking clock gives the impression that time exists,
But what is time actually?

Well firstly I notice that the tic, tic, tic tic, are just that

tic tic tic tic, and not the associations with the sound.

and if I continue on that note, what is sound anyway? not an explanation about it, but what is it?

And where does it start and end? and can we actually find it, the tic tic tic, appears and disappears into what?

how interesting to really find out, what anything is.

Next I notice, that the measurements of fast and slow also don't exist when there is a thought arising
about the typing fingers going "so fast"

Well, what is it that measures? and what does it measure against?

And is that actually what is happening right now, in real time?
Not is some memory or rehearsed narrative.

But if we take notice right now, there are just these click clacks, and radiant soft light, which is not exactly findable and seems to be everywhere at the same time.

So where is all of this happening, well here, and where is here, nowhere, exactly I mean can we really say?
Well we might say here is here, but what is here?

Really to look and see, it's just this undefinable, seamless This.

so where is time? and what really is it?