Selected Poetry/Prose.

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A Being abiding, abides nonabiding Beings;

Nonabiding Beings do not abide Beings abiding.

Idealists are nonabiding Beings.

It is that simple.

It was revealed to me that all of my aware experience was happening in one day...

That somehow, the very same events were replayed over and over, slightly rearranged, slightly recolored, but always conducted by the very same intelligence/awareness, the one whom I call 'The Man Who Paints The Pictures'.

This day was so-named for me, by this intelligence, as "The long day of the Lord". The Lord is the propmaster, and I am the player, choreographer, critic, audience, director and producer. Thanks for the wonderful stage! It is a miracle, a gift, which seems never to wear out...fueled by a boundless compassion and enthusiasm for getting on with it.

I see around me, the short sight, the fear, the defensiveness...the defense of a thing so precious, so rightful to defend, yet it does not exist, this thing, which I held for so long, finally to be shown that the holding itself created the dramas which I found so taxing. And the precious 'thing' which never existed...what is that? It is what I had been convinced was what I should be and what I should attain to, my ideals, my criteria for living, applied to myself and to all, my razor of discernment, my pride of accumulated knowledge, my hard earned survival, and my 'proof' the 'I' have potency in this 'world'.

Letting that go was so easy, I remember cracking up, convulsing in tears and laughter, moaning in pain and embarassment, as I looked in my hand and saw only my hand. There was nothing in it at all...just my hand. What I had taken for 'real' was suddenly revealed as the very essence of the unreal, as the product of a mind, and I knew the illusions and pains of my childhood had been healed, at age 48, March of last year.

Further (and this is the part which I have difficulty sharing directly with anyone), the Great All spoke to me directly, not just once but several times, and any doubts that I had about my sanity were thus evaporated. I live, 'embedded' in a 'vast' 'system' of apparent energy, matter, space, and time. But this is all a womb; I gestate, occupied and entertained, everything provided for me by This Intelligence. The story goes on, yet now.

 I see that it is a story; I stand to the side of the stage, and now I am 'crew' if I choose to act as such. It is very  comfortable for me to be in this position...to be able to be in the play, to be able to coach the players, or to be able to simply see it as the passing of the inevitable, fed by a 'huge' essence which loves me dearly, and which I love, to the point of my heart bursting with tearful and confused gratititude, a release of my fretful ignorance, to be the nothing which it has always been.

Is that clear?

The 'Interval'...yes, I have access to that, I am there and not-there, here if I wish it, and also not-here. I communicate with many 'phases' of myself, I love myself, I am myself. I am a standing-wave pattern, and the energy which maintains that wave. I love, and the wave grows. It comes 'back' to 'me' as a reflection of 'me' as 'you'.

Ha ha ha!

Someone once said that "Time is God's way of making sure that everything does not happen at once". Well, for me, it did happen all at once, and it is still like an unending orgasm; I let it go on and on, and I hear the ecstatic voices of the  universe coming with me. It is Joy.

So...now I have no criteria, yet I survive. It is a gift. I am blessed. I am at ease.

I see/hear/know things which others do not. I have no need to tell them, for they are all going to where I am. I have compassion for them, for they are now, where I was.

Sheer terror...dissolved as I opened my hand. "Getting" it, that it is not, and never was, and never will be, that it can only materialize in the drama/play/dream, and that I am now 'off-duty', but not dismissed. I am 'on leave' while 'in place'. There is no longer any energy gradient for me to seek and to suck. I am fed. I know that I know nothing, and in that knowledge, everything fits. The picture is good. It is Joy, and the cries of the newborn.

I was vested with vast 'occult powers', for a while, but using them seemed to initiate drama, so I left them mainly unused. I did however, have a nice conversation with the sun in The Morning, to gain a better understanding of the nature of the Day.

I have found that 'everything is the same thing', alive, I say, and in perfect balance, so responsive, perfect, a gift!, of Joy and more, it is unending...(not counting the interuptus by other, more experienced 'crew members', a demonstration I was privilged to watch...'time' suspended, props moved about, seriousness, laughter, 'entities' exhibiting the need to control themselves...just like me, I realized...this goes on all the time, I saw, what a shock...seeing the 'night shift' at work for the first time. Man, I NEEDED 'PROOF' and it was given to me in undeniable fashion, in my face!, and I swallowed and accepted that I did not know 'shit'!)

So now...do I have "faith"? No. I have PROOF. And thus, I can forget about the whole issue. Whew!

Yes...This Day! And in your experience...do you detect something 'sly' in the nature, a slow smile, something like that? I do, and it gives me comfort now, while before, it gave me terror. It seems to be the attention of the Parent to a child who is awakening from a long seizure, a frenzy of doing, a recapitulation of all of history in one life. Or something like that.

Envision a cone-shaped object; the wide end, like a floodlight, illuminates

all that is.

The narrow end, the very sharpest point, like the sharpest of

laser-scalpels, is able to separate the most minute particles, one from

another.

The wide end of the cone is "I Am", the tiny sharp pointed end is 'ego'.

I Am and ego are one and the same, one is the front, one is the back; it is

wholeness.

Which is the front? The one in use at the time. Which is the back? The

other one.

One may not discard either, and neither is absent. The 'ego experience' may

usually be in the forefront, busily dissecting dualism, but the I Am is

always present, for it is what ego is busy disecting.

If I Am is in the forefront, ego is latent, quiet, unused, yet available.

Ego may be called into play at any time. It is amusing, and enlightening,

to observe and experience this whole of Being, observing itself, enjoying

itself, scaring itself, mystifying itself, denying itself.

Ego operates on a priority of "I/not-I", or it may be stated, "what is good

for me". Ego finds in dualism, what is good and bad, and serves Being by

being alert to this priority.

I Am, being What Is, is simultaneously both dual and nondual, floodlight

and scalpel, information and observer of information. The activity which I

Am is aware of is consciousness itself, essence. The activity of which ego

is aware is the relativistic relationships between every particle of

matter, energy, and information, which is consciousness disguised as form,

space, and time.

I Am and ego both deal with consciousness, each in an opposite and yet

complimentary way; I Am is consciousness essence, ego examines minutely the

infinite variations of the appearance of this essence.

Language is the gift of name, the labeling function of ego. In its endless

task of dissection of dualism, each particle is named, yet each name is the

same name, for there are no particles, only essence. Yet ego persists,

calling attention to minute differences and similarities, which is the

essence of ego.

Ego consists of two voices, one passive, one active, in eternal

conversation. This conversation is what creates the reality of dualism, the

reality of particular form, existing in relative interrelationship. Name

serves to identify each significance, and also serves to identify

categories which serve to generalize specific particles into groups.

The active voice of ego is named male, the passive voice is named female.

The eternal conversation between male and female is composed of every

possible variation of that conversation, and each version of that eternal

conversation is happening simultaneously.

The dialogs of pursuit, of fleeing, of recognition, of attraction, of

aversion, of seeking ideals, of completion, all of these conversations make

up the human experience, the experience of Being.

Every version of this eternal dialog between the male and female voices can

be heard in the sounds of the natural world; the hiss and the roar of the

surf, the flute and drum of the ancient sacred music of separateness and

unity, the splitting crackle of lightning and the boom of thunder, its

companion.

Tolerating the eternal dialog, and the silence in which it is happening, is

abiding What Is.

The Gift of Grace is the awareness that I have the ability to choose,

knowing that my choices are a continual sampling of the essence, coming to

me nameless or named, a sharing of my essence with myself, living in

eternal gratitude, tears of pain and joy signifying the eternal flow of

experience in consciousness, my home.