that Forbidden fruit

If "I" is the seed, then thought is fruit. Was there really a forbidden fruit, it would be the thoughts born of "I." And it is only thought that implies what be "good" and what be "evil". For to eat of these thoughts, to attach and identify to these thoughts born of "I"-dentity, is to fall from the natural sate of timelessness.

All experiences are but the birthing and dying of thought forms, the play of concepts for the conceptual dream the mind projects - the personal story the "I" tells. Concepts but birth more concepts. The I-concept but births its own conceptual story. Yet concepts have never conceived of that indivisible Truth. As only the false unravels the false, the true Reality, your true nature, never even enters the equation.

When mind is kept quiet beginning with the movement of "I", all experiences dissolve at the root. There is no story.

What stands revealed then when the veiling power of the projecting mind is stilled?

In the essence of all that appears, nothing is added. Nothing is taken away. All is as it is, as it has always been. Here. Now.

But the movement of mind, "I", the stirring of thoughts makes it seem as though things are added or taken away. That things have come and gone. This is the brilliance of the mind-play!

Mind weaves the appearance that “this” yields “that” and “this road” leads to “that goal”. But Knowledge exposes the undivided Reality of all that appears here. Start from this ground. Start from this and all fear and trouble vanishes. The entire story vanishes!

Inquire. Turn attention around. Check the mind! When there is movement, check to see to whom it belongs.

Time and all that it appears to contain is for the story-starved mind. Time is nothing but a mode of thinking. And this mode of thinking appears to veil the ever-present realm of eternity itself.

The delusion of ignorance is trumped out by the delusion of Realization, of Awakening. Both are delusions. For when true "awakening" happens it is revelaed that there was no one to be awakened to begin with. Whether or not clouds form, the Sun stands ever alive, ever bright, and ever full of life. Whether or not identity is seen through, the inner-Self of existence is ever alive untouched by the play of "I" and the story it weaves.

Put down all concepts, lay aside all ideas, don't touch any appearing thought-form, and what remains?

At This indivisible foundation, nothing was ever forgotten, nor is anything ever realized. All is but the play of mind. All is but the fruit of mental projection.

Still the mind and let the reality that only Self is shine.

And so would go the instruction should there be a you to instruct.

i love my dog!

9 months ago this little bundle of cuteness entered my world.


i love her!
i love her bark!
i love her blue eyes!
i love how she crosses her front paws when she lies down. (a real lady i tell ya!)
i love how she picks something off the floor she knows she's not supposed to and darts out of the room top speed!
i love how she looks at me while she visualizes the treat i'm going to give her on account of her cuteness.
i love how she reacts to my brother.
i love how she wags her tail when she sees me.
i love the diamond on her forehead.
i love how she rests her head on my leg and gives me those puppy eyes (it works).
i love how she follows me from room to room.
i love how she tilts her head when she's not quite sure what i'm doing.
i love how she runs like somethings on fire.
i love how she sniffs my mouth and has no idea what "personal space" is.
i love how excited she gets when i let her off leash.
i love how she treats me like her furniture.
i love how she wiggles her bum.
i love how she reaches for the door knob.
i love how quickly she figures things out.


i love how everyone that meets her says "what a sweetie."
i love how she's so friendly to people.
i love how she fidgets on the spot when she's waiting for a treat or a toy.
i love that she sighs just like a person.
i love that she growls in her sleep.
i love how shy she gets when your face gets close to her.
i love how soft she is.
i love that my front door window frame is all chewed up.
i could go on....and on...


i just love her to pieces ~

stories untold

mother tells a story “I had to pray for a daughter. I pray for a daughter and a son came. I pray again and a son came. I pray again and a son came. I had to promise God to give you back to him. And then you came.”

mother speaks of a time only born and alive in her own mind

daughter knows how mother mourns for a dream that's long ago disappeared

mother remembers father's love
but father dies before she was done with her loving
mother keeps a child that never made it,
a child that left his skin in the grooves of a tire's hug
mother mourns for a child that gives in to that tortured voice within
mother mourns for her motherhood

but mother laughs with the TV on
and mother prays herself away
and mother sleeps her life away

yeah...mother mourns over thoughts that rise to deceive her

mother speaks “i had a dream of you” with a silent smile on her face
daughter wonders "did You tell her i'm on my way Home?"

mother speaks "i am your mother!"
oh but since when do children belong to anyone other than the Father?

mother speaks “your cousin died today”

daughter looks...

death?
the only death there is, is the one while the body still lives.

now daughter is gone though her body still walks

daughter left long before that divine bell toled
and daughter never recognized the stories she was told
and God claimed the life that was only on loan...
for daughter she played
but was never a daughter at all

how does one fall prey to the creations of one's own mind?
how does eternity become veiled by something called “time”?
how do concepts weave such torturous stories?

brother hears voices in between more voices
brother struggles to climb the mountains of his own mind

brother speaks “you're going to die if you follow this way”

but sister is gone though her body remains
sister left long before that divine call came

a body wakes and a body sleeps
the mouth opens and the tales they speak
but father, mother, brother, sister
lover, friend, or other...

...we are not.

for all these names
and all these forms
are but the mask
He wears...

you still on the blue pill?

is it strange to turn on the radio and then begin to wonder what it is you're listening to? i am an appreciator of words. but nowadays everything i listen to makes me go...blah. and just like that. blah.

every story i hear in a song, every movie i watch, by the end of it leaves me a little blank. i guess i'm longing to see something closer to what i now see this world to be.

i can't wait till you make that movie!

what would our music and our shows and our movies look like if the dominant paradigm was "the world is a projection of my own mind" or "i create my reality"?

in my view, it would look like this...

we would no longer sing about how "he'd" done us wrong 'cause we'd believe that "he" was just a mirror of our own mental or internal state. that "he" actually has no existence apart from our own mind. and that "she" really was just his own vibration coming to stare him in the face.

we wouldn't bitch and moan about the past 'cause we'd know we created it by the power of our own thoughts. we wouldn't make movies about robbers and bandits because everyone would be meditating & visualizing while on their bed and drawing to themselves everything they needed.

we'd be one giant magic show.

we wouldn't have comics 'cause we'd all find that super-powers really weren't all that super but rather common to all beings.

Morpheus: I know exactly what you mean. Let me tell you why you're here. You're here because you know something. What you know, you can't explain. But you feel it. You felt it your entire life. That there's something wrong with the world. You don't know what it is, but it's there. Like a splinter in your mind -- driving you mad. It is this feeling that has brought you to me. Do you know what I'm talking about?

Neo: The Matrix?

Morpheus: Do you want to know what it is?

(Neo nods his head.)

Morpheus: The Matrix is everywhere, it is all around us. Even now, in this very room. You can see it when you look out your window, or when you turn on your television. You can feel it when you go to work, or when go to church or when you pay your taxes. It is the world that has been pulled over your eyes to blind you from the truth.

Neo: What truth?

Morpheus: That you are a slave, Neo. Like everyone else, you were born into bondage, born inside a prison that you cannot smell, taste, or touch. A prison for your mind.

(long pause, sighs)

Unfortunately, no one can be told what the Matrix is. You have to see it for yourself. This is your last chance. After this, there is no turning back.

(In his left hand, Morpheus shows a blue pill.)

Morpheus: You take the blue pill and the story ends. You wake in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe.

(a red pill is shown in his other hand)

You take the red pill and you stay in Wonderland and I show you how deep the rabbit-hole goes.

(Long pause; Neo begins to reach for the red pill)

Remember -- all I am offering is the truth, nothing more.

we wouldn't have good guys and bad guys 'cause we would have woken up to the realization that these two forces are just a product of our own divisive mind. there is no good or bad, right or wrong, for it is only our mind that makes it so. and there is no he or she, but i'll keep tellin' you the story until you can see through me.

my music list now contains more of "chants of the infinite" and instrumentals than it does songs with words in them. i am still a fan of "the monkey and the lion" and other great hits by the makepeace lovers (who are all my boyfriends by the way - true story). why you may wonder? well lines like "we live in our own mind, together we are at peace, but separate we are not" speak to me on a deeper level.

for the most part my itunes has become a library of audiobooks and music of the wordless kind. while i chant "om mani padme hum" as i drive myself to run errands, i think about the colorful streams of energy beams that are swirling all around me.

and then when i turn on the radio and hear "she she lick me like a lollipop" and "you cut me open and i keep bleeding" i giggle and wonder if Morpheus is on his way.

things i like alotabit part II

getting lov-e-mails :)

my bundle of endless love

free 30min massage courtesy of work


"i'm glad" - the black keys

what was right with it?

Alternate title for this blog would be: "I don't get me"

Release and relief can only come from a shift in your perception. I like understanding why I'm experiencing and interpreting certain situations the way that I do.

It's strange this tendency to interpret passing scenes in such a skewed manner, leaning on the negative, is a habit worth examining in every aspect of life. Be it relationships, finances, careers, and whatever aspect of this human experience you participate in, our recollections seem to hold the undercurrent of “all that has gone wrong for me.”

well, let's pause for a moment. What was right with this passing scene? What was joyful in it? What was amazing about it?

I mean how often do we pause and say that the universe got it wrong, that in all its precision and obvious intelligent design, that it's brought us to the wrong place, wrong time, and wrong situations with the wrong people?

They who can praise their past experiences, are the one's who are truly at peace with all that once was.

I don't know how fully open you can be to life while still harboring old delusions. Whatever your past experiences has birthed, whatever beliefs you've formed in your state of ignorance (not realizing that this entire design is a vast spread of Love), whatever insecure outlook you've adopted, may still be hanging about if you haven't taken the chance to "neutralize" it.

May the gash on my forehead continue to let the true light of this life in...

storyless

how can i be your She
when there's already someone else

i'd go on, but i've already lost interest in this line of the storytelling.

i bent over to to kiss my dog and stabbed the center of my forehead. i have a nice tiny gash right where the third eye sits. maybe the universe is now saying that i'm seeing a little more clearly.

my surroundings ask for definitions. what do i do and who do i do it with? perhaps from now on, my answer will simply be...God.

the scenes carry on and the wonders continue. i'm somewhere between the land of loving it and being dead to it. it gives meaning to the Sufi "die before you die" or the Saint's assertion "i die daily."

to live in the storyless Way and yet to be invited to tell stories every which way you turn is a strange place in which to dwell.

i seldom speak of the stories dancing before me. i prefer to run my mouth on the topic of the mental tricks that are the stories we live out.

so what shall i say when the queries come?

oh i know this one...