Gibberish ...


Mentally, the bottom of the belly of the sea — becomes a rooftop. Without becoming.

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The resting self is agitation compared to what contains it.

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The big private AHA! is nothing. Really something are the tiny public ones that pierce each point in spacetime.

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In the gap between complaints, I’m at peace. That’s better than fifty percent of the time, so I win.

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While engaging in arguments and agreements, I lose. That is the rule of engagement.

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I am afraid of the vastness that is not me. All that me-lessness. Is it death?

Count this fear as a blessing, when confessed.

​Confession is recognition of the hysterical mistake.

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The complete ones, the finished products, the accomplished and self-anointed “teachers,” are charlatans.

“I have arrived, you are on your way, this is the route.”

The tipoff, the tell, is the mask of permanence.

“I am,” they say. With that look on their face.

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The past is behind you so you can see, not be.

Turn back: be.

​Around again: see.

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Awareness of the sameness of objects and emptiness doesn’t propel mind onto objectifying tangents, it forgives them.

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We who post about no-self are the most desperate. A crumb of talent dooms us: Must share! Must share!

​Compare the genius of withholding.

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All eyes are open to this perfection-of-imperfection. But the label-maker spits out labels (according to its nature). Like a teleprinter in a silo, it buries the reader.

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The obvious unmissability of life combined with the impossibility of thingness expose this inerrancy, this freedom to err.

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Reproducible in the lab (the head) not the field:

Conceptualizing gathers like a cloud.

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​Your “new neuronal pathways” are instant ruts...

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“I can’t absorb any more words. Now what?”

​Time to dry out.

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The belly of despair is thought-drenched, sodden. This belly is in the head.

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“I must either be the creator of thoughts, or their recipient.”

When?!

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Everything fits into the category. But there’s a category within which the everything-category sits.

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“Duality is nondual.”

This is a radical expression with one purpose: to expose doubt and hose that vampire’s sunscreen.

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This conclusion self-destructs, therefore it’s true...

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My troubles are intact. In their sphere. Inside a greater sphere. Where the eyes go.

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Buddha-Dharma: gate, not religion.

Posted: No Malingering.

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The purpose of listening to the Dharma?

To hear, to see: delusion.

And to be shocked out of reverie.

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How “recognize”? How “understand”?

By confessing the opposite.

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Namo-Amida-Buddha: “I bow to unhindered light” (bowing as acknowledging).

​No bows to Yes. Yes bows to No.

When my thesis is destroyed, I bow to its ashes.

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​We are prey to our own predation, unless we see it.

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When we are kicked between the goalposts of being and nonbeing, shakti lifts our electric arms to cheers.

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The substantializing compulsion: a cognitive-emotional cramp-spasm with neonatal roots.

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Life continuously blocks itself with non-obstruction.

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What I’m trying to say is, thoughts don’t exist.

(I know what you’re thinking but you’re wrong. It’s “manic” to assert and reassert the contrary.)
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This is samadhi’s samadhi, not yours.

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Because I am a person of No I find myself incapable of asserting a true Yes.

So I don’t assert it. I just locate the outer boundary of No and look over.

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Develop an elaborate position. Peddle it elsewhere. Babel?

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My tally clicker zeroes out every time I click it.

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When the mirror becomes a window the eyes have already jumped.

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Every waking moment is just that.

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The hard part is seeing that the totality has a destiny and the apparent individual does not.

One destiny, already in place. Like a big, asinine pronouncement.

Whence, rejection (a.k.a. the human race).

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The essence of concepts is absence.

​With all concepts gone, this is inconceivability.

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Self-duration lasts as long as self-assertion but self-assertion is without duration!

​(Duration is death.)

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Suffering comes from the unconscious attempt to substantialize. Awareness of this attempt insubstantializes suffering.

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Dozing into unawareness, I row against Niagara’s flow.

With a start — a snort — I wake up and stare at these fists!

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Balled-up nests of countless ouroboroi? Each nest-ball a point in space, a bead, strung mouth-to-tail with every other bead? For ghastly chanting?

No, not that.

​(Infinity is a twisted circle.)

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Aha! expresses acknowledgment not discovery — in a dramatic “reveal” of priorness.

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So, you are equal to Buddha?

We all are — more than Buddha!

More?

Quantitatively, by one: doubt.

​But qualitatively identical.

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This is called the “easy path” because “it’s the easiest to doubt” and the “natural way” because the others are unnatural.

Doubt is preloaded, as is desire. These are the structural building blocks of “self.”

​So we start there — we wake up there, every time.

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Buried alive by karma and enlivened by it: this weighty atmosphere of air.

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Non-meditation? Constant meditation?

This meditation rides every open-eyed fear-greed cringe.

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We‘ve learned that the intentional cultivation of internal peace is violence and that awareness of this violence exposes peace.

While seeking an elusive internal treasure (peace) we trip over our true self: this unavoidable treasureland, our universal home (peace).

Feels like the difference between shivering in ice water and dissolving in a warm bath.

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What actions should I take to become what I am? What should I avoid?

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I repeatedly break through the mirror-side of the glass but not without getting cut.

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My ordinariness is equal to yours but our extraordinariness is the same.

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The epiphany you describe is a glue trap stuck to a glue trap. It will not thrive.

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I always return to my salvation: this Dharma of pain and ignorance, failure and confession.

​Saved from zombies of success trying to eat my brain.

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A positive assertion is made that implies the negation of all other assertions: “This is correct, this is the way, not that.”

But going any other way is also found to be correct and any assertion to the contrary is negated.

Negation is then negated, demoting mentation.

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The barrier between inner and outer light is a gappy asteroid belt of notions.

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I have one job. Just one. Everything else is everything else’s responsibility.

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Inward-turning mind is outbound, too.

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Count your curses for they are blessings.

“The worse the better.”

Amen.

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Epiphany-lust: thirsty fish.

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To hack the system you’ve got to crawl way up into it.

The “system” is the binary loop fear-greed-fear-greed...

Not abstract thinkers, hackers are very hands-on. But, alas, unhacked.

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I could die here, now, in this state of ordinary flummox.

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The dynamic of the vital punchline is release.

Art should kick you back into the street.

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Dharma catch-and-release is found in the bellows of the torso.

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Facing forward, nose-prow smashes through mirrors into newness.

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The challenge is met in the meat of the gut where attachment-imperative meets its maker.

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Self-effort to be cured of self is self.

Seeing this effort cures effort of itself, but only now.

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We who are evil not becoming good and we who are ignorant not becoming wise are at home here in your ocean of light.

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I preach the “bypassing” of spirituality and therapy and held beliefs.

Because my choir and I — we’ve run out of time.

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Two?

Not.

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In all our shady cognitive transactions we’re dealing in what was. Especially when buying or selling “what is.”
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“Please let me be myself?”

No.

(No one who waits for permission is allowed.)

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The gate is gate (gah-tay). The gate is gone. Goneness is gone. Chant that.

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The stuckness-illusion floats in a realm of no actual points of contact.

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Separations join.

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What propels the selfish gene is selfless.

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The light is called “unhindered.” So if it touched something — anything — it would be hindered, slowed down by that degree of drag.

I’d say, never.

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What’s broken through/leapt over is the presumption.

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The presumption has no basis in fact so it filibusters.

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The view doesn’t wait for me to attain it. It’s not waiting for anything.

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False self is not an entity but an activity called “attaching.”

True self is the omnipresent absence of attachables.

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The body only wants to return to its natural form and flow, not to be squeezed and blocked by thought.

Bodily awareness of thought-pressure is the pressure release valve.

​How close is true release? As close as the body.

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Why discriminate against spiritual dropouts? Are we untouchable? Subhuman? You should see our failure as proof of your lofty “non-duality,” your classless, heaven-on-earth ideal. We bring it home.

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If objects are events, how many live events are eventing now?

All.

How many events comprise a single event?

All’s equivalent.

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Attachment is functional focus turned addict.

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The obscuring idea, the deluded/deluding idea, is also a joke of light.

​I’m not saying you should humor it and buy what it’s selling. I’m saying if you stare it down it will crack up.

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When the iconoclast delivers a delicious bon mot I eat it and belch plagiaristically. No, in communion.

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Get down to the last and simplest point. Until you get down to the last and simplest point you won’t be able to discard it.

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There’s “a crack in everything / That’s how the light...”

​flows out.

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“I Am That” is the message.

“No you’re not” is the messenger.

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Epiphany is instant dogma. Please don’t share.

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I am most concerned about my belly.

Because it’s a sitting duck.

​Always compressed by accumulations.

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Species-mind is feargreed, a crowded dream.

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Insight becomes thought becomes attachment becomes insight...

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Take one of your pixels (they’re all yours). Note its two relative immensities (macro, micro). Note that all of its boundaries are links. Note the speed of its (de)composition. Note the absence of fixedness.

The purpose of this exercise is to lose weight and work up an appetite.

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If I could only say it, I could save the world.

Try again, in plain language.

Ok:

​There are no wrong turns in paradise.

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No.

​No, you have not not arrived.

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The following sentiments are condemned by authorities: (1) failure succeeds; (2) morbidity is alive and well; (3) funerals are ecstasy under mourning skin.

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Discussing with a friend how ill-equipped or unequipped we are to know the essence...

​He said, “That is our only virtue.”

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Inward-turning mind is married to moods.

It’s hard to exploit the nirvana of samsara without moods.

For better or worse.

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I would like to describe a shift. It went like this: the acid of malformed, illformed, unformed thoughts splattered a cherished wholeness behind my eyes, burned holes in that plastic doll-head.

Then (shift) fronting my eyes: sky.

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Stasis is pain, then death. Better to unleash your antics.

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​“Simply stay in yourself. You will find it nowhere else.” (Longchenpa)

When you learn through experience that you can and will return to wholeness, you stop clinging to the fear of being crazed into pieces.

It will happen. So what.

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Completeness is the basic torso.

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My would-be helpers are unconscious and that’s a shock.

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As a matter of convenience, your own heart is the gate. Would you be so kind as to open it?

Knowing it’s shut is the key.

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“We’ve traced the call. It’s coming from inside the house.”

​The good news is, the external menace is dead.

​(Well, for some of us...)

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I depart heaven to return to hell because it’s the entrance to heaven.

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I’m trying to get cured of the poison. But this trying-to-get-cured does one thing: poisons.

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Conceptual grasping is an attempt to depart the Buddha’s wisdom.

It fails.

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The pain of separation is separation itself.

​When the pain is relinquished so is separation.

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The unconscious attempt to form an exoskeleton is ongoing.

Accretions of greed and self-protection are busy constructing that very self.

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Bodymind has no core, but feargreed (the Survivor) works to form a scab around that cypher like it’s a wound.

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Head-voice isn’t primary, it’s echo.

It is caused to claim that it is cause.

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We are people of great depth. Pity.

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You want to abolish your doubt. You want to achieve a permanent state of knowing. But doubt is fertilized by abolishment efforts.

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No Dharma-continuation, no Dharma-portability.

​My bed of nails is portable.

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Doomed woodpecker with a taste for steel.

Snake gobbling its tail.

​Mind trying to profit.

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Fear-greed stacks layers of revulsion and desire into a layer-cake of grave dirt and magic mushrooms. Aerated by pristine goneness.

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Where find the breakthrough?

​In the broken-through.

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What’s next for me/mine?

What’s next is rude awakening.

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I went from blind rage to blind drunk to unconscious. But all my thought-tangents are like that.

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Primal fear highlights the primal outflow that voids fear.

Tangled like hemp snakes.

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The problem-person lives within the unimpeded no-problem state.

This state is not the person’s; it is not privately owned.

The person holds title to the artificial boundary between itself and the no-problem state.

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It’s like trying to tell someone to “look outward” when their eyes are already doing that!

Vision spools forward at warp speed, the thought-net in its wake.

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Blindness as refusal to see? Just see the refusal.

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No, the personality is not helped. It is helped by not being helped. That which helps would not be truly helpful if it helped.

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Death is unreal and significant to the living, real and irrelevant to the dead.

To those who are alive, absence is an idea; to everyone else, it’s everything.

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This mind rejects what it “has” in a tantrum of awareness.

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