our non-local energy body, wandering freely

 Subtle reality, non-local presence, appear and disappear regularly. We, conditioned by social climates of facile dismissive attitudes, are oblivious of our very surround.

The book is The Physics of God: How the Deepest Theories of Science Explain Religion and How the Deepest Truths of Religion Explain Science, by Joseph Selbie and Amit Goswami. 

I walk the vacant snow bowl grounds listening. It remains lighter later. The dog and woman go off to toboggan area. There's one electric truck, a Rivian, alone at edge of mountain, its owner slaloms down slope after climbing up after hours. He says he's happy with it.

Sun jumps off top of Bald Mountain into lingering twilight after last week's clock change. Dirt clings to plowed snow at edges of parking area. Ice on pond is not to be trusted. We never were able to walk on ice to islands out in Hosmer Pond.

"The hidden truth of miracles, matter is the intelligent organization of energy." What we call the universe needs observation. The world is a magic show -- it is not what it seems to be. We bring things into existence, we listen things into existence, by our gaze things appear.

It feels that everything changes and is differently experienced once we have allowed stillness and silence to be our teachers, gurus, and zen masters.

God?

Yes -- In Itself -- 

throughout.

A worthy choice 

of Being 

for Being-there.

in prison he looked at me

 “I hear voices,” he 

said. Of course you do, I said,

Everything’s speaking

student in downeast correctional facility shares this today

One Foot in Eden

One foot in Eden still, I stand
And look across the other land.
The world’s great day is growing late,
Yet strange these fields that we have planted
So long with crops of love and hate.
Time’s handiworks by time are haunted,
And nothing now can separate
The corn and tares compactly grown.
The armorial weed in stillness bound
About the stalk; these are our own.
Evil and good stand thick around
In fields of charity and sin
Where we shall lead our harvest in.

Yet still from Eden springs the root
As clean as on the starting day.
Time takes the foliage and the fruit
And burns the archetypal leaf
To shapes of terror and of grief
Scattered along the winter way.
But famished field and blackened tree
Bear flowers in Eden never known.
Blossoms of grief and charity
Bloom in these darkened fields alone.
What had Eden ever to say
Of hope and faith and pity and love
Until was buried all its day
And memory found its treasure trove?
Strange blessings never in Paradise
Fall from these beclouded skies.

(-Poem by Edwin Muir)

elsewhere, ee cummings is quoted

 

“A poet is somebody who feels, and who expresses his feelings through words.

This may sound easy. It isn’t.

A lot of people think or believe or know they feel — but that’s thinking or believing or knowing; not feeling. And poetry is feeling — not knowing or believing or thinking.

Almost anybody can learn to think or believe or know, but not a single human being can be taught to feel. Why? Because whenever you think or you believe or you know, you’re a lot of other people: but the moment you feel, you’re nobody-but-yourself.

To be nobody-but-yourself — in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else — means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting.”

― E.E. Cummings, E. E. Cummings: A Miscellany Revised, goodreads 

fermata

Two deer in dooryard. Our mountain guests. Dawn. 

In the dream a Franciscan from the sixties a little wary and aloof of my continuing interest in some kind of continuance. In the dream the now dead zen master attends large gathering of meetingbrook meditation practice over a hundred participants. My body encoded strongly in zazen posture. 

In the dream everything is gathered in same place at same time. A photograph of group sitting on ground in circle in New Hampshire schoolyard — the glorious attraction of faces. Nothing is retrievable, nothing is lost.

“THE HEAVENS AND EARTH TALK. “The heavens

are telling the glory of God; and the firmament proclaims his

handiwork.” (Psalm19:1). The heavens tell of God’s glory. This

is metaphor, of course, but to the Psalmist, everything in creation

speaks of the glory of God. This is like the hymn: “This is my

Father's world, And to my listening ears, All nature sings, and

round me rings The music of the spheres.” The firmament

proclaims God’s handiwork and all nature sings and round me rings

the music of the spheres. Metaphor, yes. How better could it be

proclaimed?”

(—Excerpt From, Rabbouni:  Twelve Teaching Methods of Jesus, by John Zehring)

All these creatures tell tales of creation appearing and disappearing, singing and silencing, watching and averting eyes.

We are diffuse. We are encapsulated. We are silhouettes of semblance and spiritual sonority. We are the Gregorian chant of Lauds, a psalmody of awakening day scanning the orb floating amid billions and trillions of orbs in scanned surcease of sacred movement. A pause. A glance. 

A fermata . . .

Briefly holding

Then releasing

Sound of inner reverie.

hooked on necrotics

 Obsession with ex-

president is the new drug

overdosing us

thinking about what I am seeing

 Electricity

Out coming up to twenty

Four hours — quiet

let the great world spin

 He snores on rug by

shoes — I pick up novel I’ve

Been reading two years

long walks no longer mandatory

 Wet snow and heavy

Foot and a half, said plowman —

Shoveling concrete

Finally dog has learned to 

do his business in dooryard

six words, a world

 E.E. Cummings said it: “Not to completely feel is thinking.” (—in six non-lectures)

This, I feel, is true.

no distress no dismay

 Imagination,

Of course, begins everything — 

Tell me, who are you?

being, asked, the question

 I know why I am

Here — (You do?) — To answer “Yes!”

When asked “Are you here?”

imagine you are a poem

 Speak yourself, tell us

What you feel as you feel it —

Word becoming you

the religion of silent listening

 We listen to help

One find out what they are and

Who they are, saying

if you see me here, don’t be afraid, I am here with, and for, you

 Yes

To everything

Up and down, north and south

Left and right, east and west

May I be at their center

Where each crosses through each other

Fastened by freedom, safe and sound

Right where you’d expect to see

The One called Love

Pinned with kindness where all (do) pass

buffalo bob asks: hey kids, what time is it

 Some smart aleck said

“I know how to change time” and

poof — apple did job

four bells, light left behind

 Someone took hour

Astronomical dawn peers

Through bamboo shade, shrugs,

“I don’t know where it went, I

Was told to slow arrival”