Each has disappeared
Looking this way and that none
Are seen — love dissolved
center origin
where nothing becomes something
an absolute gift
followed by subject object
evaluation judgment
"It's hard to know where to start
if you don't start with the truth."
(-Marilyn Monroe, d. 4aug1962)
the surprise isn't
that loveless things occur, but
sometimes kindness does
When in the mountains,
I will watch the mountains,
On rainy days
I will listen to the rain,
Spring, summer, fall, winter,
Morning is good,
Evening is good.
Waking with two words
grizzling, greyling — shear complaint
freshwater fishes
habitat pollution, both
psyche and surface unclear
ask me, I prefer
propel to excel -- to move through
not surpass, but thrive
... ... ...
c. 1400, transitive, "to surpass, be superior to;" early 15c., intransitive, "be remarkable for superiority, surpass others," from Latin excellere "to rise, surpass, be superior, be eminent," from ex "out from" (see ex-) + -cellere "rise high, tower," related to celsus "high, lofty, great," from PIE root *kel- (2) "to be prominent; hill."
Online Etymological Dictionary)
Night office bell rings
What earthly good might it sound[s]—
Comes now to our ears
This is what I recall.
No traces left
of the house where I was born:
fireflies.
(—Sandoka Taneda)
Hearing no further sound.
I,
still,
listen.
The eternal feminine and the wise old man. Jung looked into these two. The reality of the psyche. An apriori fact of nature, an objective phenomenon.
Each night a visit. Every dream an orientation. An ordinary psychosis disenchanting the solid belief two plus two is four.
Mandalas, found all over the world, primordial images of wholeness or totality, the Jungian investigation.
This Wednesday, in mid-coast Maine, between mountains, my psyche drifts amnesiac between two worlds, (or is it three?) completely uncertain as to who has lived my life up to now.
Wandering through mind with Jung, Campbell, Joyce, Santoka, Pirsig, Heidegger, Dogen, and Lowell.
Not their minds.
But mind.
One's hermitage.One's cell.
One's anchorage.
Bowing to all residue of personage who've aggregated and aggravagated the sluice passage I and every other have taken enroute here and elsewhere.
Fellow pilgrims wandering.
An aesthetic collating the interdisciplinary obvious. All these years later. Still wondering where any of us belong.
My brothers in prison. We meet, sit, and converse. We consider what there is to learn, how learning is teaching itself. The one revolutionary emancipation, becoming free, even in the most restrictive spaces, even between cranial confines, between sternum spine enclosure.
Our elder in Carmel encourages that I attend the shakuhachi player's 80th birthday celebration. I tell her only if I drive the 359 miles to pick her up and bring her back the 329 miles to the gathering and then take the 718 mile roundtrip returning her to her anchorite homestead.
She demurs.
I will have to write a haiku. I will not have been not at the gathering, only not as one might appear.
I suspect, if there is a continuity of life beyond this material/physical existence, I will have to devise a series of mythopoetic contrivances to obfuscate the seemingness of anti-phenomenological semblance while honoring the integrity of affective fondness even in absentia.
"Law is born from despair of human nature." -- Jose Ortega y Gasset
A non-sequitur doesn't mean it doesn't follow.
Despair is as good as repair.
One could argue, less expensive.
Reading Joseph Campbell on James Joyce while walking snow bowl between Ragged mountain Bald mountain Melvin hills and Hosmer pond.
The sound of words encircling archetypal foundations of thought from which all symbols form and fall and feel their way into thin air which fills our fleeting awareness with facts and falderal and fanciful fennels of recollection.
Such as the dream I wake from tonight. The cast of characters and unopened package of pipe tobacco in jacket pocket along with honey soft cough drops.
“They lived and laughed and loved and left.”
—James Joyce, Finnegan’s Wake
One by one.
Eaves sending drops to sun porch roof.
The sound of it.
Like Basho’s unaccountable surface broken.
"Treat them nice in a world that just spit on you" (--Manti T'eo, in documentary, Untold: The Girlfriend Who Didn't Exist" Netflix)
Coming through the other end, the difficult bow at end, this inexplicable play.
tagata lelei, faafetai
(Samoan)good man, thank you
Heidegger was tricking us.
He said we are still not thinking.
And we conclude that he was saying we must begin to think.
He let us mull that, and we concluded an erroneous conclusion.
Here's what I think: To think is to unthink.
To unthink is to be still. (He said:
"We are still not thinking" -- and we missed it.)
To unthink is to be
still, silent, present.
To think is to disappear into somewhere undiscoverable.
If you embrace zen, you hold nothing
and that nothing is (paradoxically) intimate presence.
Intimate presence has no outside no inside --
Only the energy* moving through the physical/spiritual universe
enroute through here/elsewhere.
Now, what if we think/unthink that?
... ... ...
Definition of energy
en· er· gy | \ ˈe-nər-jē \
plural energies
1a : dynamic quality narrative energy
b : the capacity of acting or being active intellectual energyc : a usually positive spiritual force the energy flowing through all people
2 : vigorous exertion of power : effort investing time and energy
3 : a fundamental entity of nature that is transferred between parts of a system in the production of physical change within the system and usually regarded as the capacity for doing work
4 : usable power (such as heat or electricity) also : the resources for producing such power
https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/energy