ShivAllahSita sutra 103 - to all my Friends

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ShivAllahSita Sutra 103…K-lack-Luck - 9 nein non

Duck dis-ease: Swimming the River of Po-K or

A Lass with No `Tass Tips the Waiter LightlyHeavy with golden tears

fallinglike wet leaves from Autumn trees,the moon swells inside the

dark sky,weeps silently into my heart throughthe night, devoid of any

pretense we are other than OneHeart.This moon and I are friends –we

glide down the corridors of time,unafraid to be alone,

nevermindingpast or future.In the dawn light the moon will

disappear.In this heart light I will disappear into dawn.This moon

and I, we are not fooled by appearances.Being is present in all I am,

and I am present as Being --moon, sun, rivers, this high delight, Cold

Mountain. I drift through the sky of my own Being, innocent and free,

spontaneously happyfor no reason at all,no reason at all.Here every

day is the same day –the darkest night that descends between lightis

nothing but a finer form of that same light.Some say every day is a

new day andthere is that which changes, yetthere is that which

doesn't changethough all else rearrangesin OneHeart.~Mazie & bI know

wellThat the June rains ...Just fall.~OnitsuraJune began its advance

in May with tiny little fracas-causing, fracas-causative fractals,

cellular `take no prisoners' kind of troops gathering on several

horizons rising in a fevered, infected, or so and as I suspected,

mind-sky. Bacteria beings crossed borders of brain-land invading gray

and pink ribbons defending against and bedding down with seriously

intended missives taken and given from and to massive reproduction

soldiers honeycombing, glisten-listening to the sound of going mad,

and still, amidst this march into foreign-feeling territory, the last

famous frontier of not letting go, (I will not give in easily to the

mind, to the brain thing breaking down communication,and i remember

Iris Murdoch and her foray into Alzheimer's territory) burning wires

and circuits in fever, crashing poles of clarity in the idea of

cellulitis catching the body unguarded, a body already believing it's

compromised by this auto-immune thingy, and forging and gorging on

rivers of red-fed potassium-deficient blood, a bold break-away in

Bwaaaaww, in candy-stripe and white comic Keystone-kinda corps-mein

muscling in on pure light land in the hand I write with. Ha! Say that

again! They, it, that, that dis-ease marched up the arm in a

straight-shot to the heart part that could bring departure…umm,

rapidly, errrr, imminently impressive in its idea of a good time. I

seem to recall really liking it when Alvin Lee of Ten Years After

belted out the tune "I'm Goin' Home," in eardrum-rupturing volume

back in the early seventies at the Cow Palace. Well, this time the

tinny sound of a drumming in the tone of "I'm Goin' Home," wasn't

A.L. and his big ten, it was the Friend doing downtime in the

downtown hotel that Vicki Woodyard spoke about. Some brain bit of the

Hubris or Hubrus or Humorous Hotel of Hell on bent with wheels

spinning in mud-mind and banging the drum of the FlowerSong so

sweetly I nearly lost my self in it. Death knocked and I entertained

Him for a spell. Okay, I'm clowning around now with the writing

moving again and the head clearing a bit. But this part is not a myth

or make-believe poet tale or metaphor, and yet IT IS, and yes the

death thing was nearly a real timecard punch-out permanente this

time. I'll still let the spin weave the thread of this story. It

tells on itself somehow. Some mime took the time to take me places

I'd never been before. I went down the avenues of head-threats and an

irrational irritability unfathomable. Take it downtown, take it down,

my Baby-blue, my Baby blue-eyes. Recall that the illusion speaks from

disease and fever and medicational education calling all the shots.

Shots and IV's filled with morphine and my thing, potassium,

phenergen and ring-necked pheasants falling from the sky of dinosaurs

flying by, chase scenes with I after I and there was no one to defend

the fort. I chortle now at the power and the party-hearty attitude of

this li'l ol me making much ado about nothing. Tee hee hee. Dis-ease?

Wow. And how...LSD's got nothing on potassium, good old K deficiency.

Ahhh, the joke. K skimping kids seriously around, and I kid you

not.Life moves as it will,and it will not harm us.Love is the Mother

of every appearance.As a will-o-the wisp,this space and time

gardenwhispers its fragranceinto our hearts.Open-billowing

blissbreaches the brink of infinity -One Heart clears the Sky of

I.Life moves as it will.It will not harm us. ~Mazie & b"She says she

can say and hear the words in her mind and see the "stuff," but can't

say the words aloud. She says this with patient self-amusement several

times. Then I remember that she and I bathed Seizer yesterday, using

Murphy's Oil soap. She's asking if he had a reaction to that soap!

"To the Murphy's Oil soap?" I ask. "Yes," she says, and then tries to

say it. "Say it again," she asks. I say the words and she tries again

to say them, unsuccessfully. "It's weird," she says. "I can't say

those words." I look across at Mike, who's looking stunned and

tense...i change the subject back to the Barossa Valley Cabernet

we're drinking. She doesn't seem to mind. I'm glad she's not as

frightened by what just happened as I am.Mike and I had talked

several times back in the spring about how we form language by using

two or more parts of the brain in consort and how a tumor can

interrupt communication between these parts. What had just happened

to Linda was frightening, but it was also a stunning demonstration of

such a disruption, with Linda being aware of the words she was sending

out for another part of her self to speak and being stymied by their

non-arrival. Strangely she was also fascinated by what was happening,

while also frustrated and discouraged. As I write this, I am amazed at

the words arriving at my fingertips and then on the screen before

me."~Frank Davey, from "how linda died"Everything iscause for

anything, andone with its effect.With each step a fresh wind risesand

I walk alone through the pink sky,every direction home, every path the

way.~Mazie & bA couple of weeks ago I went with b on a business trip

to some small town up in the wine country. While he was in discussing

business I was in the college bookstore, a Christian something or

other college bookstore browsing around when I spied a mauve-colored

book by the title of "how linda died." I had to pick it up. I was

immediately interested in reading it and bought it. It's the personal

daily journal that Frank Davey, a poet and professor of literature

kept during the time that his wife, Linda, was dying from a

malignant, inoperable brain cancer. I was fascinated at her brain

functioning and communication and how she dealt with things that were

utterly beyond her control, like her brain being deluged with mutant

cells disrupting her ability to see correctly and her ability to

understand written language and her inability to communicate with

others what she could understand but not convey. Like the

above-quoted passage.

 

Curiosity might not always kill the cat but it gives it a good damn

run for its money, eh? So on Saturday, after I had written the 102nd

sutra, amidst a dazed and confused bank of pain and sickness, I lay

in bed all night nearing delerium and D'Oh. Sunday morning saw b and

me in the emergency room being set up to spend some time inside.

Inside-vision inside something that some never see. I saw a field of

orange and golden poppies that day in May when we were in the wine

country. I saw a sign that said "Linda Falling Estates." I said to my

head in not these exact words, "Wonder what it'd be like to have the

brain affected in such a way that communication becomes something I

could no longer do, no longer express in the way it does?" Shiver me

timbers and sense that goose crossing on over the cold, cold grave

that lay ahead and open with a wide happy hearty smile. Trapped in

this brain that would gain momentum in an irrational irritability

that simply waylaid me and flayed me with a rising tide of ripe with

something foreign and frightening riffing in hissing and cursing and

calling out in anguish against the very one which would soothe and

comfort and Love. I nearly wanted to tear up the poem that my

Darling, my Love, my Beloved wrote for me and I wanted to throw it

around the room and then just hiss low and bliss blow you off like a

top into the tragedy I was doing time in. Tragi-comedy at its finest.

I dined on my own muddied mind and chewed bits off my own heart. I

could not break in right away from the breakdown of the body and stop

the K-lack skid from skidding me through a, to a head over heels to a

vasanaic row needing hoeing.

I was Ho'in' for Hari from brain furrow equipment gone faulty where

ancient-new weird-normal whoa-hmm things burrowed that wanted to be

investigated, looked at, trotted out on the dancefloor, bonesparkling

bare before me and b. FormFormlessnessFriend, Love Flipped the switch

to BodhiSwaha swearing like a Sattvic Sailor on a three-day pass

through Dante's Paradise Lost and the no man's land of the lonely and

the lost looked like a Disney vacation after this romp. A duck in the

pond with the bottom's up attitude displayed with grace and no losing

of face. b's the most Beautiful One, the cherished most Beloved, so

Beloving, such Love b gives and gives and gives. I am given to This

Love with b. And it doesn't always behave like one might imagine or

think it might or should or could. It does as It will. We are

whim-whispered words of LoveBright light and delight in dim past

recall and always getting brighter and this does not tell the tell of

the Tale-Bearer turning over the cards of this story.

 

Trick or Treat?!Once there were many moments,now only one.No beginning

to this moment,no end.Within this momenta paradea procession of

perceptionseach with their own beginningsendings, languages

ofstraight and squiggly linescast across the surface of water,always

water –water of lifewatery canvas of shifting lightnever the

same,always as iswelcoming equally light and darknessinfinite

variations of shine and shadowbirth and deathall lifealways

liferestless surfacesilent depthirresistible depthbottomless

embracedying daily to this depththis endless moment of lifewaterfall

of feelingfalling into itselfits depthits silencejust as is,always as

is.No shoreno embarking or arrivalalways just arrivinga moment too

latea journey in a dreamriver in timewatery destinationthe

destination of liquidity,mid-air at the waterfall:drops of elemental

being,flowing unitybursting into billion momentarygleaming tiny

fleeting voicesroaring lifepouring life into lifereceiving

itselfwelcoming itself into itselfperpetuallyjust as is,always as

is.Nothing boundnothing loosedtimeless flow in a dream of water,a

dream of shine and shadowflowing into each otherdissembling and

assemblingdisintegrating and reintegratingbeyond any

comprehensionbeyond any narrative descriptionany motive or goal

orpassion or prescription butjust as is,always as is.Yes, and

herealong the banks of thisriver of myself I stagger,intoxicated by

the wine ofmy own watery being,this life of wavesrippling over

stillnessthe still pool of heart wherefeeling breathes so quietly,so

potently inthe tears Cold Mountain wells up from this depth –just as

is,always as is.My forehead restson the cool stone floorbefore this

mountain altar,there is no dividing placeseparating flesh and

bonefrom the pillow of stone.For this reason I seemto drift through

endlessnesseyes blinded by the brillianceof mysterious light --its

reflectionmy ownmy palms turnedupward, naturallyholding the mountain

tothe sky.I raise these palmsit is lightas the feather I am,feather

on wind's breath.The mere fact that theyearning is present is proofit

is possible.That yearning is whati always followed.A mountain placed

that kissupon my heart,now the cloudsfilled with lightglide through

this nighteach an exhalationa sigh from deep space,the space between

sighsdeepening --deepening into my sighs.I am on my kneesI kneel in

my own heartthe heart life made soI could feel it.This is whatit

does,it iswhat I do.Who speaks,who listens?Does this water

sutradepend on any lips?My lips are pressed againstInfinity.I follow

backwards into thatyearning of water forItself,that breathing songI

cannot forgetI cannot.The incense I burn for the world burns for

me.Between my fingersa slight sensationbefore the final ash --final

sighthis momentary flickerof acknowledgementof welcomeHere it

isYesAh~Mazie & b"In a cell, in a prison, where there was nothing to

feel happy about, I was feeling as blissful as you can feel in this

life. It was kind of bizarre, but this is what I had to share with

others, this unconditional upliftedness or cheerfulness. Not in a

teaching way. I couldn't talk about it. They would have thought I was

crazy. It was more through just living from that place in prison.

During the last seven years of my incarceration, I lived in this

joyful and cheerful place despite the pain and degradation of prison

life.~ Fleet Maull, From the article, "Practice within the Cell,"

published in the Summer 2003 issue of Parabola magazine.The hardest

prison from whichto escape is the one you've neverknown you're in

until that jailer,your own dear mind, climbs Cold Mountain and leaves

the keys behind.~Mazie & bTo the divine silence of unreachable

endlessness;To the divine silence of perfected knowledge;To the

divine science of the soundless voice;To the divine silence of the

Heart of the Labyrinth;To the divine silence of the ancient mind;To

the divine silence of the unborn guide;To the divine silence of the

unseen guide,Protector of all sentient life;To the divine silence of

thoseOf perfected knowledge;To the divine silence of human primate

incarnation;To the divine silence of the labyrinth guidesWho

sacrifice their liberation for thoseWho have not yet awakened to the

truth;To the divine silence of the Lord of Death,The eternal unborn

resident of the labyrinthWho has sacrificed his own redemptionFor the

redemption of all voyagers everywhere;To the divine silence of the

primordial being;To the divine silence of the great sacrifice;We

offer homage, love, and hope;But above all, we give our

gratitude.~The American Book of the Dead, E.J. Gold

I used to frequent the temples, ponderingthe humor and poignancy of

efforts expended on the search to be what we already are, questioning

the borrowed formulae, the thoughtful equations of knowing,the

reverence for an imaginary past,the hopeful investments in phantom

futures, the dreams of desire and division,until one morning my

freedomwoke me at dawn and called me tothe Transmission Place,the Sky

of the Heart,and now –all I care to do is praise.~Mazie & bI first met

Zhang Sang- Feng above the forest, near the clear spring,when

gathering clouds darkened the day,and Mt. Shasta was silent.His long

beard was black as emptiness,ear lobes to his shoulders,holding

obsidian in his hand,pointing to the sun, eyes staring into

infinity,his long body clothed in silence.We exchanged "hellos"smiled

and bowed,a barbarian and an Immortal,both panting from the

climb,laughing,ten-thousand echoesbetween our rocky minds.After

billions upon billions of heartbeats past(for he must have been 888

years old),I was so boldas to ask the ancient one for the sacred

mantra of yore.He lifted his wisk,and brushed my face,I could not

speak,my lips were stone,ideas stopped –I was alone. ~ Mike

GarofaloDoes the student createthe teacher, orthe teacher the

student?Everything's teaching andlearning at once, there'sno success

or failure.Everything's learning todisappear – what's left some call

true teaching.~Mazie & bReading 1The SymptomsWaiting to pass through

transition, I make the effort to release myself from the mind,

habits, and identity of the human primate, remembering myself as a

voyager, separating myself from identification with the human primate

within which I have been voyaging throughout its lifetime.As a

voyager, I release myself from the feeble grip of human primate

consciousness; I feel myself reverting to my native state, the

perfect shining void, endless light in infinite expansion; no past,

no present, or future, all experience dissolving into the deep,

shining eternal voidness of the void, releasing myself from the

identity and environment of the human primate. I will enumerate the

symptoms of transition:1. Earth sinking into water. A deep, incessant

sensation of slowly increasing pressure, of being inexorably drawn

downward into a pool of mercury, of melting into earth.

2. Water sinking into fire. A sensation of clammy coldness as though

one had been suddenly immersed in icewater – it begins with

uncontrollable shivering, gradually merging into unbreathable hot,

oppressively still atmosphere.

3. Fire sinking into air. A sensation of being just on the verge of

explosion, giving way to a sensation of total dispersal of self.

4. Air into Clear Light. A feeling of being utterly at peace, utterly

alone, completely outside space and time, free of all necessity; a

sudden powerful and thrilling sense of deep, ironic knowledge sweeps

through the self, but this great, profound, sweeping,

all-encompassing knowledge doesn't seem to refer to anything in

particular.

The reader may notice one or more of the following observable

indications that transition and/or the Kingdom of Heaven is near at

hand:

~the American Book of the Dead, E.J. Gold

(hey, let's revisit Sri Ramana on Kingdom of Heaven)-

"True surrender is love of God for the sake of love and nothing else,

not even for the sake of liberation. Love itself is the actual form

of God. That is pure bliss. Call it pure bliss, God, Self, or what

you will. That is devotion, that is realization and that is

everything. The experience of not forgetting consciousness alone is

the state of devotion which is the relationship of unfading real

love, because the real knowledge of Self, which shines as the

undivided supreme bliss itself, surges up as the nature of love. Only

if one knows the truth of love, which is the nature of the Self, will

the strong entangled knot of life be untied. Only if one attains the

height of love will liberation be attained. The experience of Self is

only love, which is seeing only love, hearing only love, feeling only

love, tasting only love and smelling only love, and this is bliss.

God does not reside in any place other than the Heart. Be sure that

the heart is the Kingdom of Heaven."

~Sri Ramana Maharshi, Absolute Consciousness

The bridge to Cold Mountain demands a toll, but the wealth of the

worldwill not gain you entrance.You must become that bridge where

Spirit can cross over, lifted into itselfby the momentum of its own

design --to most mere chaos --to the Dharma Eyethe yielding heart of

humble submission where the Infinite strides a rainbow bridge and

bursts out loving, sampling sips from that same jug you paid as toll

toclimb this cold, cold mountain.If anyone could taste but a drop

ofsuch Nectar, they would give up all thoughtof bridges, spirits,

sips, or tolls!~Mazie & bLoss of control over facial muscles.

High-pitched whistling, buzzing sounds, low rumbling thunder, or

complete loss of hearing. Visions, hallucinations, or complete loss

of sight. Breath coming in gasps, chainstoke breathing. Cold sweats,

teeth chattering, uncontrollable shivering. Extreme agitation,

anxiety, irritability, restlessness. Lethargic clam, sudden

inexplicable apparent absence of previous pain.

~The American Book of the Dead, E.J. GoldThere are no signposts here,

no consolations. I wander, whittled down to a vapor of what I thought

I was, in the silence of this enormous emptiness. An old maplewood

cane in my left hand taps the dust along this deserted path, marking

footsteps that came from nowhere, lead to nowhere/anywhere. Memories,

vague yearnings, pieces of dreams –all skitter restlessly across the

surface of imagination yet find no resting-place. Here there is only

the starkness of this immense mystery, the unknowable that animates

this shell of elements flashingin and out of time.I am water, washing

through a water world.Unborn, undying – twisting through the maritime

depths of itself, flowing through grand canyons of heart-stopping

vision or pooling in stagnant backwaters of abandoned

desire.Unaccountable breath – inhale & exhale, inhale & exhale,

inhale & exhale – and all the while this beating, blood-pumping

vessel of ordinary, irreducible life vibrates to an inaudible music,

the music of precise embodiment.How could I have ever imagined there

was anything more than thisutter simplicity? This water is

transparency itself. This endless tidal child of an oceanic mother,

never other than herself, at play in cloud, dewdrop, brook,

snowslush, river, lake, leaf, limb,root, dark earth, rainbow heaven,

bird, beast,beauty, worm, world within world within world. Always

now. Now. Over the waterfall, I burst into billions of individual

drops of itself in deafening roar and just as soon dissolve again

into the flow of my eternal unity, flowing water of life, nourishing

all of the forms of myself, my own form. Contained within me are all

water worlds, and I within them, and they ripple through this

vastness, this dark and moonless night, and I wander on, my cane

tapping out the signature on water, and water echoes back the

loneliness of that which can never know itself, but only be

itself.Even this loneliness is at last submerged in the welcoming

embrace of itself for itself, the watery limbs which reach out to

catch the gentle rain of this liquid sky's tears, the tears which are

the heart's voice of this silence I wander through tonight.~Mazie &

bReading 2Now I am entering transition and must sepaerate myself from

all ordianry material accumulations and accomplishments in my human

primate sojourn; I prepare now to release myself from my human

primate friends, family, home, and surroundings' I can't take them

with me into the Clear Light.I prepare myself to survive the

transition, for I am a voyager, not a human primate; neither coming

nor going, I have always remained in the here and now, although ot

laways in the same morphology. Now my vision will be opened and I

will see that in reality it is always the same room, always the same

day.During transition, I may have some disturbing experiences, but

these visions will have no power if I quickly recognize them as just

the primal components of cosnciousness breaking up into elemenal

forms.I don't resist these perceptions, sensations, and cognitions as

they dawn upon me; any experience, whether apparently real or unreal,

is still part of the dream, and so long as I seem to be having

experiences and perceive change. I am still in the dream.~The

American Book of the Dead, E.J. Gold

O Friends, why not wanderout of your cozy hovels tonight and let your

light-starved eyes lift skyways?This moon ablaze across Cold Mountain

will satisfy your questions.Many hidden friends aresilently

illuminedby this kind lover's glance –perhaps some ones who

wereforsaken, who could usea second chance.If you're lonesome

tonight, it is notthe fault of this moon!And yet, this moon can be a

secret ifyou've closed the window to your heart.Still, it will

quietly meander through the cageof your ribs, whileyour thoughts are

imprisonedelsewhere.Either way, words cometo an endrighthere.~Mazie &

bReading 3I am a voyager whose nature is in reality the Clear and

Luminous Light, the endless Voidness of the Void; I remain in the

Clear Light, my soundless and motionless native state; I take my

place as the eternal shining void itself. I remember the effort I

made in my human primate life to exercise the special attention and

presence of the voyager; I don't look for the Clear Light in front or

behind; it won't be there, because I am the Clear Light itself; the

Clear Light is my nature.I don't allow my attention to wander in

dreams even for a single moment; remembering myself in balance as a

voyager, separating myself from the clinging vestiges of human

primate life, I keep myself as if riding a wave in the ocean. Should

I lose my balance even for a moment, I will tumble into the wild

maelstrom, overcome instantly by the immense power of water.Now I

recognize myself as the shining Clear Light; remaining easily

balanced in this eternal state I cannot be drawn downward into the

lower dimensions of phenomena, world-illusion, and organic habit.

~E.J. Gold, The American Book of the DeadLate summer's eve, and

wine-dark dusk emerges earlier now, as if the shadows have always

lingered just behind the facade of light, patiently biding their

time, confident that the inevitable procession of the planet will

favor them once more, full of the promise of pinpoint starlight

birthing and fading within the vast ocean of mute darkness, silent

eternal night, and by the lake the mosquito swarms have thickened,

tiny beings dizzy with desire, clueless in philosophies of birth and

death, drawn by some anciently encoded impulse to the ecstasy of

evening, life feeding upon life, drinking deeply of itself,

intoxicated with the simplicity of innocent desire, the search and

satisfaction, and then the search once more in never ending cycles of

urgent humming yearning, yearning beyond comprehension, free of any

doubt or question, in absolute submission to that which beats their

wings, their hearts, pushes their blood to seek more blood, and

blinds them to the swift approach of the devouring dragonfly. The

wind, momentarily respectful of the vanishing light, once more

gathers itself to push between the temporary leaves of the darkening

trees, flowing freely, filled with songs few ever hear, spilling

rough sinewy kisses along the branches which extend their reach to

express the same force which births the wind, whirling insects,

wheeling star shine, and the wonder of worlds upon worlds of fervent

endless mindless yearning – the same force whispering through every

beat of every heart right now, every breath, every brilliant

unbearably beautiful body of life.~Mazie & bWearing Rinpoche

rhinestone skulls like Bhava-banglesbanging upon his Beautiful

god-body like a Dhamma drum drumming up The Goddess Shakti in Fire

refrainthen came spirit rain came again the Sea of Snakes came Zen

garden rakesslither, stance and stand still smiling, en Force uh deux

not 2 whistled up in Kundalini catcalls courting the One Comic Relief

A parade a charade a Cosmic-Courtesan of Light ignited, Delighted to

douse the hostwith the mostopen-Heart toasta drink to the

homefrontSailing-hailing Hello-good-by-hello Was a Hari was a Jnana

rama lama bawa papa maMaking cow eyesholding Bombay halvah cow pies.

Doing minuette duets.Soup du jour!Bodhidharma and Sri Ramana,Jerrysan

Rinpoche riptides all rides the wave of Wu WooHoo Kundalini.I ride the

white Tara water waves of Your Source, Jerrysan Rinpoche.(Braggart

Smarty-Pants Moiezee audited by the Odditore in egg-crushing

mode)Kali calls the shots the show and ships come and go up and out

in flames playing Prana gameson our bodies in our minds.Light

Refreshments are available in some Lobby,Some Anteroom called

Love.divine with something more bright than...than LightLight or

Fire...the Funeral Pyre Hot Parinda pulls us in pays no heed to the

deedor or the deedee, it is the Dharma of Drama ala Balarama bringing

down the house.Something remains yet Subtle felt and seen in the smoke

and hazeGazing calmlyCalm.It is Happiness.~MitzvahEven in this dark

and windy nighteverything is translucent.Light is dancing betweenthe

visible and invisible.Can you here the soft laughter echoing in the

air?There is no source for this mirth,and so it must be my

imagination.But if there is no source for thisimagination, then it

must just besoft laughter, echoing in the air.I sayi am here,you say

you are there.I wonder how this can be.What pours through youswoons

in me. My bloodruns through the veins that connect the galaxies

-connect the galaxies withsoft laughter, pouring throughthese

imaginary veins with no source,like wine.I wonder how this can be

-invisible pouring into visibility.So translucent in this soft

laughter!I've lost the way back to sobriety.The little drops of wine

I left tomark my way have mirthfully evaporated -laughing softly in

the air on thisdark and windy night.Having things be any different

than they are has gone the way of wine dropsthat now connect the

galaxies -the galaxies that laugh softly in the air, even on thisdark

and windy night.I wonder how this can be:I set out to find the one who

laughs softly in the air,forgetting it was Idancing between visible

and invisible, softly laughing.~Mazie & bPassionate wanting to

understand my supreme irritability. Brain jogg, shut up shutup talk

to me help me leave me alone I know I am confused yes no oh oh God.

"Is this the nine hundred dancing fools and famous names Linda lived

with for years?"I ask myself. I ask myself much and I do not confuse

the illness. It continues its gig.Undermining arrogance:Arrogance of

fearlessness of death – b making claims of such…The hardy-har-har of

Hari as He shakes the tree of life, my life and his Beloved loving

wife's life (moi marionetting again) and the best friend he ever had

or Loved or ever lay embraced face to face with,Heart to Heart with,

well that life hung in the balance of the imbalance of

electrolytes.What a riot, eh?He was read the rules a bit differently

Didn't he be, didn't you b,when it concerned his and your (Hi Baby!)

Dear darling's life and not just his own life.Arrogance of ability to

stand unshaken amidst pain and disease – me making claims, bold claims

to DC and then the Friend waltzes in all Smaltzy-like Smoking gun in

Hand as Love shakes my hand, real tight.Red-hot infectionately

tight.Lose yer mind tight,And I might not come back whole don't ya

know…I whined this, my friends.We are tight, Dhamma drumtightwe are

delight, deathly ghostly green couch thrill-delight honed in on the

ins and outs of the chase and near kill.The Kill.The kill the clown

round-up the round and round mulberry bush nessThe spills and moon

pondering fills the windmills marking timeMaking mind matter to the

maddest hatterHeadless ones heaving heavy weightless epithets and

Impervious and permeated by obvious egoic implications and we are all

tiny little peapodKite-flying squirrels Wearing pearls of skin-teeth

and fin-faceand Rumi and Saami are my Mommy sometimes.It makes no

sense it seems but the dreams are veiled in colors with no lineage.I

walk along invisibleness and leave signposts to nowhere.Can you read

the tea leaves growing from my palms?Can you palm a poem held before

the dawn of man poetically written and arranged as a view, as an

angle of vision seen through eyes seeing the life game from a man

with no name, no trace, no face?I have no game plan. I laugh

in-between the tears of laughterOf dying and dizziness and death is

no stranger to me.Even now I can see a gentleness fading this clear

clear consciousness.A near-death experience seems to be in progress

when fainting is so near,So near. Death, fainting and samadhi…one

experience with variously Various tints and hues of WooHoo. ~Mitzvah

In each momentary sigh the perfume of our million deaths exudes the

fragrance of flowers whose fragility is not abused by the

inevitability of destruction at the hand of the life that caresses

them to bloom and blossom.In such a hand there are no worse or better

plants, but only precious ones that even now retreat to dust - some

long before their petals fully open.Ah, but death has never been a

matter for concern among the roses and the lilacs who patiently

absorb the light and mirror back infinity.Surrounded by love in a

garden of love with only love as the gardener - who could resist this

last little death at the hand of the one who most loves you? ~Mazie &

bDo Not Go GentleDo not go gentle into that good night, Old age

should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of

the light.Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because

their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that

good night.Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail

deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying

of the light.Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And

learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into

that good night.Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against

the dying of the light.And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle

into that good night.Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

~Dylan ThomasI have no identity truly no past no futureI called

outyes,like the Heart pulls inward to the completenessof HomeI

searched for eternitylooking for the one all searching diedwhen the

one that sought was seen to be only seeking itselfgrief dropped away

likeautumn leaves on a wonderful windswept daymind appears and

disappearsbody appears and disappearssense of self appearsand

disappears -- all within I Am.Sitting, back against the slate cliff

ofthis generous mountain,heart at rest in the merciful field of

"empty and full"suddenly smiling:in that smile isperched a bird

within whose wingsa trillion galaxies revolvein joyous perfectionthe

mere appearance ofanything at allis my perpetual delightI use my

words to point to that exquisitely uniquebeauty of each just as we

always areand to the Great Spacein which allblooms and

naturallyreturnsI ama dreameryesI sleepI have only momentsleft of

hidingmy time does not exist here I am falling away into something

elsesomething I have always been. Perhaps this isthe true miracle

--that in a timelesssilencesomehoweven nowI simply can't

stopsmiling.~Mazie & b"Appropriate stress". I like that.There is a

major misunderstandingwhich is so obvious that I am amazedthat it is

not unversally seen.Ego, Identity, personality, do NOTof necessity

PRECLUDE essence.Essence is designed to live with ego, for gawd's

sake!!!All of our 'parts' are happy together!So... good grief... you

don't have toCRUSH OR KILL anything, to get anything!What a RIDICULES

recipe! Sure, if you want hamburger, it is best to kill the cowfirst.

But if you want a whole person... yeah, right... start killing!

SHEESH!So all you nut-crushers out there, justpick up those

handy-dandy 'Mr G Brand'vice-grip pliers, and start a-squeezin...just

make sure it's your own nuts you putin a vice!Now somebody will try to

convince methat the ever-larger cadre of 'ego-crushers',marching

should-to-shoulder, have saidbye-bye to their own egos? Fat

chance!The 'excitement' on the face of Swami Egocrusher,occurs when

HE sees YOUR consternation over HISstatement that what is WRONG with

YOU, has distractedYOU from seeing HIS cluelessness as to HIS OWN

nature.Ask any practicing psychologist the question:"Is ego a

problem?" and listen closely to the answer.How oh how, does the

'recipe' for 'enlightenment'include 'breaking one's own eggs'?

Right... no broken eggs... no OM-lett! Bwahahahaha!But appropriate

stress... yes... that will do!~==Gene Poole==There's only one mind

–what seems to make it plural is thought.Thoughts are my friends,

buthow can they knowthere's a spacebetween them?How can they knowwhen

it's time forthem to go?Across the sky of mindall my birds are

leaving.Oh! Oh!!This very mind!I bow down to this mind.This mind is

me.Bowing.Leaving.Some try and tamethese birds, butthese birds haveno

mind to tame.I fly through the skyat the thought of this mind!This

mind is Happiness itself!It is happiness to knowthe Flight of

Love!One might saythis mind is Love!I love this mind, thisMind of

Love!If this mind is Love, thenwho is suffering,in their mind,any

lack of love?What a wonder is this mind!Why do they say:"Forsake this

mind?"and name it"the lie by which we are bound?"Still, here's a good

question:Why hold the snake in your handas if it were your pet

canary?The poison is always fatal.There is no antidote.Death is

certain, but notbefore the agony.Give me that snake.I will love it.I

will hold it to mybreast and let itstrike again and again.I will kiss

its fangs andswallow its venom, andI will transmutethis deathly mind

into thesweetest elixir.There are those no one has ever heardwho have

surrenderedeverything for such Nectar.They have becomethe alchemy of

Stillness.And yet in the profound silenceof this late night,one bird

awake keeps singing.Somehow,I don't mind.~Mazie & bPotassium: An

Element of Life"Potassium is a silvery-white, inorganic, metallic

element--a substance that can not be separated into simpler

substances by chemical means. Commonly called K, a symbolic name

derived from the Periodic Table of the Elements, potassium is

essential for the functioning of the healthy human body.

Nutritionally, potassium is labeled a mineral, meaning it occurs

naturally in our environment. Once potassium dissociates into the

body's fluids, it becomes a powerful electrolyte, or an ion capable

of conducting electrical current and constituting a major force of

fluid balance within the body. The healthy human body is composed of

47 - 77% fluid, depending on the age, sex or personal characteristics

of the individual. Seventy percent of the body fluid is intracellular,

and thirty percent is extracellular. The intracellular fluid holds

approximately 98% of the total body potassium. Functions of Potassium

Potassium performs multiple life preserving functions in the human

body. This electrolyte assists with the regulation of intracellular

osmoregulation, the conduction of nerve impulses, cellular growth and

metabolism, and the proper functioning of skeletal, cardiac and smooth

muscle. Osmoregulation is the process of cells maintaining fluid and

electrolyte balance, assisting with the transfer of nutrients through

cell membranes. The body's balance of fluids is controlled by the

reciprocal interchanges of potassium, the major intracellular cation,

and sodium, the major extracellular cation. These cellular

interchanges aid in maintaining blood pressure and in transmitting

electrochemical impulses for proper muscle contraction, including the

heartbeat. During muscular repolarization, sodium is shifted into the

cells and potassium out of the cells; during depolarization, the

reverse happens. The concentration ratio of intracellular potassium

to extracellular sodium determines the effectiveness of nerve and

muscle cells. Though sodium is readily conserved by the body, there

is no effective method for potassium conservation. Even when a

potassium shortage exists, the kidneys continue to excrete it.

Because the human body relies on potassium balance for a regularly

contracting heart and a healthy nervous system, it is essential to

strive for this electrolyte's balance.Hypokalemia is a potassium

deficit, or plasma levels below 3.5 mEq/L (milliequivalent per

liter). Low serum potassium levels may be reflected secondary to the

electrolyte's shift to intracellular space or to it's being lost from

the total body stores. A variety of situations may cause potassium to

be lost from the total body stores. Potassium is depleted during

times of stress when the adrenal glands secrete increased levels of

epinephrine, pulling potassium from the cells to then be excreted by

the kidneys. Large volumes of urinary output or exorbitant

perspiration may cause excessive potassium loss. Endocrine disorders

such as Cushing's syndrome and hyperaldosteronism cause

overproduction of corticosteroids, provoking sodium retention and

potassium excretion. Potassium wasting diuretics and certain

antibiotics may push a borderline hypokalemia to unsafe potassium

levels. Vomiting, diarrhea, laxative abuse and ostomies may cause

large losses of potassium--the gastrointestinal secretions are rich

in potassium; for this reason, prolonged gastric suction depletes

potassium reserves. Cellular trauma, whether through injury, surgery

or burns, evoke damaged cells to release their potassium to

extracellular fluid, giving rise to temporary elevated serum levels;

this extracellular potassium is then excreted through the kidneys,

causing depletion of the total body potassium. Serum potassium levels

may drop below 3.5 mEq/L when potassium shifts from the extracellular

fluid to the intracellular fluid. This fluid shifting may be caused

by elevated insulin levels, alkalosis, or periods of massive tissue

repair. The most common incidence of fluid shifting caused by

elevated insulin levels is in the treatment of diabetic ketoacidosis.

While in the hyperglycemic phase, the potassium is pulled from the

intracellular space to the serum and then excreted through the

kidneys. The serum may indicate that potassium levels are elevated,

though the stores are being lost with polyuria. When insulin is given

to reduce the hyperglycemia, potassium returns to the intracellular

space, reducing serum potassium to dangerous levels if no replacement

is given. Signs of potassium deficiency include: slow thought

processes, abnormally dry skin, depression, reduced bowel sounds,

anorexia, abdominal distension, edema, nervousness, irregular

heartbeat, high cholesterol levels, muscular fatigue, growth

impairment, headaches, proteinuria and glucose intolerance.

Electrocardiograph changes accompanying hypokalemia are ST

depression, flat T waves, U waves and dysrhythmias. The pulse will be

fast, then slow. If digitalized, monitor for digitalis toxicity.

Recognition of the signs and symptoms of hypokalemia may detain a

disaster. Discuss these indicators with people at risk for potassium

depletion, and provide a list so they may refresh their memory as

needed. Prescribed potassium replacement:Intravenous potassium is

prescribed when oral replacement is not possible or if the

hypokalemia is life-threatening. When blood serum potassium levels

are below 2 mEq/ml, the maximum infusion rate that will be prescribed

is 40 mEq per hour; the maximum fluid concentration will be 40 mEq in

500cc. When blood serum levels are more than 2mEq/ml, the maximum

infusion rate is 10 mEq per hour; with the maximum fluid

concentration of 20 mEq per 500 cc. The maximum 24 hour dosage of

intravenous potassium that may be prescribed is 200 - 400 mEq. Follow

your hospital policy concerning potassium/fluid concentrations. Many

hospitals have developed stricter policies to reduce the risk of

injury to the patient. When given intravenously, potassium causes a

painful burning sensation along the vein into which it is infusing.

The physician may order small amounts of lidocaine to be added to the

potassium mixture to reverse post infusion phlebitis. A nursing

intervention to reduce the patient's discomfort is to apply a cool

cloth or ice pack to the area. Though potassium is an important

element of life, its imbalance may be an element of death."Here in

the frozen predawn nightthe bamboo flute at my quivering lipsanswers

to some plaintive winter canyon call.I play for all the starving

ghostsand all the lonesome little lambsamidst the shivering hungry

wolves.Inside my chest where wild things growa tiny seed

resides.Within a garden fed by lovethat seed exceeds Dawn's

sky.~Mazie & bI speak frankly and that makes me happy: I am the slave

of love, I am free of both worlds. I am a bird from heaven's garden.

How do I describe that separation, my fall into this snare of

accidents? I was an angel and highest paradise was my place. Adam

brought me to this monastery in the city of ruin. The hours' caress,

the pool and shade trees of paradise were forgotten in the breeze

from your alleyway. There is nothing on the tablet of my heart but my

love's tall alif. What can I do? My master taught me no other letter.

No astrologer knew the constellations of my fate. O lord, when I was

born of mother earth which stars were rising? Ever since I became a

slave at the door of love's tavern sorrows come to me each moment

with congratulations. The pupil of my eye drains the blood from my

heart. I deserve it. Why did I give my heart

to the darling of others? Wipe the tears from Hafiz's face with soft

curls or else this endless torrent will uproot me. ~Hafiz - Ghazal 44

"The Green Sea of Heaven" - Elizabeth T. GrayBody is mysterious.Body

is obvious.Body is paradox.Body is life.Hard to get onetrulyhard to

let onego.Body can be a ladder -we can go up,we can go down.Sometimes

body islike a mountain.Mountain doesn't care -bottom, middle, top.Hey

-all mountain!Just so!Body isa real good friend.It contains

allbodies, beings, and birds.These birds areborn to break hearts.All

hearts are singing birds.They love to sing aboutthis body,this lovely

body ofbird song.Love this body –Let it go!This body is the

mind,filled with merry thoughtsarising in the body,as the body.What

fun!Whoops!Hey –This whole damn thing isgoing up in light!~Mazie &

bHokusai says Look carefully.He says pay attention, noticeHe says

keep looking, stay curious.He says there is no end to seeing.He says

Look Forward to getting old. He says keep changing,you just get more

who you really are.He says get stuck, accept it, repeat yourself as

long as it's interesting.He says keep doing what you love.He says

keep praying.He says every one of us is a child,every one of us is

ancient,every one of us has a body.He says every one of us is

frightened.He says every one of us has to find a wayto live with

fear.He says everything is alive -shells, buildings, people,

fish,mountains, trees. Wood is alive.Water is alive.Everything has

its own life.Everything lives inside us.He says live with the world

inside you.He says it doesn't matter if you draw,or write books. It

doesn't matterif you saw wood, or catch fish.It doesn't matter if you

sit at homeand stare at the ants on your verandahor the shadows of the

treesand grasses in your garden.It matters that you care.It matters

that you feel.It matters that you notice.It matters that life lives

through you.Contentment is life living through you.Joy is life living

through you.Satisfaction and strengthare life living through you.Peace

is life living through you.He says don't be afraid.Don't be

afraid.Look, feel, let life take you by the hand.~Hokusai says, Roger

KeyesBrothers and Sisters,Hearts of Faith,a moment please –we have

been checked into thesedrab roadside lodgings for so longwe have

begun to think of them asour actual forwarding address.We are driven

hither and thither bya little imaginary machine percolatingunder our

skin, and so we never rest.In the fervor of our archaeology, we hold

up pieces of broken glass high above our heads and crow about our

treasures.In solitary moods of desperation we secretly continue to

crave that of which we've already despaired –some sort of final

Blessing.Friends - the secret of Blessing is thatBlessing is never

denied,nor is it ever final.I have spirit money to burnin the Ghost

Festival, andThe Laws of Heaven allow no exceptions:luck and

misfortune are intertwined,and although I've played with thesedice my

whole life,they are useless to me now.It is said that someone

whodoesn't make flowers makes thorns.Even the palace of an Emperor is

but a gilded prison.Truly, the slightest breeze of mind can lock us

inside prison gates,and even the strongest ox of our will cannot pull

us out again.Wherever we walk, the monkey is surely not far behind.He

even volunteers for jail.Perhaps this is why theMinister of Masks

remarked:"The dragon in the shallowsis forever toyed with by

shrimp."The world often seems a cold place,but we can bring warmth to

it.What other enjoyment can therebe in life? A drop of

compassionbrings wellsprings of gratitude.Every cellar is fully

stocked.Is there water in this wine, orwine in this water?When such

questions are asked,my eyes drift up to the sky.I stare, still

somehow disbelieving, at the charred ruins of my own boat.How swiftly

the fire, onceignited, showed me that there is nothing we can own.You

ask from whence I come.I answer "Here".These ashes are my crib,and in

this mud a kind ofsprout has pushed through intodaylight.I am grateful

for the water.I stagger, blinded, fromThe Tavern of the Drunken

Idiots,my limp more evident now,but the tricks of the monkey

arewasted on me in my condition.The gods takes pity on fools such as

I.Beyond them, where we bothblend with eternity, something there

makes mehear the whole worldsigh in relief.I sit astride the toenail

of theBuddha of Infinite Qualities, withoutany qualities I can find

in myself.Where She roams, thunder echoesfrom Her footsteps, butI

hear only the most imperceptibleglad murmur of reception from

theearth on which She treads.They say that the heart acts as a

translatorbetween mystery and intelligence;that it has its own

dwellers who do not speak with those who are justpassing through.

Still I ask:"Who is there on this shining floorwho is not trampled by

HerDancing Feet?"The Princess arrives on theBoat of Kindness, and

along the banksthere are Lilac Groves whosefragrance runs riot

through the senses.Spring's first Buttercups are enough toquiet all

dispute, just as the Tulipsreveal the purpose of our appearance.Yes,

no, maybe so –in this lovely garden of our souls,what use are these

distinctions?When life is this dear,can we not hear the tender voice

calling us home,even now, even now?Don't stop anywhere!Not until we

vanish can we know where we truly stand.After this death we canbecome

human at last.I have emptied out my pockets –there is nothing in them

anymore. If you grab me by the collar,what you hold is only air.One

after another,each will pass through thisGate in their time, and

these wordslike ashes will be scattered along the avenues of towns

long ago abandoned.And please forgive thisindulgence here –my sand

has nowpoured through.~Mazie & bCenter of all centers, core of

cores,almond self-enclosed, and growing sweet--all this universe, to

the furthest starsall beyond them, is your flesh, your fruit.Now you

feel how nothing clings to you;your vast shell reaches into endless

space,and there the rich, thick fluids rise and flow.Illuminated in

your infinite peace,a billion stars go spinning through the

night,blazing high above your head.But in you is the presence

thatwill be, when all the stars are dead.~ Buddha in Glory, Rainer

Maria RilkeNothing makes a difference.Perhaps it always has.Blown

along cold coasts of reasonBreeze, languorous amidst the ice

plants,mellows to a softer part of the feeling, is warmon the tip of

my eye I keeplike a lover on this moon.This moon!Her naked

radianceblatant and unashamedblasts uncountable tiny mirrors studded

diamond-like within my cells, now all ablaze with urgent whitelight

moonshine,yearning to sing love songs,silent songs of praisewe all

can hear.Some feeble fog has slipped between us,as far from my nose

as it is to my toes,and we are tempted to the old debate:Stars

moving, orwe? FamishedI devour this mist and drinkmy tears.I am made

of water, at the mercy of this moon.Talking breedsits own dilemmasso

we employ no words, just"Ah …." nodding to ourselves in that sweet

redundancyancient loving brings.Shy masks of ash were shedlight tears

ago, awayin the far ghost lands shimmering even now shimmer as they

evaporate in memory.I've heard it saidthe only hindrance

isremembering the past, but few remember this.Tonight is that kind of

night --the kind when lovers wish each other "Goodnight, Beloved!"and

it is nothingbut the Truth.Tonight things fall from treescertain dogs

fart in fear, but we don'tbudge.These falling things have never

mattered much to us.We ourselves have not stopped falling.There are

no sins of omission here.The cards are all out on the table,

butnobody's left to claim the pot.I am not the kind who breaks

thingsdown into some comprehensibility, nor do I have much mind for

the mathematics of the gears,yet I can see how someone might.It all

adds up, followed by more tears.My ears --cast like limbs of

treesattendant only to the mysterioustiny melodies, barely

audible,echoing from withinthe tear the sky has grown to warm my

eyestonight.It's niceyou knowjust sittinghere, fire

near-byblue-smoking the moonperpetuallyroasting lingering cinders of

cruel intelligibilitylistening carefullywith unconcealed delight as

four times twenty-seven hairs lean over these ears to hear,my

Friend,tonight.~Mazie & b

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