Yin Yang

Imagine you can see out into deep space, so far out that the distance to the nearest galaxies is so vast that no stars are visible in any direction, in fact all that there is to see is a solitary blue ball. Consider this ball for a moment and ask yourself this simple question... is it moving, slowly drifting across the abyss or is it holding still, hanging against the backdrop of the void? The more deeply we consider this question the more we come to realize that there is no possible way of knowing the answer. Indeed, in relation to what could it be said to be moving? Things are said to move only when compared with others, that are relatively still, for movement does not exist in itself but only in relation to stillness - likewise stillness cannot exist except in correlation with motion.

So let's have two balls, and notice that they come closer to each other, or get further apart. Sure, there is motion now, but which one is moving? Ball one, ball two, or both? There is no way of deciding. All answers are equally right and wrong. Now suppose that the balls don't move at all, but that the space between them moves. After all, we speak of a distance (space) increasing or decreasing as if it were a thing that could do something. This is the problem of the expanding universe. Are the other galaxies moving away from ours, or ours from them, or all from each other? The problem comes up because we ask the question in the wrong way. We supposed that solids were one thing and space quite another, or just nothing whatever. Then it appeared that space was no mere nothing, because solids couldn't do without it. But the mistake in the beginning was to think of solids and space as two different things, instead of as two aspects of the same thing. The point is that they are different but inseparable, like the front end and the rear end of a cat.


The space, then, is as real as the solid. Yet we think, 'Well, where there is a solid, there is something, and where there is space, there is nothing.' They are actually as mutually supportive as back and front, they are inseparable. Nobody ever found a space without a solid, and nobody ever found a solid without a space. We've been trained to fix our attention on the solid and disregard the space, but what we fail to see is that it is the solid which implies the space, just as it is the space which implies the solid. It is the soft of your skin that implies the rough of the tree bark, it is the warmth of your body that implies the cold of the snow. Nothing can exist except in relation to it's opposite... it is only through the concept of dark that we can conceive of light, and it is only in relation to light that we can comprehend dark.

Press a single key on a piano and we perceive a solitary note hanging in the air, but what our ear fails to tell us is that every second this note is flowing rapidly in and out of existence. In fact, were this not the case we would fail to hear anything at all. This is because sound is generated not by a tone but by a tone, followed by silence, followed by a tone, followed by silence. Likewise when you switch on a light in the dark you senses are flooded with the perception of light, but in reality your eyes are following your ears' example and withholding the fact that what you perceive as a beam of brightness is actually a union of darkness and light; the light dying away to bring life to the dark, the darkness giving way to the light which implies the darkness in turn. How do would we classify the rich without the poor? Sorrow without joy? If everyone was exactly the same size who would we consider tall? Whom short? If all of humanity were as intelligent as Einstein would we still consider him a genius? We never find the crest of a wave without an accompanying trough, nor a particle without an interval between itself and others. In others words, there is no such thing as a half wave, or a particle all by itself without any space around it. There is no on without off, no up without down. Take away the crest of the wave, and there is no trough.

We are so absorbed in conscious attention, so convinced that this narrowed kind of perception is not only the real way of seeing the world, but also the very basic sensation of oneself as a conscious being, that we are fully hypnotized by its disjointed vision of the universe. We really feel that this world is indeed an assemblage of separate things that have somehow come together or, perhaps, fallen apart, and that we are each only one of them. We see ourselves all alone, born alone and dying alone, maybe as bits and fragments of a universal whole, or expendable parts of a big machine. Rarely do we conceive of all these so-called things and events "going together" like the head and tail of the cat, or as tones and inflections - rising and falling, coming and going - of a single singing voice.

In other words, we do not play the game of death-and-life: the universal game of up/down, on/off. solid/space, and each/all. Instead, we play the game of death-versus-life. Then, not realizing the inseparability of the positive and negative poles of the rhythm, we are afraid that death may win the game. But the game "Life must win" is no longer a game, it is a fight - a fight haunted by a sense of chronic frustration because we are doing something as crazy as trying to keep the mountains and get rid of the valleys.

I Am...

Buddhism teaches that the origin of all suffering is attachment. Craving and clinging are natural reactions to life; we cling to our possessions and our wealth, we crave attention and affection, we attach ourselves to our loved ones and to our lives. Yet the objects of our attachment are transient, their loss is inevitable, thus suffering will necessarily follow. You pine for the love of someone, if your love is unrequited you naturally become sad or frustrated. Suppose, instead, you come to find that certain someone loves you too. The moment you share your love for one another, the moment that by all rights and reasons should be unmitigated joy, some part of you shifts to a fearful, defensive posture. What if they should stop loving you, move away or even die? In that instant that we attain that which we have been craving we begin to cling to it for dear life.

Arguably the most difficult things for us to learn to sever our detachments from are not our cars and houses, not our bank accounts, not even our loved ones... that which we grasp onto most tightly is our paradigms. The image we carry of ourselves, the lens through which we see the world, the guide by which we interpret our lives are often so ingrained, so intrinsically a part of who we are that we shrink in terror from the loss of them. We allow our beliefs, opinions and conceptions to shape our lives at such a fundamental level that many of us actually identify with them. Strip away our politics, our religion, our day-to-day world views and many of us don't even have a concept of what 'self' would be leftover.

The source of these deeply enmeshed attachments stem from an attachment to our thoughts. We suffer from the belief that whatever pops into our mind is part of who and what we are, thus we cling to the random wanderings of our brain under the delusion that our thoughts are as much a part of us as our own skin. I am learning to see my thoughts and emotions like clouds, there to be observed and considered but lacking any personal attachment, drifting across the sky of my mind leaving no trace of their passing. By identifying ourselves with our own attachments we tie our mental and emotional well-being to a vulnerable, false 'self'. This is why people become so defensive of their paradigms, what we feel as an attack on our core beliefs is seen as an attack on our very selves. To question someone's political stance or religion, for example, is perceived on par with coming at them with a knife, an attempt to cut away a part of themselves.

This simple, terrible truth is at the heart of the conflict between conservatives and liberals, Christians and Muslims, Capitalists and Socialists, husbands and wives, parents and children, friends and neighbors. It plays a core role in humanity's destruction of the environment, the exploitation and enslavement of one person by another and virtually every war ever waged in human history. These attachments are, quite literally, the fountain from which all suffering springs, thus it is only by finding these intrinsic attachments within ourselves and confronting them head on that we, both individually and collectively, will ever escape the vicious cycle of misery that binds humanity in a prison of our self-deluded creation.

24 Hours Of Silence

If you get with yourself and you find out that you are all of yourself a very strange thing happens. You find out that your body knows that you are one with the universe, in other words that the so called involuntary circulation of your blood is one continuous process with the stars shining. If you find out that it's you who circulates your blood you at the same moment find out that you are shining the sun.

I entered a void, I left my body, I was above everything, a wormhole, a spiral, a light, I was consciousness, I was wisdom. I was myself, looking at myself. A wave and a particle. I am the universe and the universe is me.

I don't know who I am unless I know who you are, and you don't know who you are unless you know who I am. A wise rabbi once said "If I am I because you are you and you are you because I am I, then I am not I and you are not you." In other words we are not separate, we define each other, we are all backs and fronts to each other.

There was a young man who said "Though it seems I know that I know, what I would like to see is the eye that knows me when I know that I know that I know."

We are symptomatic of the scheme of things, as the apple is symptomatic of the apple tree and the rose is symptomatic of the rose bush. The earth is not a big rock infested with living organisms anymore than your skeleton is bones infested with cells. The earth is geological, yes, but this geological entity grows people and our existence on the earth is a symptom of the solar system and its balances, as much as the solar system in turn is a symptom of our galaxy.

The drop merges into the ocean, and the ocean merges into the drop.
I am everything and nothing, I don't end at my skin.
Recursive, holographic, isomorphic.

Your body is a miracle of harmony. Even the corpuscles and creatures that are fighting each other in the bloodstream and eating each other up, if they weren't doing that you wouldn't be healthy. What is discord at one level of your being is harmony at a higher level, similarly the discords of your life and the discords of people's lives which are a fight at one level at a higher level of the universe are healthy and harmonious. And you suddenly realize that everything that you are and do is, at that level, as magnificent and as free of any blemish as the patterns in waves, the markings in marble, the way a cat moves and that this world is really okay.

The rounded world is fair to see,
Nine time folded in mystery:
Though baffled seers cannot impart
The secret of its laboring heart,
Throb thine with Nature’s throbbing breast,
And all is clear from east to west,
Spirit that lurks each form within
Beckons to spirit of its kin;
Self-kindled every atom glows,
And hints the future which it owes.

You may become the Buddha as soon as you know that you have always been the Buddha.

Eccentricities

They refuse to see the world through the rose colored glasses of the masses nor through the cynical spectacles of the disenchanted. Rather they watch reality unfold as if on a psychedelic journey - finding deeper, more profound dimensions than most people imagine possible, finding inspiration in the ordinary. They exist on the fringes of society, never quite fitting in to the social mainstream of everyday life, usually preferring it that way. Astonishingly simple in their miraculousness and surprisingly intricate in their simplicities they inspire us and we, in turn, inspire them. Some call them strange, some call them crazy, some say they are fucked up, others say they are eccentric, most find them confusing, I find them beautiful.

They are artists in the purest sense of the word, masters of the amazing they are capable of drinking deeply from the wellspring of the void. The works they create speak to the depths of my soul, calling to that part of me that each of us share, the unconscious mind that is, in a word, human. The mediums through which they touch my life vary, from poetry to paintings, from music to movies, yet the manner in which their magic has shaped me is penetratingly universal. To my mind they are more enlightened, their souls have swam in the abyss and have discovered a higher state of being. Through the power of their vision they pull me through the looking glass, carrying me along on the wave of their eccentricity...

The words swim before me as the language fades, replaced by an immense dreamscape. I am carried along by the river as my mind wanders across mountains and meadows, through forests and plains. The landscape curves about me and the fathomless beauty of the poet's imagination consumes me entirely.

As I study the oil soaked canvas my thoughts sprout wings and take flight, lifting from my mind and soaring from this world. The power of those thoughts and emotions pull away the curtains of ignorance from my sight and lay bear to me the majesty and mystery of existence. Though the span of a thousand years separates us I am taken by the hand to unknown places, innumerable worlds, lifetimes unimagined.

Standing in a crowd the vibrations and tone fill my body, shaking the mortar that holds my soul in place, filling me so completely that there is no room left for my conscious self. I lift away on a crescendo, my body and the crowd are left behind as I drift along the current of sound. Impressions are lost within me and I lose myself inside of them. A journey spanning the heavens, I am the same yet fundamentally I am changed.

Rowing the Boat of Fate

Nobody knows who I really am

I never felt this empty before
And if I ever need someone to come along,
Who's gonna comfort me, and keep me strong?

We are all rowing the boat of fate
The waves keep on coming and we can't escape
But if we ever get lost on our way
The waves would guide you through another day.

Each breath escaping my body becomes transparent and goes far away
And even when I think everything’s dark, I’m only blindfolded.

I give a prayer as I wait for the new day
Shining vividly up to the edge of that sea.

Nobody knows who I really am
Maybe they just don't give a damn
But if I ever need someone to come along
I know you would follow me, and keep me strong.

Offering a prayer, I wait for a new day to come
Until the reflection of the sunrise sparkling on the sea disappears completely.

And every time I see your face
The ocean heaves up to my heart
You make me wanna strain at the oars, and soon
I can see the shore.

Oh, I can see the shore
When will I see the shore?

I want you to know who I really am
I never thought I'd feel this way towards you
And if you ever need someone to come along,
I will follow you, and keep you strong.

And still the journey continues on quiet days as well
The moon in its new cycle shines on the boats again.

I give a prayer as I wait for the new day
Shining vividly up to the edge of that sea.

And every time I see your face
The ocean heaves up to my heart
You make me wanna strain at the oars, and soon
I can see the shore.

We are rowing the boat of fate, but the waves keep attacking us
But isn't that still a wonderful journey?

~ Water Painting~

I get so lonely,
lost in the crowd,
I want to scream,
but I make no sound.

I escape out to drift
to a place that no one knows,
where the endless river flows
I call it home.

I feel a rush
like a rolling bolt of thunder,
spinning my head around
and taking my body under.

I fall through the water,
shimmmering like daylight
when the sun is perched
at its highest peak.

My head is weak, my heart always speaks,
before I know what it will say.
What I’ve felt and what I’ve known
are lost in cinder and smoke.

Below the current
I paint my picture.
I watch me unravel,
as I drift away.

I’d like to make myself believe
but I know that nothing is as it seems
My faith walks on broken glass
and the mirror image never lasts.

Corresponding shapes,
like puzzle pieces from the clay
I watch as it loses form,
and falls away.

Far away, I'm breathing,
as if I were transparent
seeing through time and
sight through smell.

Eyes wide open, naked as we came,
In the sun I feel as one
Tabula rasa, empty and open,
every path leads me to nowhere.