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Wednesday, December 30, 2015

There is, nothing, but her...




Nothing.  Not anything but her...

She's the slight breath before I take a breath to inhale.
She's the salvation before I even know what salvation was.
A mere word, an utterance, and shift, a death of breath.

She's everything I wish I told her moments ago. That I could relay here on this page.  I want to say it again.  I want to say it again.  But I can't.  It's not that I won't, I just can't.  It's the feelings behind those lost words.  I say them.  I have said them to her.  But I cannot repeat them as much I wish that I  could.  But she heard it. And that matters.

She's these things that I would die for.  Not just die for to die for but to be happy to die for.
Every moment, every murmur, laugh, smile, every moment.

That first moment of every phone call, to hear that "Hi".
That moment of every time I hear her genuinely smile.
That laugh I so yearn to hear at any moment.
That voice, always that voice I live for and die to hear.

It's a code to open every answer to every secret to the world.  And it's without words.  It's an understanding.  It's a voice that I hear I just know. I just know, it all.  And I care nothing about it all.  I care nothing about anything.  Just her.  Because I know, in her, I know everything. I see, I feel, I know...

From the time she is there, to the moment she is not.  The time is treasure as is the treasure is the time.  She. Her.

11:11, 1:11, 9:11, 10:11, 8:11... ALL.  Every 11.  Every 1 to 1.  Every ONE to ONE.

It's a home I have never been to.
But a home I know all too well.
She sees me. I see her.
I see her. Without needing to opening my eyes.
And she looks so deeply as sees me.
 I surrender to her gaze. As I always have. And always will.  She, Sees.  I surrender to her sight.
I love her.....
Entirely Eternally,
Always Love Always,
Yours,
John

Tuesday, December 8, 2015

A Candle In The Dark...

Allow me, if you will...

This comes from a Hindu school of thought:
pAramArthika satya

pAramArthika: My existence is not dependent upon the mind in any way.
prAtibhAsika: The dream-tiger has absolutely no existence apart from the dreamer's mind, the dream-tiger is mental activity alone. Wherever the mind sees the dream-tiger, if it saw a dream-goat instead, the perception would be just as valid.


 For my own interpretation and thought process:

Picture yourself in a dark room, meditating, or sitting there quietly, in a dark room. 
You're told there is a snake in the room.  A big poisonous snake, in the room with you.
You can't see it.  But that snake is in that room with you, in the dark room.
So you sit there, you try to meditate and drift off. But you know that snake is in that room, probably close to you.. Could most likely bite you.  You sit there in fear, and wonder.  Will it bite you?  What is that snake doing?
Is it right next to you?
Is it in on the other side of the room?
                       .....Maybe coiling up beside your leg?
                                 Maybe behind you ready to bite if you move a muscle...




During that time of wondering and fear, a candle lights up.
         The candle flickers.

The candle flickers for a moment and brings light to the room.

          You glimpse the room in that flicker.
                                               You see the room and you see the snake.
                         You see the snake, it's not a snake...
                        ....that snake is not a snake. It's just a rope.


What now?
How do you feel?


Care,
Slevin



Sunday, December 6, 2015

Friday, December 4, 2015

Thursday, December 3, 2015

Sink, Swim, or Sunbathe...

Inspired by recent events.  Like most artists, they are inspired by their own real-life events.  I am no artist though.  I just am.

Preface: "You", "I". It isn't you or me. Or who you think it may be.  It's really a look into an aspect of the human condition. Because it happens to all of "us".  "You" and "I".

Here 'I" go....

Dig deep.  Where is it truly coming from?  How did you get here?
Think, dig dig dig dig.  Go deep.  Painfully fucking deep.
Touching on those painful and deep parts are probably the most healing things you'll ever encounter.

Going to the root of the pain.  Seeing the real cause.  Sticking your finger in that wound, making it hurt like all hell. That bloody wound, stick that finger in it and twist it around.
 Probably the best thing for you.  It will hurt. It should. It will heal but it will hurt at first. It should. Don't tell me otherwise.  And hey, some of the most glorious and blissful things you encounter will have the same effect.  But we are right now, now, looking at that pain.  Because you're in it right now. You're in that pain, that low place.  
You're still there regardless of what you tell yourself or anyone else.
You're there. It isn't fun.  But you are there.
So am I and everyone else.  We all are.  No exemptions nor exceptions.

"Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you." 
"What the thinker thinks, the prover proves."
              Sound familiar?  
                                        Feel familiar?
You did all of those things probably unconsciously- And now, the doors are wide open unto you and you don't want to look inside but you do with one eye.
And you don't know how to understand it, how to take it in. How to digest it.
 It's a hard pill to swallow let alone understand.
 It's a jagged, sharp edged spiky little pill.
But you took that pill.  Nobody force fed it to you.
      You popped that sharp jagged little spiky fucker in your mouth and swallowed it down. 

I'm sorry you're in that place.  I am but I am not, actually.  Tough love comes to mind.
 Because I have been there and will be there again, I am quite sure.
We all have been there and we all will be there again.
 So seek, covet, find, understand.
Or wallow, and eat up that cortisol created by the the zona fasciculata of the adrenal cortex within the adrenal gland. Cortisol is released in response to stress and low blood-glucose concentration. It can flood your body and it makes you ache all over. In mind and body. Puts you in a "bad" place.   What place?  Where?

If you do it enough, you'll become addicted to that lovely bad candy.
Patterns will emerge to trigger that cortisol creation and take hold as a common pattern. 
Then, low and behold you are eating that bad candy like it's good candy.   
You seek out that bad good candy without even realizing it's neither bad nor good. You just eat it.



Now... Take a breath...
Raise your head above the waterline for a moment. Swim up. Take a breath.  Inhale some fresh air. Deep.
Deep breath.  Tread some water. Look around for a moment. Your head is above water.  
You're OK. You're fine. 

Take a breath, take a moment and look around.
Let those water droplets fall down from your forehead down to your eyelashes into your eyes.  
Take some stock. Take some personal inventory, right now.  Flutter your eyes. Breathe. Move your head around.  Look around. Swim for a bit without thought.  Try.

 Hey- It's not so bad.  Is it?  That's your answer.  Isn't it?
But really, is it that bad?  
Keep treading water and looking around while you swim there on your own and look around. 
                      It's not that bad.
                                                If it is, how bad is it then?  
                                                                                          I doubt it.  
                                                                                                         So do you.
The water surrounding your body is warm and soothing. Such a nice swim. Be it in the ocean, a lake or a pool.  You're there.  You're swimming, treading water nicely and looking around, seeing, looking.  

What do you do know?  
                          What's next?
                   Your choice.
                Always has been.  Always will be.
                     Swim back down.  Or swim up.
Hop up on the diving board and hop back in.
                 Hop out,  dry off, and go sit on a lounge chair and take that sun in.
The warm water in the pool is just as good as the warm sun on that chair.

                                  It's your choice. 
                                  Always has been.


Tuesday, December 1, 2015

EXILE




This Feeling-Alabama Shakes

Romeo and Juliet.  Act 3, scene 3:


"There is no world without Verona walls

But purgatory, torture, hell itself.

Hence “banishèd” is banished from the world,

And world’s exile is death. Then “banishèd,”



"I defy you, stars!"
-Romeo




Care,
Slevin







Monday, November 30, 2015

Baltasar Gracian, The Art Of Worldy Wisdom

... I've been in need of some wisdom, who isn't?


I'm converting (trying to) some mind consuming thoughts into creativity...
I wronged someone nearer and dearer to my heart than I am... and I fear it might be irreparable.  Biggest mistake of my life yet. If I could change things and if the cost be shaving 10 years off my life, I wouldn't hesitate.

This blog is alive again.  It will revert to it's original prose.  But for now, I thought to change it up a bit.  At least to better ease my troubled mind and transform it to being less troubled.  Yoga helps, Qi Gong helps, meditation and conversations with my higher self/psyche has helped.  But I need to do more.  More of an outlet out into the universe through a digital means.  We shall see....

When I was 19 years old (nearly 20 years ago, yikes), I came across this book at a book sale:



My copy is quite vintage:
 Zoom-in of the writing on the bottom:
I love the first line- "This isn't a sweet treat for children"





It's a collection of 300 aphorisms written by a Spanish born Jesuit Priest.   Upon reading it, I couldn't tell a Jesuit wrote it. Then again, Jesuits are a peculiar bunch, to say the least.  I've met a few in my day...

"It might seem strange that after Spanish-born Baltasar Gracián’s collection of sayings were written in the 17th century they would find themselves on a modern-day nonfiction bestsellers list, but there is a bounty of timeless truth contained within The Art of Worldly Wisdom. That, along with the appealing Baroque style of Conceptismo – characterized by both an economy of, and a great deal of witty play with words – in which the book is written, produces an appealing and accessible guide to living and being a better version of yourself, and accounts for the renewed interest dating from the late 20th century"

A collection of 300 aphorisms on life and the way you should live or handle what life my throw your way...

The 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica wrote of Gracián that "He has been excessively praised by Schopenhauer, whose appreciation of the author induced him to translate the Oráculo manual, and he has been unduly depreciated by Ticknor and others. He is an acute thinker and observer, misled by his systematic misanthropy and by his fantastic literary theories."

Nietzsche wrote of the Oráculo, "Europe has never produced anything finer or more complicated in matters of moral subtlety," and Schopenhauer, who translated it into German, considered the book "Absolutely unique... a book made for constant use...a companion for life" for "those who wish to prosper in the great world." A translation of the Oraculo manual from the Spanish by Joseph Jacobs (London: Macmillan and Co., Limited), first published in 1892, was a huge commercial success, with many reprintings over the years (most recently by Shambala). Jacobs’ translation is alleged to have been read by Winston Churchill, seven years later, on the ship taking him to the Boer Wars. 

I then came across the audio book (on tape, yes, cassette tape) and played it on repeat until the poor tape gave out on me.  My friends would even ask me to play it while they rode with me.  It truly has wonderful nuggets of truth an insight on many aspects of life.  I can't find a CD version.  The search continues.

A few years ago, I decided to pick the book up again and have been posting his ahporisms on facebook.  Yes, facebook.  Although fb mostly a cesspool of drama and egoism, it also has nuggets, diamonds poking through the mud, stars looking at you through a night sky polluted with city lights...

Not until recently this sage has received more "likes".  I will begin posting again.  More things to dissapate my weary mind during the storm.


The link to my homeboy Baltasar can be found



Care,

Slevin


Wednesday, September 2, 2015

Home, Again

Tattered and torn, tired and traveled, broken and born...He approached her with silent reverence and knelt down to be received in her arms once again.
In a seamlessly perfect orchestration: her wings relaxed as her arms wrapped around him, his head bowed, eyes closed, lungs relinquished a great exhale in sweet surrender of solace.  A surrender of solace of a grandiose magnitude of deafening silence and time stopping paradigm.

As her arms wrapped tighter around him, she rested her lips on his neck as if a key slid into a lock perfectly, she whispered ever so softly yet with purpose:
 Rest now, my love.  For you are home again.  My weary traveler, my soul... here lies your sanctuary, my sanctuary, your heart, my heart, your love, my love,our love, us. Take refuge once again in my arms, my rowdy restless angel, for you, are home, again."


Though he tried- weep he could not.  Like those moments that one is beyond a cry, a moment beyond soliciting such.
 A feeling, beyond the best synonym or poetically licensed reverse antonym could even compare and incite a milligram of a salty tear.  To paraphrase such a moment and feeling would indeed be a crime.  A moment that can't come close to any humanly description.
He could not speak nor move, nor do anything, but kneel, bow, be received by her, and be in that glorious silence of her whispered words that brushed his neck like Picasso with his last stroke. At that moment in time and space, receiving her all too familiar gift that he so searched for, yearned for, and ached for, again. He could not move nor speak nor breathe. He could do nothing but be still in mind and motion, kneel and receive. He would not move a nanometer in fear of losing that moment.
Every time she says "my love" he is transcended, suspended, unfolded, and made whole again.  Those two combined words- "my love"  are made esoteric, and sacred again.  Those words strike his soul so profoundly and deeply. 

That moment... That moment he understood the whole of meaning.  He understood the universe, becoming, and beyond.  Beyond all time and all space.  Time and space to him became a condensed sphere of sheer density and connectivity.

The mysteries of everything became revealed at once at that exact moment she wrapped her arms around him and gently whispered her words.  The slow gentle bloom of a flower, the ending of a rainstorm, the moment of the sun peeking behind the clouds, the slit of the sunrise, the sunset on every horizon, the familiar gentle breeze across his face. He knew home, once again.
In all that realization and unfolding he underwent in a mere moment, he finally wept.  He once again, surrendered and finally wept.
Grateful that he again found her. They were both home, again. 
Her words once again resonate to his core:
"Rest now, my love.  For you are home again.  My weary traveler, my soul... here lies your sanctuary, my sanctuary, your heart, my heart, your love, my love,our love, us. Take refuge once again in my arms, my rowdy restless angel, you, are home, again."

Sunday, September 11, 2011

Tea With Choronzon


Philosophy asks questions about existence because the philosopher finds in such questions, in the Question itself, and in ancient existence the only salve for the wound of love.  

He asks the question and the door opens.  
He lets the words form on his mouth.  
He himself will smear them all over himself.  
Of his own anointing he becomes the answer.
The answer is long.  
It is difficult.   It is too much to speak.  
The eternal night has not been deep enough.  
I am the night.  
The drilling goes on.  
The few lights I have glare.  
Existence and the Question insist,
                                            and I still continue with my answer.  
The oil and the sheen of the machine of love.  
The two-in-one.  There is no answer.  
All the numbers are.  
Existence has gone deep.

The answers and the questions about the existence of numbers, and relations, and universals, and individual things, about the Tie and the First and the Second and all the things that never were and you never were and screaming and unheard cries in the night, all so close to God, and there you are so calmly sitting with that stuff all over your face and the door just closed!  Which side are you oh my God on.