Flapping in the wind

Quiet Sunday morning
 
the washing hanging on the terrace 

T shirts flapping in the wind

The sound of the windmill

clanging down

And sun light gazes

lovingly

impartially

on all.



Where is the need to define and extrapolate?
To analyze and extract?

Do we need to use the mind to get to a no-mind place?

Thought cannot transcend thought : says Francis Lucille.

Then what is the instrument through 
which recognition takes place?

Can we see,  now,
without using mind or thought that there
is in our experience already a functioning,
an ability to see clearly,
to know without thoughts.?
A knowledge through identity.?

Attention makes contact with something
and knows it by sensing it, being it.  
Because there is already no distance.

It is not something to achieve,
it is not somewhere to get,
it is not an understanding which is lacking.

It is plain seeing already happening now
without the use of thought.

To realize that the place of not knowing
is already where we are.
Everything appears miraculously
and is known.

Absolute intimacy.

Is it true ?

Is it true what they tell us?  

Our parents, friends, society, teachers, gurus, 

newspapers, blogs and books.?

  

How do we know?  

Is it our own research,  observation,   

first hand knowledge? 

Or are they all stories told by someone else?

2nd hand information?

Why should we and how can we believe 

a story from someone else. 

Filtered through his/her perceptions,  abilities, 

beliefs and imaginations.

Seen through his/her lens.

What does that say about reality or about what I am? 

Really?

The only thing we can be sure of is the fact of our own being.

This is rock solid.

All beliefs, all thoughts, all actions are passing through.

Are changing shape constantly.

The brilliant thought of the moment is gone in a second.

Something poignant and intense is forgotten a few hours later.

The heartbreak from today is a bitter-sweet memory 
a few months from now. 

But then what is real?

What else can it be but what I am?

Which is always here.

Closer than close.

Beyond words.

Stay with what is eternal and unchanging.

This is real beyond belief. 

Beyond stories.


But then is this true?

And why would you believe it.?


Find out.

black and white

Soft morning light on greens

a coppersmith calls out

a black and white cat walks the terrace

rumblings in the stomach

some muscles aching from the acro yoga session yesterday

thoughts about clients from the pottery are passing through

happening

just like that

appearing out of nowhere

and returning to source

happening in this empty benevolent spaciousness that we are

everything is received already

welcomed as it is

and nobody is doing it

an open sacredness which perceives

everything as itself

Where or why ?

If emptiness is our home
and we find yourselves in All that appears,
not identified with anything in particular,
all need for defining where 'I' am with
regards to 'my' progress or integration disappears.

Refinement might happen but there is no one
to take much notice of it,  as it is just part
of the overall landscape of all that appears.

Where or why do you look for an I 
when everything is Me already?

Empty

We are all empty already.

Open to receive whatever happens to be
in our field of perception at each moment.

This is already happening effortlessly
and already for every one.

Now the aspect of the emptiness might not
be obvious for most as our attention is caught
up in the identification with one particular part
of the manifestation.
And that is the person we think we are.

Without investigation of this personal contraction,
the energetic construct build up over decades and
reinforced and confirmed by society, friends, family
advertisements,  the whole freaking world, 
we will not be able to notice this 
open empty aware Something
already always there receiving,  
perceiving,  every little and amazing
thing happening at this moment,
meaning Now.

Rattle the cage,
Dare to question everything which tells you
that you are limited and separate.

What you are is: NO THING.

Unidentifiable.

An open perceiving capacity,
and at the same time,
All that appears.