Dependent Origination

"he who sees dependent origination sees the Dharma and he who sees the Dharma sees the Buddha."

"The progression of causes and conditions is the reality which applies to all things, from the natural environment, which is an external, physical condition, to the events of human society, ethical principles, life events and the happiness and suffering which manifest in our own minds.

These systems of causal relationship are part of the one natural truth. Our happiness within this natural system depends on having some knowledge of how it works and practicing correctly within it, through addressing problems on the personal, social, and environmental levels.

Given that all things are interconnected, and all are affecting each other, success in dealing with the world lies in creating harmony within it."

"The cycle of Dependent Origination is a description of a natural process, not a path of practice. However, the first set of right and wrong practices described above describes practice in terms of the cycle of Dependent Origination. Is there a contradiction here? It may be answered that the Dependent Origination cycle illustrated here (and it is only illustrated as a form of practice in this one Sutta) seeks to describe practical application. The Commentators to this Sutta ask the question: ignorance may be a condition for good actions, or merit (puññabhisankhara), or it may serve to generate the state of highly stable concentration (aneñjabhisankhara); why then is it said to be wrong practice? Answering their question, the Commentators state that when people are motivated by a desire to be or to get something, no matter what they may do -- whether they develop the five higher knowledges (abhiñña) or the eight attainments (samapatti) -- it is all wrong practice. On the other hand, those who are motivated by an aspiration for Nibbana, who are aiming for relinquishment, or the liberated mind, rather than attaining or obtaining something, will always have right practice, even when doing such minor actions as making offerings"


Dependent Origination has always made me feel like I am stuck in circles, my mind refusing to be pinned down to a true grasping. Seriously, I've been doing this for 20+ years, at what point am I going to get this!?

non duality

last week I was heavy with fever and deep thoughts...I started thinking that if the universe is perfect, containing just as much positive and negative in its balance, then positive can never overcome negative, they merely exist in unison. by feeding positivity, you then also feed negativity...and vice versa.

and if you are feeding both simultaneously, are they not the same animal? Of course they are. There is no separation. It exists, as do we, a part of the whole.

From the Upanishads:

"Now this self, verily, is the world of all beings. In so far as he gives shelter and food to men, he becomes the world of men. In so far as he gives grass and water to the animals, he becomes the world of animals. In so far as beasts and birds, even to the ants find a living in his houses he becomes their world. Verily, as one wishes non-injury for his own world, so all beings wish non-injury for him who has this knowledge.”

And then, when I think about the Qabalah Tree of Life, the one thing that always stuck with me was the fact that we are all ether, we just need to stop fooling around with the trickery of ones mind:

"The you that you think is you is not you. It is a dream you. In fact, the you that you think is you is a dreamer inside a dreamer Inside a dreamer inside a dreamer. You are the King of the universe who has fallen asleep and is dreaming he is the Queen who has fallen asleep and is dreaming she is the Prince, who has fallen asleep and is dreaming he is a sleeping Princess." ~ The Chicken Qabalah of Rabbi Lamed Ben Clifford

Are we so fooled by our 'intelligence'?

And once we fully accept non dualistic thoughts as an optional mind frame, do we not truly transcend?

If the universe is perfect, then we have nothing to fear...?

"If anyone listens to this discourse and is neither filled with alarm nor awe nor dread, be it known that such a one is of remarkable achievement."

but then what is our responsibility? what is our contribution? to love the whole...to embrace the whole and contribute to the whole as your divinity dictates?

I need a guru to help me sort through :)

whats next?

There are robins singing at my window
Spring emerging
reaching up through the earth
more life, less cold.

There are weapons being fired
wars rising,
falling from the sky
more strife, less life.

There are lies pouring from the air waves
propaganda ensues,
playing on numb minds
more greed, less truth.

There are winds calling for change
vibrations rising…or falling
Supermoons, tsunamis, tectonic shifts, cosmic alignments.

and…the trees are falling
their skeletal remains laid across sprouting green.

and…the sky is filled unnaturally
with mechanic butterflies who visit when we sleep.

and…the world is filled with pending doom
It quietly attacks us
while we paint ourselves happy.

Everything is heightened
like hairs standing up,
the static pull
has every living thing in a state of
Whats Next?

But…
There are robins singing at my window
And soft murmurs on warm breezes
There are daffodils blooming
And trees covered in sweet red buds
And the green is spreading in the peripheral
And the luxuries and promise of Spring flaunts itself at my feet
While my heart bleeds
and the vibration penetrates my vision
dreading whats next.

far

“and the masks, that the monsters wear, to feed upon their prey”

so far fetched,
so far off,
so unlike your reality

The truth of you is toxic
Overly sedated,
judgmental
and bitter.

The truth of your discontent
lies somewhere in the folds
that barrier you,
and enfold your pain.

so far gone
so far away
so sad to watch.

And the truth
for me
is revealing itself
at our every encounter.
You and I no longer connect.
You and I don’t hear the same things.
Don’t vibe right,
Don’t have much in common,
other than the years.

One by one,
the players fall
The king,
The queen
The jester
The nursemaid
And I am unable to recognize
their decent until I have been pulled into it.
My loyalty is blind
My empathy is wide
and each of you
exploits my innards
to ease your own pain.

To view this circle from the outside
we are all poisonous,
venomous beings
careening around love and hate.

I choose to self preserve.
I choose distance.

It is no longer my desire to get you to get me.
It is no longer my expectation to get love from blood.

so far fetched,
so far off,
so far gone.

Your masks are slipping.
I see your truth.
And finally I see how your truth,
infects his truth,
and her truth,
and our truth.

Go ahead,
Throw your knives.
Get your jabs in.
CREATE what you will.
I am no victim.

I have wings…
pulled by magnetic forces
to fulfill my destiny

I have wings…
that vibrate fearlessly
and open new dimensions.

Far away from you.

Saul Williams - She

"i have come to tell you that i have come. on the way, i noted women transfixed by the light coming from their centers. their heads are bowed. they have learned that if you tilt your neck to the slightest degree and hold your head just so you can look into the lost worlds. they are there retrieving their young from the clutches of negligent daycare. they have come to care for the night. many of them are glowing brighter than the moon herself. thank the heavens she is not jealous in her luminescence, for i have seen many women glowing beyond the intensity of the moon and thought that perhaps the night had mirrored itself in the wake of this glorious occasion: our communion. yes, i have come. i have had a safe journey, although my fears had mounted against me. there were many mountains of my own making and valleys of days without vision."

Saul Williams ~ from the book She

ten pulses

her spirit limps
down lonely sterile halls
fists clenched
lips bit
while her body
lays lingering
behind bars with
mickey mouse sheets
and chemical stinks.

created in the pressure of a memory
her restlessness blooms
eager magenta moons
tidal quips
seeking lifts
and warmth
from a mothers arms.

slippery weak lungs beg
for forgiveness
for deeds of another lifetime
her mind,
young and deaf
listens only for her voice
between the nurses page
and the detached fear
of her own rage
slamming against the wooden rails.

created in the hesitation of a mother
a daughter drowns
in the fluid of pneumonia.
the thick and wet
of abandonment.




(a ten word writing excercise: lonely, eager, magenta, lingering, slippery, tidal, pressure, deaf, seeking, hesitation)

Neruda

THE HEAVENLY POETS
Pablo Neruda

What have you done
you intellectualists?
you mystifiers?
you false existentialist sorcerers?
you surrealistic poppies shining on a tomb?
you pale grubs in the capitalist cheese?
What did you do
about the kingdom of anguish?
about this dark human being
kicked into submission?
about this head
submerged in manure?
about this essence
of harsh, trampled lives?
You didn't do anything but escape
you sold piles of debris
you looked for heavenly hairs
cowardly plants, broken fingernails
"pure beauty" "magic".
Your works were those of poor frightened folk
trying to keep your eyes from looking
trying to protect their delicate pupils
so you could make for your living
a plate of dirty scraps
which the masters flung to you.
Without seeing that the stones are in agony,
without defending, without conquering,
blinder than the wreaths
in the cemetery when the rain
falls on the motionless
rotten flowers on the tomb.

Detached

Disclaimer (lol): I was thinking it would be easy for him to stumble upon this and be hurt. The truth is, it was a purge, an angry, vile, silent rant...and it felt good. But it is not the whole truth, it was only a moment.


At the moment,
I have no hope that we can make it
No feelings of permanence
Only neglect, bitterness and solitude.
You’re ugly
You’re full of rage
Your victimized reality bores me.

At the moment,
I feel I put out more than is given
Stroking your ego,
Soothing my own hurt,
I constantly wonder who has your attention
Because its certainly not present here.
You’re absent
You’re guarded
Your lack of intimacy is stifling.

At the moment,
I am living with a stranger
Who avoids me.
The space between us is ravenous.

At the moment,
I am daydreaming about something new
Not pouring energy into repairing
Something of value.
Because the worth has faded
Time has passed it over
And left a sheen of fuck yous.

At the moment,
I am finding my alone happy
Not a single thought of who I once fell in love with
Not a single regret of how we used to be
Not one tiny grain of hope for us.
Alone I can do,
Misery with you,
Seems unbearable.

At the moment,
I don’t know if I love you.
I don’t know if I care if you don’t love me.
I don’t trust you.
Your secrecy has outworn its welcome.
Your distance has created havoc.
Your hollow excuses are cartoonish.

At the moment,
I feel bad for writing these things
It is difficult to contain
My hurt feelings popping up
Like heated kernels
of love lost.

At the moment,
I want to keep this all to myself
And watch you flounder
In this sea of bullshit.
I want to bide my time.
Sever my feelings.
And become detached
Like you.

a nagging nag

Write me, write me, write me scream the words in my head
As I toil with the unimportant, the sarcastic and the hopeless
My will falls flat and leaves the words to remain disconnected to the greater whole of creativity.

Write what? Which thought? Which emotion? Which tricky piece of word play will tickle my inspiration?

Write about nothing, write lists about aspirations, write about your flaws, write about your guilt, write about your longing, your staccato, your ambivalent passion…

Write about where you want to be, who you want to be, write about your past, your secrets. Write about tomorrow that seriously may not come, write about your faith, your pessimism, your hopeful vibration.

Write about love you’ve lost, love you found and love that never touched your spirit but drew maps all over your body.

Write about your loneliness that exists everywhere no matter how many warm bodies fill up a room.

Write about the rapid changes, the flagrant fixed and the wildly wobbly nature that tortures you.

Write…Write…Write

Create a whole by piercing a hole in your protective bubble.

fly your flag...

No longer tethered to that corporate professional pole, my freak flag blossoms in the wind

No longer concerned about my slightly askew point of view, my peripheral experience is my strength

No longer embarrassed by my instinctive use of words, like poisonous flowers, harmonious and hard hitting

Camouflaged for so long in just trying to not be noticed, I forgot how different I am. Not that I ever wanted to be normal, but still, I was putting on a show to survive in an environment that is stifled. A world that considers different, crazy. I am definitely preoccupied with and afraid of crazy. Old friends, we often sit on the edge of sanity together. She lives in my bones, in the fat of my mother’s flesh and in the tears of my sister. But, I am starting to understand. If I repress my nature for the sake of others or for the sake of my own fear, I will go crazy. TO THYNE OWNSELF BE TRUE. I am unique. I am beautiful and ugly, forward thinking and repressed, compassionate and angry, mother and child. I do not hear they way others hear, or see, or feel…my perspective is colored by my emotions and my intuition. It could be said that there is nothing more pertinent, nothing more real, nothing more necessary in this world.