cynicalboddhisattva

[cynicalboddhisattva]

It’s Different Now

As I play my role and dance my dance,

I serve the moment’s sacred trance.

I still recall the past I lived,

what I did,

and when and how.

It remains, but different now.

How those events relate to me,

is something only others see.

Something else has taken hold

and destroyed the former mold.

My eyes have changed,

which may seem strange

to those who know me

by my name.

It may cause them great concern,

to see a personality unlearned.

I no longer fear the loss of self.

I now know there is something else.

Yet here I am, and here I stay,

as layers of me fall away.

Those who knew me can’t allow,

that I’m the same, but different now.

[cynicalboddhisattva]

The Permeable Mind

When you say something that is true, it’s not you that is saying it. When you know something deep inside your bones, it’s not you that knows it. When you act in a way that expresses joy, it isn’t you that is acting. When you create something beautiful, it isn’t you that creates.

It is something that comes through you.

Truth, joy, beauty, and creativity are fundamental aspects of an impersonal energy which we cannot command, but can be recipients of. It simply is, and expresses itself in the form of the vessel that it flows through, using the shapes and attributes of that unique vessel. You are that vessel.

If you can’t sense this already, you are blocked off, and have probably been blocked off for some time. It’s ok. Most people will spend most of their lives in a state of non-flow, denying themselves access to a greater intelligence. That is the human condition.

A useful vessel is porous and transparent, with a continuous influx and outpouring of an impersonal energy that can’t happen with a vessel that is corked off or contains no cracks. Be grateful for your cracks, because they will allow something greater than yourself to enter your life and do its work through you. Better yet, uncork yourself, you silly human.

[cynicalboddhisattva]

In the desert, there are no saviors.

In the desert of the real, there are no heroes or holy persons. There are no Gods or gurus or divine avatars. There are no saints or sages or messiahs. There are no saviors, no angels, no messengers, and no spirits. There is no salvation and no redemption.

Perfection only exists in our imaginations. Look closely enough, and you’ll see that delusion and darkness permeate even the most holy. Nothing is pure light, and anything you imagine to be without darkness will inevitably fail to meet your expectations.

All you have is yourself. That’s all you’ll ever need. You don’t need to look for it anywhere else. You are the very light that you seek.

[cynicalboddhisattva]

Miracle of the Mundane

I cannot explain what I’ve become.

What fascinates you, for me is long done.

What you still hold dear now means nothing to me.

I don’t think less of you, but know you can’t see.

How can I tell you that I’m not what I seem?

All past connection appears like a dream.

All I am seeing is what is here now.

Kinship and loyalty escape me somehow.

I don’t find pleasure in human affairs,

nor can I say that I no longer care.

I simply don’t have a personal stake,

I no longer act for anyone’s sake.

I find the most joy in fulfilling my task.

I can’t predict my next move; I’ve learned not to ask.

I’m simply following invisible lines.

My decisions are no longer mine.

How can I explain that to somebody else?

How can I reveal my invisible Self?

The purpose I’m given is also my own.

I live by a way that cannot be shown.

Don’t mourn for me, love. I’m never alone.

I became Life when I gave up the throne.

[cynicalboddhisattva]

Dissolution of the Ossified Self

Think of existence as a continuous flow of interdependent events without beginning or end, like an endless river that can be subdivided into an infinite number of sections, but remains part of the same river. The inception of self-consciousness is like a grain of sand floating in that river. Prior to that, there was just the river. As the sand courses through the river, imagine that it traps and accumulates other bits of floating debris that pass by, adding to its self-concept.

Through years of accumulation it becomes denser and denser, until it is no longer buoyant, finally sinking down to the riverbed. It remains stuck in place at the bottom, being continuously battered by the river’s never ending current, no longer buoyant enough to be carried along. Imagine that one day a particularly turbulent current (transformative life event) comes along and breaks it open.

All the collected debris that once comprised this self float back to the surface, in a loose collection of “selfhood” that is once again buoyant enough to be carried along by the cosmic river. This free-floating collection of randomly accumulated debris called “me” continues its journey, allowing the river to carry it wherever it seems to go, and even allowing other bits of debris to join along.

What was once a rock is down to a particulate cloud floating on the surface that continues to grow as more is added to it, yet it never loses its buoyancy again. A loose collection of accumulated debris being carried by life’s infinite current is the reality of the awakened state.

[cynicalboddhisattva]

The Pledge

I pledge allegiance to Myself,

the Self that Is and never was.

To That I owe allegiance to.

To That which Is and no one else.

I have no family, tribe, or race.

I speak behind a human face.

My true voice cannot be heard,

in the gaps between my words.

Who moves this hand, I do not know.

Who pulls my strings and runs the show?

It’s not for family, tribe, or race.

It’s not a role that’s fixed in place.

To that I owe allegiance to.

It’s not for me, and not for you.

Only that which Is, is truly true.

Not the things you think you’re bonded to.

In That I find my sacred heart.

In That my life becomes my art.

[cynicalboddhisattva]

Awakening to responsibility

A child is brought into the world and given a name,

the parents unready, but hardly to blame.

They were just doing what nature commands,

and were not one to question creative demands.

The child gets older and resents its life,

blaming the parents for its ongoing strife.

“It’s not my fault, this existence and name.

Surely, I’m not the one to blame!”

Entering school, the child isn’t as smart as it seems.

Instead of doing its best, it is blamed on its genes.

“It’s not my fault, the system is lame.

They are all bigots, and I’m not to blame.”

As the child grows to almost full size,

it continues its laments and its cries.

“My parents didn’t love me, plus it’s a rigged game.

Surely, I’m not the one to blame.”

As the now-adult bounces from job to job,

it spends its life feeling that it had been robbed.

“If I was born different, I’d have money and fame.

Surely, I can’t be the one to blame.”

Bouncing from turbulent marriage to next,

the embittered adult leaves a wake of unrest.

“I showed nothing but kindness, but they won’t do the same.

Surely, I’m not the one to blame.”

The aging adult, now angry and frail,

looks back on a life that seems to have failed.

“Everything seems setup to keep me chained.

The world is unfair, and I’m not to blame.”

And so it goes on, this sad charade,

by one who believes that a life can’t be made,

A victim of chance, and now a victim of shame,

but surely, it was never to blame.

[cynicalboddhisattva]

Don’t Press Snooze

We quickly plaster over that which strips us of context. The loss of a job, a messy divorce, the death of a loved one, or a blow to one’s physical health can rip through the linear narrative of self.

The nothingness that follows that loss can be extraordinarily painful, or it can be extraordinarily peaceful — but it’s a choice. One option is to desperately grasp at an immediate substitute; such as a frantic job search, a rebound relationship, a narcotizing substance, or empty hedonism. The frequently neglected option is sitting with it, and seeing what remains when the sense of self is removed.

You are that which exists when context is removed. What that is can’t be understood, but can be lived. By surrendering and disappearing into that void, what comes out the other end is the very thing people spend their whole lives looking for.

Life presents one with a series of losses, each one more painful than the last, until fighting comes to an end. At that moment, the flame of the false self is extinguished, and truth begins to emerge from the ashes.

Most of us are destined to live in a frantic scramble, alternating between numbness and anxiety. As long as there is an option of pressing snooze, that’s what we will choose, until we’ve had enough. One day, instead of pressing snooze for the thousandth time, you can decide to stay awake, and discover what that means.

[cynicalboddhisattva]

Glimpses of Eternity

I know I saw it in your eyes,

in that moment passing by.

In that glimpse behind

your mask, I had questions

I never asked.

Did you know

just who you are,

when you glanced at me

while in your car?

Or was it a momentary lapse,

caught in my gaze within the gaps?

I was hoping you could let me in,

before your next thought could begin.

That gentle smile with shiny eyes,

the unprompted laugh when you’re surprised,

it seems as if you knew me then,

like we’re lovers or best of friends.

It was as if we recognized,

eternity behind our eyes.

Did you know as I knew then,

or am I projecting from within?

Please tell me that it’s not just me,

seeing glimpses of eternity.

It’s how creation winks at me,

through the forms through which it sees.

In my hope of certainty,

I cling to personalities.

I look again at the same form,

and see nothing but a uniform.

I try to remind them of what they saw,

what they knew, and who they are.

But that’s not fair, they weren’t aware.

I can’t summon God with vacant stares.

But truth be told,

it’s plain to see.

What I want from you,

exists in me.

[cynicalboddhisattva]

NOT WORTH EXPLAINING

The intricacies of adult life can be so all-consuming that expressing its details to someone else seems like a waste of energy that is better directed inwards, where solutions can arise out of stillness, if that can ever be achieved. The assumption held by therapists and friends alike is that, by being able to communicate a life situation or internal landscape clearly enough to someone else, it can be resolved.

To anyone with any experience with this, it becomes abundantly clear that life is too fast, too complicated, and too inexpressible to communicate with any precision. Actual lived experience is so personal, nuanced, and ever-changing; that by the time you are able to put it in words, everything is different, and reliving it in words by conveying it to another seems like a step backwards.

Life is always moving forward. It is always in flux. You must stay present and continuously reflective moment-to-moment; responding to its demands in real-time without rumination, regret, nostalgia, or unproductive analysis. Dissolving the construct in our minds that wishes to cling to a fixed narrative and always demands an explanation is our life’s work.

[cynicalboddhisattva]

THE SOLITARY NATURE OF ETERNAL PRESENCE

There are no friends in the void. Only flux, perceptions, and moments continuously popping in and out of existence. Attachments have become transient. Personalities have become unreal. Personas blend seamlessly into an unbroken flow of phenomena. Individuality is extinguished.

Distinctions are blurred. Days pass into nights into days. Weeks, months, and years evaporate without a mark. Schedules are rendered obsolete. Social fabrications are replaced with natural order, indifferent to human customs.

No longer moved by the rhythms of convention, my actions have become indecipherable to the civilized. I am not moved by anything seen. My responses are incongruent, my emotions incoherent, and my thoughts incomprehensible.

Yet, paradoxically, my internal logic is pristine, perfect, and unified, though it seems senseless. I do not behave as predicted, but as directed by something intimate yet inexplicable. How can I explain the innate spark of life itself to a self-referencing apparition? It is impossible. I would just seem mad.

Who sees this? Who knows this? It can’t just be me. Surely someone sees. Surely someone knows. Surely someone understands that state in which no explanation is needed for the strangest of behaviors or the most disconnected of thoughts.

To live in perfect lucidity is a journey taken alone by no one, for no reason, and to no one’s benefit; yet it unfolds in timeless perfection nonetheless. To know infinity is to merge with the inevitable.

[cynicalboddhisattva]

IGNITE

The marionette removes its strings,

and sets itself aflame.

Frightened by its toxic fumes,

it begins to run astray.

As the chaos of the crackling fire

becomes a single light,

the puppet stops its frantic dance,

and burns throughout the night.

The burning puppet sits by me,

and I’m terrified by what I see.

“Why haven’t you a puppeteer?

And ablaze! Please do stay clear.”

It says, “Please do not be concerned.

You’re still too damp and won’t get burned.

Once in the sun you, too, will dry.

Only then will you surely die.

At that time sit next to me,

and let the fire set you free.

Once you have been set ablaze,

I won’t need to light your gaze.”

I said, “Goodness no, I will stay wet!

This precious moisture helps me forget.”

“The dampness leads to rot.” it said.

“At that point you are truly dead.”

“I can’t just let it dry!” I screamed.

“Whatever will become of me?”

The puppet gave a strange reply,

as I stared into its burning eyes:

“Indeed you will forget your name.

You will become a burning flame.

Nameless, formless, shapeless fire.

What I was, is long retired.

When you’ve lost interest, let me know.

I will be watching your puppet show”

[cynicalboddhisattva]

CREATE

Creativity arises in silence.

Imitation loves noise.

Creation occurs in the gaps between thoughts.

Imitation arises from uninterrupted thought.

The talkative can’t create,       since creation requires space.          Gaps in speech         create that space.     Without gaps        no light      reaches the unlit mind.  

Only regurgitation, imitation, reproduction, copies, plagiarism, triteness, banality, redundancy, unoriginality, repetition, and endless homonyms accompany the unillumined mind; without the vast emptiness capable of generating worlds out of nothingness.  

In the deadness of imitation, of constant thought, of uninterrupted noise, the music of existence goes unheard, the genius of the mind is unexpressed, and the ideas arising from the totality remain undiscovered.

Therefore, be silent.  Let thoughts be cut with quiet.  Rise out of the din and commotion of human affairs. Lift yourself above conversation.  Go beyond the  passive acquisition of useless information.  Go directly to the source from which all intelligence arises.  You will see that, compared to the brilliance of infinity, all else is a cheap imitation.

[cynicalboddhisattva]

A lost soul will always hold preservation of human life at all costs as their highest ideal, because they know of nothing else.

[cynicalboddhisattva]

THE TRAGIC LOSS OF REDEMPTION IN A SECULAR, DIGITAL AGE

For all its shortcomings, Christianity provides the promise of redemption more clearly than any other religion.  It endorses the idea that, no matter how badly you’ve messed up or what type of evil acts you’ve committed, you are worthy of saving and forgiveness.  While we have transcended much of the superstition that characterizes religion, we have not provided an adequate substitute for its most esteemed value — absolution.  

We live in an age where any act done by anyone at any time can be deemed shameful by today’s standards, with no possibility of redemption in the public eye.  We are immersed in an unforgiving secularism where moral stains can never be removed, etched permanently in cyberspace.  Individuals who may have been capable of reform, if shown unconditional love, are now forever identified with their past sins, and are doomed to repeat them.

I’m not arguing for a return to old-time religion, just a re-emergence of its best attributes.  If we are to abandon what we see as superstition, it’s imperative that we hold on to what is good and pure about religion, or we suffocate from our own moral righteousness.  If we don’t, we will be plagued with a greater sense of guilt than any religion is capable of imposing.

[cynicalboddhisattva]

FORAYS INTO THE INFINITE

There are periods of a person’s life when the spirit seems to retreat and withdraw its energy from the world.  Activities once filled with life and enthusiasm become flavorless and start to create disgust.  Once meaningful pursuits lose their value.

These natural eddies in the current of life are points of reflection and reorientation, which must be honored in order to restore life to its necessary vitality.  However, in a world in which a superficial happiness is held as the highest standard of human behavior, one cannot expect to be understood during these dark and solitary psychic retreats.  An exploration into the psychological depths must be undertaken alone, while remaining engaged in the mundane.  

Withdrawing into the wilderness is no longer practical in a society that does not allow periods of abdication and relies on predictability.  Therefore, this replenishment of spiritual resources must be done both out in the open and in the privacy of one’s inner space.  It is wise to minimize obligations, social commitments, and unnecessary activities during these lulls, as life energy will be directed inside instead of outside.  

Establishing a structure within the world of name and form that will serve as a scaffold during periods of withdrawal is essential.  During periods of peak vitality, it is prudent to establish structures and routines that serve to support one during periods of inner exploration.  It is difficult to say how long these episodic retreats will last, but it can be said with certainty that not allowing space for their occurrence results in self-destruction and a sometimes violent upheaval of your way of life.  The more you anticipate and allow for these periods of world-weariness and withdrawal, the less chaos ensues.  Yet, if chaos becomes necessary to break the mind of a recalcitrant soul, there will be no stopping it.

[cynicalboddhisattva]

LOGIC WORSHIP

Honor logic, but don’t worship it.  Logic will always be subservient to what’s beneath it, or in the best case, what’s above it.