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in the gap of the spectrum

colorspectrum

I am talking about reality.

After spending my life living with it, and more often than is sane, pondering it, I think I have it. The answer to it.
Reality is a loaded Latin word, heavy with meaning. It is the default movie on our life’s channel and a description of an experience that is our view through a gap in the spectrum.

A gap?
Yes, a break or a hole through which we can venture into experience. In thought, in physicality, with our senses, observing – any which way we want to. In the gap is where the juice is.

The spectrum?
Just like, for instance: color is only a range of frequencies we perceive visually (the color spectrum), but that is part of a much wider range of frequencies, – hence the term spectrum. Our reality, this gap-reality I am referring to, is a piece of something that is bigger, but that has been limited in various ways down to our eventual perception and belief of it.

And that is all fine. If you are all fine with your reality.
But, what if you’re not? What if you want to change it, – but it doesn’t change? i.o.w. you are always seeing and experiencing the same reality and you want to adjust it now.

Why are we humans all herded towards a similar gap in some way or other?
Undeniably there are vast extremes just in that gap. There are many similarities and there are considerable differences between my gap and your gap experience. Still, I would like to see the spectrum as a range of infinite possibilities stretching along seemingly endlessly.

Sometimes I think I have the answer, but it sounds very much like Russian roulette. It is built on the theory of trying, – until I hit that dream reality I wish for, – or I perish in the process. However, I fear there are many misses. It’s an altogether senseless approach with a fantastically small chance of success. What it does indicate, is a desire, partly fuelled by frustration and a lack of patience, and no clue how to go about it.

Work hard. Pray hard. Believe hard.
Those are also well known and oft quoted, apparently reliable methods of adjusting the momentary (life-long) gap-reality.

Keep on dreaming. A good one, but in isolation, it has no affect on the effect.

What you actually want is to take dreaming and add life to it, like you add water to a juice concentrate, and whallah, you have what you wanted.
The more life you add the more juice you have, the more OMG, the more whallah, the more satisfaction with life, the more the gap is filled with juice.

If water originates from a fountain, (indulge my thought, I know about Osmosis) where then is the fountain of life?
Fountains are in the earth, the base matter of existence.
Could the fountain of life perhaps be with me?
I do think I am the base matter in my existence.

Then, seeing that life is not figuratively a fountain, but nevertheless, the crucial ingredient to add to dreaming to adjust the gap-reality and create juice, then how do we get it to flow, and flow in the direction of our choosing?
Otherwise what is the point if we can’t adjust the gap-reality? That would make us robots exposed to some programming of a programmer we can’t communicate with and a language we can’t learn. Again this option is most senseless to me.

So now I know that by adding life (water) to dreaming (concentrate), I will fill (with juice) my personal gap in the spectrum of availability, i.e. create, adjust, mold my reality.
Fantastic. Bombastic.

Remains only the question,

“Life, what do you suggest now?”

The answer forthcoming is the guidance that lets my life flow in the direction of my choosing.

**
“Life, what do you suggest now?” is the principle slogan in my latest book, “Intercourse with Life”.
Life is that companion phenomenon that is always with us, ready to answer any question, be it about health, love or direction.

Available at Smashwords and Amazon

Picture Credit:
Nikola Nastasic E+ Getty Images
 from reference.com
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Dance on the words 

It's a quiet afternoon
Silence sings a tune
 Summer presses down with heat
 Far away the bustling city beat
 Resplendent green and lush the land
 Like a drawing from an artist's hand
Tonight the light is called full moon

Orange circle drifting in the sky
Every star is faint and shy
 Waiting till the moon has set
 and on the grass the dew is wet
 A chance to twinkle one more time
 and send a message that might rhyme
The rising sun brings their goodbye

In the kitchen coffee brews
the antidote for those who snooze
 The day in steps of hours walks
 but to the time in seconds talks
 Today the heat has lost the fight
 thunder, rumbles, lightning bright
The clouds the moon refuse

Obscured, the moonlight hides away
Divergent thoughts like night and day
 No one knows what all is hidden
 but keeping secrets is forbidden
 Sealed is the book, only the title is exposed
 Unblock the code of fate with poetry and prose
Dance on the words without delay

Convert to action and to play
Hear their sound and what they say
 Words are the mirror and the soul
 They tell the story as a whole
 Inside their heart the meaning waits
 Once opened up they flood the gates
Dance on the words across the Milky Way
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no change

I got no change back. That was preposterous. I paid a lot for it and with big currency.
I had invested in change.

I know not. (I am mostly clueless.)
Not even, that, what actually is, will remain what it is.

My thoughts find no hold and therefore slip all the time. All over the place, like a beginner in an ice rink.

I know there is no such thing as change.
Today, with minor variations, is the same as yesterday and the day before and before. Where is there change?
The sun moved. My account has another zero after the minus. Another life came into this world. Call that change?

I get bouts of emotic flatulence when I hear that word. Change is this impersonal attribute given to the events in life.

“Everything changes.” Total and complete bullocks.

“Everything stays the same.” Look in the mirror. Look at the tree across the field. Look at the stars. Look at the world. Nothing changes.
You would be in a hysteric sweat if there was change. Right? Imagine: Your car has changed. Your house has changed address. Your name, your spouse, everything changed, everyday.

Everything has a life. There is activity. Yeah.
Even the old, when compared to the young, are still the same. Ask them. Hell, I am old and was once young and I am still the same. So is that bad now because I did not change?
Don’t be ridiculous. I never changed. My dog did not change. My house did not change. I might have replaced the furniture. I did not change it.
The flower ‘changed’ from a bud to a blossom. Rubbish. Nothing changed. It lives. It does not change. Do you really think it became something else? You are delusional.

I don’t want to change either. I’m ok if you want to. Go try and change and see for yourself. Find out the shattering truth.
Oh, she has changed. No, she hasn’t. They never change. Today X, tomorrow Y. In your wildest dreams while you are high, maybe.

Scrap the finguck word. It is so full of stupid assumptions.

The only thing that is permanent is change. That is such an oxymoron. And no, I am sure Buddha had something else in mind.

Someone won the lottery and it wholly and entirely changed his life. Amazing. You know what? When I met him he was exactly the same. Yes, but, it changed his circumstances. A pot of money changed a life? That is like saying because I got drenched in a rain shower I have changed. I have changed from warm and dry to cold and wet. I have not changed one binary bit. I still want to play guitar and tumble in the clouds.

Fact is you can’t change anything. Any nouveau messiah trumpeting such a philosophy has a head injury thinking his alchemistic prophecy is grounded in any truth, – really.
Go ahead and prove it to yourself. Try change something. It’s not that you can’t, there is no such thing as change. You can do many things, but change, – unlikely.

Personally, I think God can’t change anything either. And that is ‘big G’ I am talking about. But, that is a very private thought I don’t want to share.

Oh yeah. She changed her face with plastic this and Botox that. Ok. Another botch up in the face of change. Change has a list of dis-credentials as long as the tail of imagination.
Change is a coverall word. It’s useless. It tells me nothing sensible. Whenever you hear it, invoke skepticism and unravel the agenda of said change agent.

I know it’s semantics. But please, stop changing, because it’s like the Myth of Sisyphus. That stone will roll right back to where it belongs.

Yeah, but, in 2017 I am going to change many things. Right on. Go waste your breath.
I will improve, lengthen, increase, build, achieve… – but I ain’t going to attempt to change anything.

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a web

a web

A web
high in a tree
the morning sun
takes it from me
For hours at night
it spun through my mind
Came sunshine
it left me behind

The web
silver and gray
like my hair
but thinner today
and fading away
Left by the creator
a remnant hangs on
Now a few strands
later its gone

The web
there it was, really,
but nothing remains
The sun came and took
My mind had a look
Gone in the flames
What was its name?

A web
perfect, with purpose
Like all creation
living with anticipation
Returns back to source
when the light calls
Begins a new circle
of cause

The web
like silk in the air
on finest of threads
hardly it’s there
like thoughts
in my head

A web
came to be
for reasons evading me
Like the vision
creating derision
amongst those
that hear my decision
of wanting to maybe not be

The web
attached with the glue
of belief
A wind blows to test
but it cannot undo
Even in grief
it knows what to do

A web
perfect in every way
Forgotten in time
after only a day
Forever, a concept,
hard to comprehend
Found in the secret code
of the moment

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just a drop of your tear

I know you are always closer than near
and you left
not because you didn’t want to be here
you were taken

Loveless my world turned gray and cold
I was bereft
A void filled with tears I could not hold
I was shaken

Forever you are gone I was told
Eternally, forever, that is what I hear

Your laughter and gaiety in my soul made a mark
that’s why it is so terribly hard
Your love and your touch I will always remember
Caring and giving and loving
you were my earliest mentor

Then pain and rivers of tears eroded my joy
It hurt and it punished, relentless
It meant to destroy

Alone and astray I walked over thorns in my life
I once had a heart but it was cut with a knife
No reason or answer will ever make sense
That hole you left in my life is immense
I bleed and I cry but don’t show it anymore
knocked down on my knees, devastated on the floor

Wherever you are and whatever you do
for me only one thing is truer than true
Wretched with pain from the hell I’ve been through
I wonder, do you miss me like I miss you?

Give me one drop of your tears to behold
One piece of your pain so that I know
Tell me you haven’t forgotten after so many years
that I am yours and now I can also find peace

All that I am and whatever things I do
When all is lost and I lie crashed without a clue
Miles from nowhere, remote and out of reach
My world concussed and I have lost my speech
High on a dune with the wreckage tossed
Sometimes I think I catch a glimpse of you
I see someone with their hand held out
“Come hither,” I hear through my desperate shout
“I’ll save you, any time at any cost”

Just a drop of your tear I wish I could touch

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Whoman He

I don’t know what and when
It is all hidden in my pen
Memories of forgotten days
are mixed with fears
of future’s ways

And even if the sun shines bright
I might not realize that it’s light
The darkness just like fire spreads
The night is glowing cold, the black I dread
This is the story of my plight

A mind so bent a crumbled string looks straight
Nothing, clueless, lost, I wait
Sometimes my dreams dream that I elevate
another force inside then subjugates
I’m told my worries are man made

The coffee cold, unshaven, and the purse deplete
A worn old shirt that screams of ironing that it needs
A figure sculpted by the thoughts the mind conjures
and by all events that life endures
Continuously I seek and seek

In this reality the hundred meters that I see
must stretch out of necessity
beyond that mark towards my ecstasy
unless I cannot choose my destiny
But, how then could I be me

Why am I stuck as if I’m planted like a tree
Forever in one place, I cannot flee
When I was born what words were put into my crib
“Go sail the seas but finally we sink your ship”
In the clouds I want to be eternally

A told me that I should be B
C told me that I should be D
Eventually then when I was E
They screamed and said I must be G
I turned around and went to P
Flashed them a sign reversed the T
Now I’m the Cuban Susans Whoman He
Nothing, clueless, lost without a key
I am sinking in some sea

To the water I will eventually return
Humans decided that I needed to burn
So hot even my soul in smoke evaporates
Escaping from these dire straits
I will not be put behind some other gates
Spill me, let me take another turn

 

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quiet at the fifth 

I am not irrelevant but I have no say
Life treats me like a fray
It slithers down my spine ice-cold
A cheek to be so bold

Like wind purges foliage off a tree
Your voice strips my soul from me
Raging in its force, shaking determinedly
A piece of wood without a fire I cannot be

Stormy clouds race north to south,
across the sky
Sunlight is your makeup, 
impermanence your high
Everyday you tell me that nothing stays the same
You are the background,
the thoughts I try to tame

Incubated into a form whose shape has adopted me
Parents, people, prophets, telling me who I should be
Unique my spirit lies within the egg of cause
A shape the universe has used with great applause
Behind the shell an artist draws,
a never-ending picture free of any laws

A hunger gnaws to make it work
that concept called the ‘living bit’
To find a way and have my say
without this lifelong thought-delay
And bring about a wonder-hit
Board that private pleasure-trip
A knowledge in the egg was heard.

Thinking, waiting, spellbound by time
An echo from the shell I hear
The caller only I can be
It’s not the answer,
so I think
To thought and waiting I return again
An echo from the shell I hear
Around in rhyme in time I be

Life, ever partially in some control
I’d be a liar claiming it's on a roll
or thinking that I have it taped
It blows with gale and sleeps with the wind
A male drugged by a penchant for the scind

Opposing forces and extremes attract
The teaching is amok, it is a fact
Eyes squinting through a frame and tint
find written on my comets trail a goal
and where I stand
in the context of the whole

Dreams, the unhatched eggs
Soul food as they nourish me
A potential waiting for the crack and light
Mostly they define past my reality,
and let me write
Unhatched hatching eggs with fantasy

Upright in the chair of thought
a string of time some questions brought
Five moments later as my breath abates
the quiet mind with picture waits.
  Underneath a story reads:
    Vision: hot air for the thought-balloon.
    Imagination: the ladder to the moon.
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a Cyberian connection

I deny that you are not.
I agree that you are.

I have never seen you. I have never heard you.
You clearly are a Cyberian.
When I switch off my Cyberion (Mac), Cyberia is not.
Or not?

You are not.
I am not to you, and, you are not to me, anymore.

We are gone. But, we are not not.

By now I could say that I am not notting my notting-notting around some nottinghood.
Can you?
Well if you can, then we agree, else not notting.

Realia exists.
It’s our present whole real life.

Cyberia exists too.
It’s the cyber(ical) present.

That means that we exist in two ‘places’ at once. In Realia we exist in a biochemical way. What is the other? – – – cyberical cyberian way.

And I have an observation to share about these two realities.
Both exist. Realia and Cyberia.
And, wherever there are two of something, isn’t that an inherent proof that there can be more?
More realities. More Cyberias’ and Realias’. As many as we want there to be.
Not cloned realities. Not GMO realities. Realities fundamentally different from one another, like Realia is from its Cyberian counterpart.
Let’s premise for a moment that we can be a contrastingly different creation in Cyberia,
– would we then trend towards the schizophrenic-psychiatric ward in Realia?

Realia, Cyberia, – multitudinous behavior. We are only getting started.

Yet, I have never seen you. I have never heard you. It’s all been in Cyberia.
And you truly are. Aren’t you?

Maybe?
What?

Independent. Fast growing. Adapting. Changing. Cyberian.
I am. We are. It is. (The many presentations of us.)
Why be one?
What is normal?

Let me introduce myself.
I am, – hmm, er, ahem, huh, yeah – that I am.

 

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Intercourse with Life

intercourse-with-life-cover

A crucial message to some burning questions in a short ebook.

Isn’t there something I can do or someone I can believe, to get my life off the rocks?

You’ve wondered why progress in your life has crunched to a halt.
You ponder why you are here? What is the purpose?

You have found nothing, you are clueless and you are lost.

You need intercourse with Life urgently!
Yeah, you read correctly.
Otherwise, your ability to succeed is given to chance.

And, be ready, because Life’s responsiveness exceeds an accelerator pedal of a Porsche, – or, the questions keep on mounting.

You teeter on despair and depression. Neglect and decline are in tow.
You have followed some ideas and you are still here, – looking.
Hope was a disappointing experience.
You have relied on yourself and when that didn’t produce the desired results, relied on others.
By now you excel in blaming anything.
Radical changes have made no difference.

You are stuck.
Slipping, falling, crashing, hurting, crying, bending, breaking.

It all sounds so familiar.

Despite whatever we do, one phenomenon is always present.
Life.
Yes, Life!
I am not talking about God, angels, spirits etc.
Life with a capital ‘L.’
A constant companion and the only trustworthy guidance system that is free and ready for our use.
Noninvasive. Unpretentious. Supra knowledgeable. Ready for intercourse with you in a flash.

Life says, your shadow might be invincible, but you can move with the light.

A call to act.
Have intercourse with Life!
A companion that you never knew existed alongside.
Life needs Life.

You are here. Nobody to ask. You want to be there. Nothing changes. Why?
Well, – no intercourse with Life!
Life, a phenomenon that is always ready and with us.
The oracle we have been searching for. It knows all the answers. Ask it.

Life, what do you suggest now? …and watch your life unfold.

You can read more about ‘Intercourse with Life,’ for a nominal amount, on Amazon.

 

 

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the Zen of cleaning blinds

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I don’t live in Japan.

I have Venetian blinds on a few windows.
They are large windows.
I have shown disdain at my blinds’ deteriorating looks and I let them deteriorate further.
My resistance to cleaning Venetian blinds has been solid throughout history.

But I like their look. There is something about the scattered picture through a white blind that I find comfortable and appeasing. In a Zen way. Whatever that is.

The blinds are complex in that there are twenty-five horizontal slats to cover one window. Each horizontal slat is divided into seven portions, but it’s not literally cut up into individual hanging portions, just logically divided, to make it more manageable and balanced and to make the tilt and rollup function possible.

Cleaning Venetian blinds should become the standard dissertation for any aspiring master.

Threads running through each slat make the functionality possible.
They are white threads. They demand extra caution increasing the intensity of the cleaning task.

Each window thus has 200 white slats. My field of vision was filled with slats.

The message this morning was unambiguous.

An attitude was required. The right one for the task.
I pulled my stomach in and tensed up the abdominal muscles to center myself. Then I tensed every other muscle in my body in a call to mobilize. I slightly bowed my head and like a body-builder flexed those butterflies, pecs and biceps in a ‘bring it on I can handle it’ grimace.
A statue of chiseled determination and resolve emerged in front of its nemesis.

A Venetian blind had hijacked my morning. I was urged to practice focus and patience and to stop questioning. The cleaning had to be done today, now, after years of disregard.

Once I had sunk into the ‘Aum’ moment, purging all thoughts of frustration toward this exercise, it gave way to an acceptance of the reality. I allowed the notion that the activity of blind-cleaning might harbor a pertinent message and reveal itself in the meditative-mechanical motion I was performing.
I wipe the first layer of the dust-crust careful not to exert undue forces on the Venetian blinds. There are two hundred slats to clean. It takes fifteen seconds to clean a slat properly. The math is challenging, the answer is grueling, the required effort enormous, the result brilliant.

The process requires at least three passes with separate wet cloths. The cloth must always present a clean surface to the slat. Three cloths can provide a fair amount of uninterrupted cleaning activity and the duration of the task allows a range of activities from daydreaming to gardening. You question gardening in this context? Simple. You get distracted and leave the task.

Distractions happen frequently.
I hear the birds in the garden through the open windows. Incessant chatter, rasping, tweeting and calling. I stretch my neck to see them. An airplane passes overhead. I watch it through binoculars. Bees abound. I need to harvest the honey. It is a hot and sunny day. I want to be outside. A car tire squeals and the Yorkie barks. I perform a quick security check around the house and garden. I get distracted even more in the garden ending up with a clipper and a spade in the bushes.
The monotony of cleaning blinds is in stark contrast to life unfolding this day.

Focus. Stay focused.

A Whatsapp announces itself. The phone is next door.
Not now!

‘Aum’

One hundred and twenty-five slats to go.
Focus. I absorb myself into the task.

Seventy-five to go.

Amusing thoughts loiter in my mind.
I see my reflection like a silhouette in the glass behind the slats.
Bad guy looks without the bad guy, and handsome perhaps.
Should I start a blinds-cleaning-service, – by a Zen master.

‘Aum’

I am the task. I am the slat. I am the cloth. I am all of it.
There is no show of emotion. I am the person designated to do the task. I am not a mercenary in thoughtless-program-mode although it looks like it.
Nothing is by force. It is my free choice to clean or to neglect.

There is no problem.

When you become the task, resistance disappears.

The task is done.