It doesn't have to be a lot
You could even lose something to a poem

Simple gestures of light and lifting rain
Shallow, knowing beauty hides nearby

Birds gathered on the nearby powerline
Just for some all-mighty small talk
To the crescendo of a setting sun.

The sun who knows us, little does he know:
How surfers feel his knowing just as well,
No words but the formal language of waves
They crash, they die the beautiful death.
Immortality hides in the water.
Profound words slip out, spilling, returning

water, like writing on a palm leaf
Left by the lifting rain.

We could have just surfed all day.

The waves and the rides they give,

Could it have been enough?

Adapted from the Dhamma for children

Once upon a time there was a monk who wanted to know where Space was

So he meditated and meditated and meditated, until his mind reached the angels.

He asked the angles, “Oh Angels, where is Space?”

The angels replied “We don’t know, but if you meditate longer, you will reach even higher angels, they might know.”

So the monk meditated and meditated and meditated, and his beard grew longer and longer and grey as he sat still, until he saw the higher angels.

The monk asked the higher angels “Oh high Angels, where is space?”

And the High Angels replied, “We don’t know, but if you meditate longer you will reach the Highest Angels, maybe they will know”

So the monk meditated and meditated, and his beard grew down to his feet and grew white as he mediated, until he saw the Highest Angels.

The monk asked the Highest Angels, “Oh Highest Angels, where is Space?”

And the Highest Angels replied, “We don’t know, but if you meditate even longer you will reach Brahma, the Highest of the Highest, creator of all the worlds. He will know.”

So, again, the monk meditated and meditated, and his hair began to fall out and his skin sagged from his bones and grew spots as he sat meditating, until he reached Brahma.

The monk asked Brahma, “Oh Brahma, Highest of the Highest, Creator of all the worlds, where is space?”

And Brahma replied “I am Brahma! Highest of the Highest, Creator of all the worlds!”

And for some this would be enough, but this monk persisted.

The monk said “Yes, and… where is space?”

Brahma realized the monk would not go away, so he took him to the side away from his Choir of Angels and said,

“Look, don’t tell anyone, but I don’t know where Space is. You are asking a dangerous question. If you must know, go ask the Buddha, but go at your own risk, for you go beyond my domain.” Said the Brahma, Highest of the High, Creator of all the Worlds.

And so, the monk, stood up from his meditation and walked, careful not to fall as he was very old now. He walked very slowly and it was very hard, but luckily for him, The Buddha was living then, and was residing in a town nearby.

He reached the Living Buddha, sat to one side respectfully, and asked his question.

“Oh Buddha, The Well-Gone, where is Space?”

And the Buddha gave his answer simply

“It is good you came to me, for no-one can answer this question except one who has finished the Noble Eightfold Path. And it is because Space can only be found in the mind of the Saint, one you has followed the Way, gone to the end of the world with his mind. For he has found Space, and it is in his mind.”

Then the Buddha, saying nothing at all, imparted this knowledge to the monk, who attained Enlightenment at that very moment. The monk lived happily from then on, knowing the supreme bliss, until his death and beyond.

The Stonecutter’s pickaxe hit the stone. He felt the strike in his hands and feet. His mind was in his hands and feet. Every day the Stonecutter worked hard, splitting stone from the foot of the mountain. Workers come to carry away the raw slabs of stone the Stonecutter cut, to be worked some more into so many things. Every day the Stonecutter would get money and merit from his work, which he brought home to share with his wife and children every evening.

As he got older, he felt the striking of the stone in his arms and legs, in his torso and shoulders. When his work was felt in his head, he was an old Stonecutter. His life was hard, but he worked well, many people benefited from the stone he took from the mountain. As he died, he felt his work and merit, his feeling and awareness of striking of the stone, rise towards heaven.

A wild spirit saw the Stonecutter’s mind rising and spoke: “you are bound for heaven, and what sort of heaven would you like?” The Stonecutter was a simple man, he had seen merchants pass by the road near his house. The merchant had a carriage, soft cushions to sit on, good food and servants, even a guard to protect him. The life of the merchant looked like heaven, so the stonecutter said: “I would ask to enter heaven as a wealthy merchant a carriage and cushions, good food and servants.” So the wild spirit put magic on the Stonecutter’s mind, making him dream of being a wealthy merchant.

The dream of the Stonecutter was indeed pleasant. He ate the good food as servants did work so he was at ease, enjoying the soft cushions and shade of his carriage and house. He looked past the silk curtain of his carriage and saw rough people working hard to till fields and carry heavy loads of goods to the capital city. He looked at his guard and began to feel afraid. When the carriage arrived at the capital for trade, he saw a princess’s carriage. She had all the things the Stonecutter had, but all things were finer, whats more, she had many guards, and their superior armor and weapons shone in the sun. Then his head turned a little and he saw the strong stone towers of the castle the princess must be using as her house. The Stonecutter had a pang of regret for asking to be a rich merchant as his heavenly reward for a long virtuous life of hard work,

and just then the wild spirit appeared. The Stonecutter said, “I think I made a mistake, do you think you could make me a King instead?”

The wild spirit said “I would not like you to be unhappy in heaven, let it be so!”

Suddenly the Stonecutter found himself sitting on a golden throne in a strong stone castle. The servants were everywhere anticipating his desires and the army of guards made him enjoy the much finer food without fear of the rough people outside. This went on splendidly until during court many people, even rough ones came kneeling before him to complain of a drought brought on by long hot and dry days with no rain. The Stonecutter was king and began feeling uncomfortable for all the responsibility he had, as the bad feeling spread when some people died of the drought and crops were scorched. The people expressed their fears of not having enough food and it made the Stonecutter afraid too, for as king they would blame him. After court the Stonecutter began regretting his choice to become king. The comforts were good but he had not the power he needed to take care of all his subjects.

And the wild spirit appeared before him. “Well?” said the wild spirit “Are you enjoying heaven?” The stonecutter told the wild spirit of his discomfort and fears for his subjects. “Your life was good, you can have another chance to decide how you would like to enjoy heaven.” said the wild spirit. The stonecutter thought carefully “I would like to be the Sun. I can restrain myself then and allow the people their crops and stop this drought. Also, It must feel good to be the Sun and have all that energy and light to give.” The wild spirit gave a crooked smile, waved his ethereal, willowy hand and the Stonecutter became the Sun!

Now the Stonecutter felt really warm and good. He smiled down on the earth and glowed his energy and light just enough that the crops of his kingdom and the world were healthy. This made him very happy, and he began thinking that this is really what heaven should be like. After a while, as he watched the earth, he saw great rain clouds gathering and swirling over large parts of the earth. These rain clouds poured rain to the sound of thunder and ravaged the crops, flooded homes and drowned livestock.

As the Stonecutter watched, he became angry, and an angry Sun is not what anyone wants. His heat flared up and some clouds burned away, crops were dried and a drought began. The stonecutter realized what he was doing and tried to calm down. It was really a great responsibility to be the Sun, and it took a control that the Stonecutter only knew with his stonecutting.

The wild spirit appeared before the Stonecutter, who was already thinking what he should do.

“I will become one of those great rainclouds that even as the Sun I cannot dismiss with my heat.”

The wild spirit nodded, trying to hide his gleeful chuckling, and waved his frail hand again.

Now the Stonecutter was a great raincloud, and the feeling of being one was very different- he felt his emotions become even harder to control. As he desired, the wind bent the trees and lashed out against the the land. He poured his emotions down on the earth, but the Stonecutter tried to gain control. He thought about the discipline and precision he needed to cut stone, steadily saving his energy to make progress all day. He managed to calm down some and his rain subsided, his wind lessened. But he had already angered the Sun and provoked a heat wave. The Stonecutter as a giant raincloud tried to puff himself up and protect the world against the heat. He could only do so much and found that the emotions of the cosmos was too much for him, and he looked down on the earth for some stability. He saw the Great Mountain, standing imperturbable by all the heat and rain and wind, rising so high, its slopes unmoved, it supported whole forests and towns of people. Before another wave of emotion could overwhelm the Stonecutter he called out to the wild spirit “I want to be the Great Mountain!”

The wild spirit appeared and with a handwave the Stonecutter was the Great Mountain. The Stonecutter felt his strength and stability and knew that he was doing something important for people and beasts and forests, as the changeable weather went through their moods. He felt his stability stretching out into the future, on and on, and he knew he could provide his endurance until the end of days. Then he felt a little sting that came again and again until he was slightly annoyed. He looked to his foot and saw a little stonecutter, and each strike of his pickaxe brought the little sting. He knew the focus of this stonecutter to cut the right sized slabs of the Great Mountain’s body, and a stonecutter’s will to go on to the end of his life, where his son would take over and the sting would never end as long as the Mountain was peopled. Now the Great mountain, weighed his long endurance against the tiny sting of a falling pickaxe again and again, and the Great Mountain realized this mild annoyance, over the centuries, would grow and not stop. The quiet mind of the Mountain gained a measure of respect for the little stonecutter, even though he was so small, and his work was relatively insignificant over his lifetime. He looked at his own experience as the Stonecutter, before he was the Great Mountain, and admired the qualities of a man who could do such tiring work every day, cherishing his wife and children and leading a good and fair life, though the life was a rough one. The Great Mountain sat there as his moments grew longer and longer, all the while there was the reminder of a stonecutter to keep his mind from gaining true quietude. Finally, as his awareness was placed solidly and firmly on a storm raging on his southern face, and a stonecutter stinging him on his eastern face, The Great Mountain rumbled a sigh. The wild spirit appeared before him, but this time there were no tricks or cunning in his eyes. For the wild spirit knew this teaching, older than the world, that was dawning on the Great Mountain now. The Great Mountain spoke: “My idea of heaven has changed again, I wish to be a stonecutter.” There was no giggling this time from the wild spirit, who only nodded knowingly and waved his ghostly hand again.

The Stonecutter that was once the Great Mountain, a Giant Raincloud, and the Sun itself became a stonecutter. And with a heart full of wisdom, the Stonecutter began a day of work. Kissing his wife and children goodbye, he shouldered his pickaxe and trudged steadily to his work site. He felt the strike of his pickaxe reverberate through his body, but the Stonecutter’s mind was unmoved. He knew now that heaven had been here all the time, and he needed only wisdom to find heaven where he stood, where he had always stood, as a stonecutter.

With that, his mind became even lighter, the dreams brought on by the wild spirit disappeared. The Stonecutter rose to the highest heaven, where the pleasures and bliss are no greater than the pleasures and bliss the Stonecutter found as a stonecutter, when virtue and wisdom come together to comprehend one’s place in the world.

Once upon a time there was an emperor who really loved clothes. He wore clothes when he woke up in the morning, then before breakfast he changed his clothes, then before lunch he changed his clothes again, and before dinner and before bed. Then, In the middle of the night, he made instructions to wake him up so he changed his clothes again and went back to sleep.

The clothes manufacturers were making a lot of money from the emperor. A pair of skilled thieves saw an opportunity, and made a plan. They presented themselves to the emperor as master clothiers and told him they would make clothes so fine that crude people could not see them. Indeed, only those worthy of their profession would be able to see the clothes. They called the outfit “Mathematics.”

The emperor was overjoyed by the prospect of such a fine set of clothes, and gave the thieves the royal clothier’s workshop, all the silk and golden thread they would need, and of course the fee was extravagant.

Now the thieves went to work. They moved the looms, but the looms were empty, they threaded needles with no thread, and all the expensive cloth and thread was hidden in their sacks in the back of the workshop and transported to safety every night.

After a while the emperor decided they had done a lot of work by now, and sent the royal poet, a man who was uncommonly wise, to go check on the thieves’ work. The royal poet entered the workshop and asked to see the thieves work. The thieves behaved as though they were presenting fine clothes, but they had not clothes in their hands. They were showing him nothing, and the wise man decided the thieves were thieves, but these were very skilled thieves indeed. They described every feather of every crane in flight, the color and shape of every blossom, and the intricacy of patterns. Unfortunately, the wise poet was persuaded that the clothes were real, and that he was unworthy to be the Royal poet of the emperor.

He began to sweat, because he would surely lose his life if the emperor knew his poet was a fraud. “Oh what fine clothes these are. Yes these clothes, “Mathematics” as you call them, reveal patterns that show such intricacy, they go beyond my 4-dimensional imagination.” The thieves smiled in just the right way, and nodded with just the right amount of satisfaction so as to continue fooling the wise man. They were indeed most clever thieves.

The Royal Poet returned to the emperor and lauded the “Mathematics” clothes to the highest degree, and made sure to persuade the emperor, although he had no idea what the “Mathematics” clothes looked like.

Finally the thieves announced the “Mathematics” clothes were finished before the emperor. And offered that the Emperor should arrange a parade and show the “Mathematics” clothes to all his subjects.

The Emperor did just that, and when the thieves showed him nothing at all, and described the “mathematics” clothes, the Emperor was no match against the thieves description and the confirmation of the Royal Poet.

The Thieves helped the emperor to put on the “Mathematics” and the parade began. Everyone was looking at the emperors private parts and cheering as best they could, throwing flowers petals confetti, sweating at the problem of not being worthy of their various professions. It looked like every professional was going to have to wear “Mathematics.”

Luckily for everyone, there was a tradition in this part of the world of listening to children. There was a common folk belief that children were close to the Source of all people; sometimes children could say things that were very important, even more important than the emperor himself, or so they thought.

And in an lull of the fake excitement, a child burst in front of the parade and said with glee “The Emperor is naked, I can see his mushroom!”

Everyone realized the child spoke the truth and the emperor had been fooled. The thieves were long gone by then, but before they left they explained the clothes to some foreigners, who also believed the thieves, and now there are parts of the world, who don’t listen to children, and walk around naked.

A master of lies... He will know what kind and mode of deception is taking place at any moment set before him. He will know the lies of magic are the same as the lies of science. He must have detailed knowledge to the exactitude of a mathematician on why mathematics is a falsehood. A master of lies is most persuasive, and he knows how to hide his persuasion. He knows what purpose his lie serves, whether good or evil, beautiful or ugly or simply complex in how truth and lies are woven into the fabric of space-time.
 
He has found the crack in the wholeness of his being, from where he will shine his lights and darknesses. He will know why he shines a darkness instead of a light, what the dangers are and how to avoid them. It is not mastery if his lies cause him harm. In other words, mastery over lies is not different from a mastery of truth.

And a so-called master of truth only requires blind faith. Waving the flag of truth, he will be insulted if called a liar, as if lies were not integral to our existence on earth. He is blind to his own lies and manipulations, believing them to be right and true.

"Errat ergo sum" -St. Augustine

Come with me, I will guide you through the nightmare land of lies. And when you have crossed this valley of shadow, you will have a mastery that is more valuable than any fact.

You are a part of my home
We bond sometimes when I find you.
This life, you were on the edge the universe
I walk to you, so I can be with a piece of my home
Then I have to leave
Because my home broke
My home grew and shrank
It changed forms
I see a piece of my home in that cloud
I try to be there, drifting, changing
Until my home is not there anymore
And I must walk to find another piece
I do this drifting
To keep my heart whole
My heart is mended, as long as I walk
in search of a glimmer that was part of my home

Grey Takes Gold

By fearing what we do not understand
blanking our divine canvas to invite god’s test
when we return from folly to isolation
the substance of our divine tapestry is examined for miracles
and life asks us if we can not only see and touch it but enter into the making of it
we draw our hands through our hair and we find
grey, auburn, orange, gold, black.

The human nature theorem, a paradox of games, begins.
played by God and Goddess a simple game of
Black over orange, grey takes gold

All night the light northern winds
throw mist upon the window and the criss-cross of their
game-board grew and grew to be the complexity of their love.
Because complexity is size, a kingdom of the heart, a criss-cross universe whose herald
A droid or quantum, is small
compared to an exponential unfolding of uncertainty
No detangling tool could measure or permute a game that in lust and love made life
certain

Auburn to black, hairs straight as words
Cupid’s Arrows as tokens, fetishes, fish-silver and aluminum
Hair collected by crows to nest

A home in their underworld
at its nexus of Enigma
the pieces strewn.

Pick them up, here is Gold, a god with his own delusions
There is Black, not evil, no, just misunderstood
Put them on a new criss-cross game board and play
As makers of the mysteries and Gods

by Jon Clark and Andrew Nightingale

“Once I spoke the language of the flowers,


Once I understood each word the caterpillar said,


Once I smiled in secret at the gossip of the starlings,


And shared a conversation with the housefly


                       in my bed.


Once I heard and answered all the questions
of the crickets,


And joined the crying of each falling dying

                       
flake of snow,


Once I spoke the language of the flowers. . . .


                        How did it go?


                        How did it go?”

the fact that the potency of the child fades with age is necessary, If adults had the same potency, it would tear the world apart. The most powerful people on earth are children. They observe better ask more potent questions and feel the grain of every answer, turning it in their heads with a power of thought that is only a shadow by adulthood.

To my brother

you would catch foxfire?
There is something faster than thought
Thought is a kind of fire
We are constantly burning ourselves with thought
Education is an evil we all endure, but it satisfies only a few
A reading habit is good for knowing how to avoid evil
But it satisfies no-one.
Mathematics burns hottest of the thoughts,
But foxfire is not hot, it is not ash or smoke or flame or light
it is something so pure, it has no quality
so pure and so fast
It can run down with you to hell and back without pain
if you can keep up you will leave hell so fast not a hair on your bright tail is singed.

So you want to catch foxfire
Tell the truth just once
Don't carry or bury the lie
Don't pull on the great slave-wheel that keeps our screens alight
Just once, speak what you already know, and then you must run for your life
They will chase you with all they've got
they will try to make you fall
and drag you down to burn for your truth-telling
I will whisper to you the secret of foxfire, and we will be friends.
Speak a word of it somewhere, anywhere
Whisper it to an orange blossom
Sound it inside a cave and let it echo
Scream in from the top of a hill

give it to the nightingale

and her mind-call will inform all good friends of hers,
Run now...
 Run! RUN!
RUN!


RUN!

e mensonge qui n’est plus contredit devient folie – Guy Debord

The lie that is no longer contradicted becomes folly – Guy Debord

  ·   ·

1. Apple and orange are different 2 apple and orange are both fruit. 3 The same is true of every word in every language. Therefore, I have just proven that all language including mathematics is folly

The right of it is in a Chinese Parabolic book called Journey to the West:

Having been a monk for some time now, Monkey had even better
understanding of the meaning of some sutras. In chapter ninety-three of Journey to the
West, Monkey had a conversation with Tripitaka on the interpretation of the Heart Sutra
that the Crow’s Nest Zen master had taught Tripitaka to recite. Monkey, seeing Tripitaka
was worrying again, commented that the master did not learn from the Zen master the
sutra’s proper interpretation. The master challenged Monkey asking if he knew the proper
interpretation. Monkey said emphatically that he did. Then , both fell silent. The two
junior disciples giggled and teased Monkey for what they deemed to be the latter’s
pretentiousness, for, like them, Monkey came with the background of a monster and with
no formal Buddhist training. Hearing them, Tripitaka said to the two very seriously: “Wu-
neng and Wu-ching, stop this claptrap! Wu -kung ‘ s interpretation is made in speechless
language. That’s true interpretation.” (Yu 1983, 295) This comment from Tripitaka
confirms that Monkey as the human mind is endowed with the ability to comprehend truth,

Essays on Monkey: A Classic Chinese Novel
Isabelle Ping-I Mao