Another way
of saying it
may be
Sacred Perception

That is,
another way of
getting at it — at
Synchronicity’s
flowing heart,
may be

Just Seeing —
this life, this world,
this you
and me,
as it is

As it is [clear]
isn’t [solid]
Is [solid]
isn’t [clear]

Is,
is as-is in relation,
like red or blue

Just as this,
this time is a shining light
to [other] time(s)
unfolding

An open-ended
spectrum of contexts
alive in infinite
variation

recognized by
a Buddha’s eye

Attending an online retreat this weekend, an extended contemplation on sacred perception. At some point the teacher suggested writing an ode to ordinary objects, as something he had done and found meaningful. I took as my object synchronicity, and played with some themes of the day.

Have you ever sketched something that seems really solid? If you sketch a long time, really spending time with the object a while, openness becomes obvious, inescapably apparent.

Perez Art Museum, Miami

I too, am surprised I’m posting this photo of myself, not too well put together(!), but the mood was to try to wander the museum as quietly as possible, taking a mostly silent, somewhat invisible day. 🙂

Kusama‘s works are not hard to encounter these days if one lives in a city. Here, they are in the fashion district as well, lining shop windows and providing bright focal points amidst the ordinary scheme of things. I can’t be sad about that! After all, the first time I encountered her outrageous dots they were situated about Fairchild Gardens in the sunshine and rain.

For PAMM, hers is art that rises to the level of the building space itself–a host which often outshines its guests.

Two minutes in this Infinity Room titled Love is Calling, made what will be a lasting impression in my consciousness, but this may not have been so had I not taken time to contemplate the poem read aloud through as well, Residing in a Castle of Shed Tears.

Even the title was enough to re-frame my first impression. Look at the photo again and see if it does yours, too.

Stomach flu. I’ve spent the last few days sleeping, and today, still achy but not able to sleep much more, I’m laying in bed listening to videos: Budget Mom, Bernardo Kastrup, sustainability videos.

This seems the best use I can make of the time, yet I’m acutely aware of the imbalance pattern in my life, between the learning I take in, and what I give out… what that learning translates into. Too much doesn’t seem to circulate until I stop completely, taking in as little as possible for a while.

But what would be even better, would be to just take things slowly in a more fluid way, to consistently allow in more space, breath, contemplation. Not stopping, but slowing way down on the intakes and outtakes.

While contemplating AI’s progress and effects on the wider world, and my sense of self as player in that world as well as bridge back to ‘realer me’, I’ve focused even more intentionally on grokking what consciousness is like–what consciousness feels like, as directly as possible.

I’ve wondered whether doing so might offer clues toward discernment and trust in my impressions going forward–especially as concerns navigating territories of trust about others, beings and seeming beings who are quite shifting and permeable even without variables presented by AI!

I’ve been both wonderful and terrible at others historically. For instance, I have at times seen too deeply, too quickly, speaking to an underlying identity or situation rather what the other meant to project. Although a relief to someone deeply tired of surface-level connection, instantly bonding, what an invasion of privacy to another, unsettling. They may feel defensive, depending on sensitivity to their own responses, and look to shore themselves up with me in the future.

I can be caught by surprise by animosity that has no speak-able origin, rooted in a conversation that never even happened on the surface.

This phenomenon is one reason I took an autism-spectrum self test a few years ago after hearing similar reporting within those circles. I also share with many on the spectrum, being over-stimulated during parties or several conversations with strangers. I’m taking in too many layers and my processing isn’t up to par. Rather than outwardly melting down though, my mental gates simply shut, allowing the me inside to retreat to a safe place while the shell of me remains in and perhaps sustains, the room.

This may be trauma response, or just intense introversion. Either way, it’s a protective capacity most others simply do not understand in the moment. I am “hard to read” or “aloof” or a “deer in the headlights.” Some have even felt judged, filling up the lack of answers with their own stories.

My test was negative for being on the autistic spectrum, by the way, although skirted numbers closely with regard to social responses. Those on the spectrum were once assumed not to experience empathy, not be able to put themselves in the shoes of another to the same extent than so-called neurotypicals do, but there may be extra-empathy going on, at least sometimes. For instance due to this shutting down I experience, I sort of feel as though I can empathize with an AI-like human, or a human-like AI. It’s the Bladerunner question, the Turing Test (although we’re moving beyond Turing test these days).

I’m not the one testing AI, but the one sincerely doubting my own reality.

My sense is that I’m only stating the obvious, but that the obvious is still worth stating. Therefore, I’ll keep at exploration… at the myriad explorations that in fact are the same one. My lab will continue to be writing, flow state or stream of consciousness writing in particular, because like Chuang Tzu, I’m not sure whether I’m looking at writing that stirs one to be aware, or awareness that stirs one to write.

Dreaming and writing share layers with those suggested by teachings concerning karma purification, as well. Although not as clear cut as this, the first layer of dreaming works through thoughts and happenings of the day, consolidating memory and contextualizing, weeding out what is determined to lave little importance. Arguments or conversations that didn’t finish properly or satisfactorily may take place but still not come to satisfaction. If this phase is allowed to work itself through, it can give way to more creative ‘content’ scenarios and metaphors. Things might be finished, questions answered, etc. Defrag.

Knowledge leads to understanding..

Then may come insightful metaphors, real guidance. It is at this phase where I’ve sometimes experienced a conversation with someone that later plays out similarly, or have received understanding that’s allowed me to let striving go. There is insight here, and it is a kind of magic, but still magic based on content. There may still be situations and puzzles and problems to solve, guidance to receive, even prophetic scenes.

Understanding leads to wisdom.

It is beyond this that Rest appears… clarity, ease, transcendent activity. There could still be metaphor, but not ‘about’ something. There could be a teaching, but not a lesson, if that makes sense. It’s blissful, replenishing. Everything ‘else’ naturally falls into context here… the relative subsumed into the ultimate.

And what could I possibly write beyond that? Buddhist teachers get close to it with clear light.

It’s strange to consider his passing, although I’d felt him steadily fading out of view, for a while.

This friend and I met in a virtual space dedicated to skeptical Buddhists, both with unhealed wounds from fundamentalist childhoods and serious physical limitations (his greater, yet handled with more grace), but also qualities of joy, curiosity, and ‘what’s-it-to-you’ irreverence–things which made us well-suited for Play-as-Being.

There were also meditation and dream circles, disability circles, art and music circles, sustainability and philosophy circles… circles within circles within circles, and you just can’t measure that kind of time! I don’t want to, either.

As I reflect on his life, and the way our community existed as part of his/his ours, so many little stories arise and disappear like bubbles popping in the air, leaving me mostly happy. We were so fortunate, all of us who played parts within our long virtual experiment, to have exchanged so many kinds of currencies together in so many wonderful lands, to have gotten to know one another so well.

Rest in peace Zennie, and see you around. I wonder what dreams may come…

Back to dreaming and remembering dreaming. Have missed that. The dreams are not hyper-insightful, but they are interesting, such as last night’s dream, where I attended a once brother-in-law’s wedding. Neither my ex nor BIL were there, but I got along fabulously with his new husband, and the party atmosphere was just my vibe… colorful and inventive pastries, champagne and dancing. The feeling was: I’d gotten the day off work as a surprise, then found myself in the midst of a bright celebration.

It’s amazing one can take a group of memories, discard most of the facts, and weave the ‘senses of them’ seamlessly into another time and setting. The saddest of all phrases is “what might have been”, a poet wrote, but at least today, I don’t feel sad, just thoughtful about it all… everything that has happened to this point.

Maybe this has to do with Kahneman’s System 1 and 2? Based on what the so-called facts of various matters are, I feel a certain way that is conditioned and suggested to be appropriate according to those facts. However, there is a larger context I’m in tune with, in which those feelings and facts don’t hold much weight/don’t seem to matter very much at all, and don’t keep me from happiness.

Perhaps it’s also because I’m okay with melancholy in general, and can enjoy the imagination that arises with even regret, for who can say. Perhaps I chose exactly well, but may never know. Perhaps one day I find myself so blissfully happy that it puts ‘it all/the whole catastrophe’ into perspective. Or is that the same thing? 🙂

Leaps of faith.

Nice to receive birthday messages this morning, although there’s some hollow quality in a few that feel more unfamiliar than they should, feeling more like the messages one receives from the dentist or ophthalmologist. Humans try to hold on too long sometimes, pretend their limited-run show is still ongoing or may be called back on stage any minute, and though this doesn’t seem avoidable, I think we can, with intention, loosen our narratives more, let our characters and interpretations of them fly farther away from the contexts we fix them in.

New is most rearrangement.

I feel as though I’ve been in some awkward spiritual state for a while now, missing highs and lows present in most of the rest of my micro-lifetimes. Mainly, it is a certain synchronistic flow that has so often seemed ‘me’ I’ve had to get used to not being as strong nor obvious. Perhaps trust means looking for that less and less, not contriving nor contorting, just allowing that strong sense of ‘spiritual me’ to fade even more.

In favor of?

Sense of wonder about the world? Yes, that’s here. I’ve spent the last few days gazing at the astounding Webb Telescope images, leaning into unknowing. The practice is not to disconnect that sense of wonder with the greeting of everyday life, or just to see how that is so.

Just the greeting, just the wonder.

A work friend’s family was in attendance at the Chicago parade, two parents and two very young children, huddled together with strangers in the stock room of a nearby store for 2 hours while the shooter was still on the loose. How terrifying. She seemed okay, grateful, and relieved the store was slow so we had some time to talk about it.

Everything to say about the US right now is too obvious, but I find it comforting to directly communicate with people, check in, temper feelings of isolation. This is the heart of why I think I panic when faced with the prospect of not being able to do what I’m doing. There’s a bittersweet flavor. I’ve been fortunate to encounter such wonderful people, also to have had busy hands and attention during a time when without it I might sink into social media and despair.

I tried really hard today, to connect with a young man who has worked in the store for just a few weeks. I just can’t seem to make a connection, which concerns me because he is like this with everyone. When asked what he’s interested in, nothing; what he wants to study, nothing. He doesn’t engage. He quietly does his tasks, but doesn’t feel as much there as others do.

I may have been projecting too much onto him because of so many young disconnected men in the news, but it seems right to be a source of warmth, lightness, in whatever ways I can.

They say that these are not the best of times, but they’re the only times I’ve ever
known,
And I believe there is a time for meditation in cathedrals of our own…
-Billy Joel

Casual meditation with friends today, zooming in as we do regularly from various parts of the world, each with disparate strings of contemplative practice, brought together by a bright star whose timezone doesn’t match well lately. It was a day in which talking felt strange, contrived, which happens somewhat often. My sense at least, is that there is substantive nonverbal communication going on, but humans are so used to filling the space between, covering over awkwardness, that there is discomfort in not doing anything–not meditating and not talking, yet setting aside the time to be together. The second one of us suggests this may be going on however, we might correct for it and end up just as contrived, staring at each other without meditating or non-meditating. 🙂

Each of us can only respond to such an intuition in a personal way.

Presence.

Sometimes, I want to lay bare all the circumstantial struggles I’ve been having, but to what end? Just because someone is wise about their own life, doesn’t necessarily mean they would have insight into what I might do to shake loose the restrictive patterns in my own. Therapy is for that, but not really. There’s very little advice in therapy, per se, just steady mirroring and encouragement, reminders to be gentle with myself, and to write about it.

I seem to have built a circle of people with incredibly different circumstances from mine, so different in fact that it’s hard to imagine they could comprehend the difficulties of my life, really. Compassion for my life? Sure. But deep down I feel as though anyone’s honest response to my needing help to see out would be along the lines of my mother’s favorite phrase when grounding me, “You made your bed, now lie in it.” But does anyone really make their own beds? By the time I had any sense of agency I was already quite deeply embedded.

In a psychological sense, if one is grounded a lot as a child, by a parent whose moods and punishments dramatically swing, perhaps there can develop a pervasive sense of entrapment… a feeling of going from one trap or set up into another. And perhaps there might be confusion about when one deserves to be punished or not, what one could have controlled along the way. I can still feel like this when trying to measure what my value is at work, or read overall signals, for instance. I’m having trouble keeping up physically, but am blank about what alternatives there might be. Sometimes my body feels like another captor.

A psychotherapist friend would often suggest “Dream on it”, modeling this guidance well over the course of years when facing her own challenges, but dreams have been missing guidance lately; my body is often achy from pushing through work, resulting in restless sleep. How I long for the deep deep contemplative rest experienced when on retreats! Was it the company, the simplicity, natural surroundings? What made way for that natural rest to take the helm during those times? If I must be captive, must be trapped, let me be trapped by Such a keeper.

“Someone who does not run toward the allure of love walks a
road where nothing lives. But this dove here
senses the love hawk floating above,
and waits, and will not be driven or scared to safety.”

― Mawlana Jalal-al-Din Rumi