TANTRA 

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It's startling to start. So said the ageless.

 

Everything helps. Only one thing heals: existence.

 

What do you prefer, omniscience or omnipresence? Your life may depend on the answer. Neither? Where does that put you? A neither that is free of, or oppressed by, lack of either? Omnibenevolence, anyone? No omni. How about that-without-which-nothing-could-exist"?

 

Spiritual is: the harder I look at this merciless bloodbath, the more the glimmer of bliss is bliss, more inconceivable beauty, the more steadily I rest in its pristine facts, the less alone in aloneness.

 

Take one breath per minute, live 1500 years!

 

There's actually a name for the sounds of the name the same as that which is named: svarūpa-śakti (inherent, actual energy, or, simply, vibe.) Linguistics generally doesn't want any part of this, not knowing how to partake of it. Speech feels the same way, conventionally speaking. Of what does a name consist? Of what does a name consist when that of which it consists is not ignorance? When consciousness is the overwhelming sweetness of bliss? 

 

Transcendence is confusing, at best. Mock schism.

 

"Truth"... where did such a word come from? When it was new, how different from our understanding now, after thousands of years of bludgeoning ourselves with respective truths. (Is that what truth is, relative truth? Heraclitus would not agree.)

 

None of this is absolute. And there's a hidden benefit in that: the absolute becomes relative, walks among us, issues straight from our mouths; not rarified epiphany or revelation. We can actually speak! That's already unbelievable, because ... we don't have a clue. Universal Grammar? Really?Mothersese? Maybe if it includes being cooed to by a Goddess. Taking in a drip mix of ambrosia and soda.

 

What language do you speak? I speak omniscience, with a mouthful of popcorn.

 

Prana, the wind of words.

 

I stir cosmoi.

 

Words were made to allow us to realize we're as phenomenal as they are. 

 

Write until the writing is the only writing that it can be, not whatever it can be.

 

The impossibility of proceeding is the process embracing itself.

 

Creation gave birth to incomprehension. 

 

Presence itself, neither form nor formlessness.

 

I'm writing this tantra. I just sit here and receive all these jewels. This tantra is nothing other than the relationship between finding a way to write itself and whether we will find ways to survive as a species, at this dissolute point in time. Kali-Yuga.

 

How can one write the beginningless?

 

Words before the beginning ... alright, Logos is well known. Phonemes before the beginning, fine as well, realizable by way of tantra. But poets before the beginning? Good luck with that.

 

Forget any secure definition of any word you know, particularly the word "word." That's a start.

 

Why should the wonder of words depend on what we say? Depending on content is a perilous elitist gamble. I don't discriminate. Every book is the words of god. Every meaning a guru. Ever heard a word that was not incarnate?

 

Wonder is a right few claim. My audience is infinite. If bliss can exist, why wouldn't it? We weren't thrown out of the garden, we just stopped gardening.

 

Started freeloading.

 

What it is to not be here: what here's all about.

 

Point a finger at the place from which words arise. You'll be swallowed alive. Grace is the words you can't make come. They're the opposite of ours-for-the-taking.

 

Speaking is our non-difference from the ground of being. Neurology is a switchboard. Mouthing the mind, which you now read also un-aloud.

 

It's patent that the limitations of language are a condition of the speaker, not the words themselves. Do we disagree? 

 

(Daria asks from the next room, how do you write "bear" when you say bear witness. B E A R. Are you sure? Yes. Like the animal? Yes. That's amazing! Yes, bears do it too. Pristine hearing is a start.)

 

"There are two Creators to be meditated upon: sound and non-sound. Non-sound is revealed only by sound" ... followed to its end.

 

Each non-arising word. All knowing. 

 

Fortunately we have a word for word and that word is "word."

 

Words are a way for absolutely anything to appear; the only possible analog for the act of Creation; for itself, as that act. I can't speak without blacking out. 

 

Oh, you must be talking about conventional language spoken conventionally. Why would we diminish ourselves and drag existence down with us?

 

Word/name/sound/meaning/form/function non-difference.

 

Subsequent is initial.

 

Ram-rasik poet-saint Agradās: "Without the Name, all spiritual practices are worthless. Where there is no country, time, family, or daily rites, there I have abandoned both the proscriptions and restrictions of religion."

 

One consequence of living without the Name: we wall ourselves in with books, gorge on e-information, enroll in one workshop after another, binge on tv.

 

Shaikh Farīd, the lone Sufi poet included in the Adi Granth: "Those who forget the Naam, are a burden on the earth." The Name has affinities with burgeoning. 

 

The most direct medicine is our blind spot.

 

That which exists.

 

The heart is the scripture.

 

A single sigh of separation has more knowledge than all we have in our hearts.

 

Mother Nature is our child.

 

Your Name is "I don't know." That's alright. Name and Nameless are the opposite of contradictory.

 

When will astrophysics finally call it "nectar"? Say, "candy." Our material miseries will end.

 

Keep the Name secret if it turns others off.

 

Perform it.

 

So what if you're free. You haven't even begun to be unconfused. We're consonant with succulent light.

 

Liberation doesn't liberate. Ask for so little and, to your detriment, it will be granted. Speculative knowledge is impersonation. It's not the bliss, it's the service.

 

Mahabhava; how does that sound? Softens the heart. I wait like a garland unworn. Now I see what I'm saying.

 

Why practice perception? The nondifference in difference is inconceivable. If mind is beginningless, we can't be far off or too far gone. Correct?

 

The actual question is: Was poetry formed at or just before and constitutive of the beginning? To exist, it must be beginningless, without having been beginningless. Only the unstruck can tell. We can't now have been there; though we're before the original swinging door: subjectivity overawe.

 

I see the plantain tree and say "well thought well said well done." Vibration incarnate.

 

Language — revealed not learned or built-in — is always going on, whether we tune to it or not, and even when we're talking. We can hear from the beginning, just as we can look back along relic light.

 

Tremoring is its truest word.

 

Awareness as words. As aware as a word? Which one? No matter.

 

Fervor was requisite for creation to occur. Prosody is energy work.

 

The only energy that has ever been

 

makes us up.

 

The continuum of conditions in which we occur, for the safekeeping of the continuum through twofold ascetic/aesthetic ardor. Who we are.

 

Nothing paranormal about being what reality is. The hidden in the unhidden, the unhidden in the hidden, the hidden in the hidden, the unhidden in the unhidden at last.

 

Though it can be spoon-fed, can't be created or destroyed, and certainly can be desecrated; language, the prime instrument of ignorance, hell-on-earth's weapon of choice. 

 

Something must be hosting everything that's happening without being that which is happening, otherwise it would change with every appearance and nothing further could appear; we'd be used up; mirrors accumulating reflections; soundscapes in which frequencies never die out.

 

Such a that.

 

A cure is but a reprieve. 

 

Forgive us for not being, each time we could have been.

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