This is something I wrote almost 5 years ago. But I am re-posting it as a kind of lead in to something I’ve been working on the past few weeks, about astrology and its poor reputation. I had been trying to see clearly how binary stars move: “Lonely” Pluto’s been in the news lately due to the fly-by of the U.S. New Horizons probe. Startling images and geological questions have arisen, and two new moons have been photographed. But what piqued my interest was the pronounced wobble in Pluto’s motion, not a new discovery, which has to do with both the proximity and similarity in mass of it’s largest moon Charon. This led to a general investigation into how and why celestial bodies are influenced by each other in space, according to conventional physics.
If virus is the zeitgeist du jour, can facemask chic be far behind?
Spiritul insight, no matter how meager, is literally nothing, if not calm.
I estimate I’ve seen an indigo bunting about four, five at most, times in my life, always without searching for them. Today was one of those times, thanks to my first grader who is sort of being home-schooled at the moment given the virus. Each time I can’t quite believe the intensity of the blue.
Young Waldo comes of age, packed with ideals and oats, spends a decade on love’s battlefield, confronts the sinister edifice of romantic indifference and torpitude gone viral, goes back to the drawing board and resolves to double-down on his humanity, his mantra: “yes”…
So many precious moments I’ve lived, putting him to sleep after a long story. That sweet sweet interlude afterwards as he drifts off to paradise.
It is absolutely impossible to do certain spiritual exercises if you are habituated to an alarm clock. That most insidious of imaginary necessities. And that’s all I am going to say about it…
Every year he comes briefly and faithful like wild violets, 8 or 9 seasons now, long as I defy the clock and occupy astounded this abode. It’s not true, how things seem, that he projects staunch solitude and won’t converse. But you must approach with reverence for nature, and show you’ve learnt how human natures all command respect. Else most you’ll get is a tipped forehead and good day.
Advisory messages heard at the edge of an early spring’s rushing mountian stream, swollen and forceful with surging transformed snowmelt… Tell of what you’ve seen and know, living waters!
Westernized Neo-Buddhism is eager at every opportunity to point out that Self is maya, an apparition, while the doctrine of no-self, anatta, is an early gleaned fruit on the path. I think this is both wrong and an incomplete interpretation. In truth, the conception of Self is evolving, and must do so more, especially now. This is the openly secret message behind the radical Gospel indication of I AM, most clearly evidenced in John. There are stages of I-ness which unfurl to the aspirant, qualities shed and cultivations added. A faucet spills liquid ceaselessly in a theater of consciousness. First we are the water; then with considerable effort we may become the faucet; perhaps later still the force of will which regulates the whole meshugina. But this is still only a beginning… Happy Easter!