There exists no separation. |the One|the One who seeks|

                   There exists no separation. |the One|the One who seeks|

I thought about being perfect a time or two, thought about possessing all the answers to questions both asked and unasked, but then I thought about the truth. Illusion. It has always been the illusion of the seeker, and we are reminded of this in every moment that we fall from grace, from the very pedastal we’ve gifted ourselves. Not all things are gifts. Not every art of practice is to be mastered. Not every game is to be played. This we come to know in the quiet caves of a mind often haunted by the dark glare of the light. Is that a shadow I see behind me, to the side of me, at times seemingly in front of me leading me there along still waters of undoing? What of my life have I undone from which I may grow? What in my life am I doing that reveal lessons still to be learned? Is this not the journey? Is this not the way of a life human, clothed in the intricate details of fearless abandon? We abandon all things in the very moment that we turn away from attempting to possess all of the answers. We have only within the penetrating questions that guide us. We are led. And we go there, wherever there is to go that we might arrive, whole. Even in our most collapsed states, in our weakest times are we reflections of the highest form of |BE|ing. This is perfection enough. This is the only answer needed: I am, and I am becoming. You are, and you, too, are becoming.

It is a practice

                                           It is a practice

How long it has been. I sit here now with the tips of my fingers touching the soul of a being. How lost were you when all that was ever before known seemed fleeting as though a door was before you and the road pointed in the direction of its leaving? Contrast. It has always been there for you. It has always held you there in the center, at the center–the place where life and death intersect. Oneness. Even when you’ve lost your way have you been found in the truth of the light. God. What of |I|ts energy breathes deeper still? How long have you known? How long have you sat full lotus in meditation that you might awaken, if only for a moment? And what of clarity? What of deep knowing? What of life’s greatest mystery has unfolded before you like a scroll written in parables and koans waiting for the interpretation of masters? What have you mastered when you have yet to know fully yourself? Humility. That is the path, and you walk there always that you might remain |still| in the hands of impermanence. Nothing is always. All things fade, even you, even your breath, even these words. They fade into the no more of the all, and yet you write still. This is the journey. This is the gift of life through you.  


|For thirty days I have openly made a commitment to write, anything! Today marks the beginning of those thirty days and I have chosen to showcase the “anything” of my writing here. Who knows what will be, what will become, or how I might show-up in this process of being so committed? For now, I am here. This is the beginning: Day One of Thirty.|


All things end inside of space and time. The tangible quickly fades behind the backdrop of what was. It is no longer. Things change. Inside of change we find freedom. This is the truth of life and our experience therein.


Without the authentic voice in real time no one can see what is, what is not. Be real. Be honest. Lest we have to guess and fall inside our guessing. Lest we wonder, and never hit the mark of truth in that wondering. The closed mouth of the one who knows truth serves only to wreak havoc and chaos where expansion could have been.



Because compassion isn’t always easy.


Because the realization of change seems to awaken us even when painful.


Because when we let go and give in to what is we allow the natural closure to reveal itself. 

All things end in space and time.

I promise

The movement of promises

The movement of promises

I used to write to you. Long single words inside of short, fragmented sentences just to get close. I’ve stopped writing. The words…I cannot tell whether or not they come calling. I’ve heard nothing outside of my own thoughts. I’ve thought beyond my ability to write. There is nothing. What inside of me reveals something? What of time past creeps up on me in this time now? Am I lost? Is this how it feels to be blocked? But what if the breeze clears the way with no resistance as though blockage has no place? Perhaps I am simply disconnected. The work of the past has faded into my being separated now. What of separation truly exists in a life where all things are connected? I disappear in the quiet shadow of my own soul. I turn my back on the words, close my eyes to what they may reveal. I want nothing more to do with them. Yet here they are again before me. They’ve haunted me long and wide like language. I’ve refused them, turned down their invitations to sit intimately with me. No thank you. I’ve sat close to you before and nothing became of my sitting. What inside of me would choose to sit longer still, to reopen that door to an unknown place going nowhere inside of all places that it goes? You haunt me and I allow it. I try with desperation to walk away from you, to run, to cut close-corners that you might not make out the shadow resembling me. Here you are again. Words. Why do you come now calling my name in the dark of the night when other times I have not found you in my searching? Why now and not then? Why then and not now? And if one letter becomes two forming words that complete sentences, will you stay awhile longer? You cannot promise. You give me only now. I only have now and in this moment do I say yes. I cannot speak for tomorrow neither can you. This, I promise.

Credit: Scott Stulberg

    Credit: Scott Stulberg  

I have written nothing, and yet the words are here before me, invisible ink of black and white. I see them through the lens of my own limitation even when vast knowing taps my shoulder. To look in its direction is to acknowledge the ease. But what of the journey, the stretches of hills and valleys where in the dark of night I have found them lacking? Words. They always come calling. I hear them in the wee hours like chants by Buddhist monks in solitude longing for peace. They are there. Fireflies dancing before me in tune with beat, in beat with tune. The sun shines and they fade. Illusion. What of the mirror reflects smoke when I hold truth tangibly in the palm of my hand? With a breeze it blows, yet there is no wind. Breath. That is what commitment takes: a single breath of continual breathing until something has been written and the smoke is no longer seen in the mirror, and illusions fade that truth might be revealed. This is why I write, and even when the ink runs dry the words come calling.

Be gentle



If I had to crawl on my hands and knees journeying to you that my salvation be made real, I would. I have. And when I’ve touched the very soles of your feet that I might be cleansed, I was. What of this life takes me away even when the soul of me knows truth? How I forget what needs to be remembered. How I lose sight of my own seeing even when the path is made clear.

Be gentle. This is my mantra.

What of compassion seems so far when pointed with my finger in the direction of the within?

Be gentle. This is my mantra.

I am here again, bareboned. My hands and face to the floor crawling toward my salvation. I reach and the tears fall as my eyes set upon your hand reaching back.

Movement in the direction. Truth.


In every moment do I change. Growth brings me closer to the source, closer to the highest aspect of my being. There I am free.

No other place.

Where have I gone when I leave, and to where do I return when I am again consciously aware?


It’s like an unknown departing. In an instant do I move away from the center, and when the walls around me seemingly collapse, and the peace that once was feels no longer, do I realize having left.


Slowly turning again toward the within in order to reconnect.


The center has always been my heaven no matter where in life I stand. Yet when I sit do I come again to know peace. With eyes closed and open to the light, I inhale a breath of gratitude. I exhale a breath of release.


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