There will be no monuments to my battles. No records of my trials. No one will see the monsters I went out to meet. No one will remember their size or ferocity. Stepping into fear When I woke up the dragon was already there. I have woken up to so many mornings – days that end only to turn into another, growing into weeks, marking months – with a pain in my chest and a knowledge of...
The mind is a morass of sensations that fling themselves against the canvas, splattering their reception by laws of attraction and rejection. The observer may sit patiently, never being moved only moving, never seen only seeing, never the watcher and never the watched. Or the observer may be cast outside by the tremors and insistence of its subject matter. Forces of delight pull the observer...
The eightfold path is a destination of liberation, a trail to liberation, and an intention to a direction that is to liberation. I have only wet the soles of my feet at the shore of right view, gazing at an ocean whose depths promise suffocation more obviously than freedom. The architecture of right view strains the acrobat inside, casting spotlights on enormous edifices filled with niches to be...
You are welcome to sit by the fire, its flames dance in the rhythm that aches for freedom inside us, and the rumble of the consuming fuel echoes the debt of time that strikes at us in unrelenting syncopation. You are welcome to sit by the fire, I am telling myself a story. It is not my story. Here it begins. When you wake up in the morning, you are you, and there is no doubt. When you lay down to...
A memory. I wake up and the dragon is already there. There are stab wounds in my chest; shards of fractured glass drifting in the circuits of my heart and invading its walls. Today there is a scratch marking my belly. It is deep in some places, and an admixture of acid and a heat that is hot but never warm. I don’t know if I woke the dragon up, but I have known – many times before...
A warmth that expands and demands and drives steam into the mind’s chambers. A hot wind carrying flakes of brittle rust, curling around the chest; abrasive. A tube carrying ease and motion, behind the heart between the lungs, strangled and pinched and squeezed. A driver of power, planning and scheduling confidence and assurance and recurring pride. Schemes and checkmates and victory parades...
The search for answers is fueled by curiosity, directed by questions, and treads along a pavement of non-delineated possibility. I have turned to Buddhism to learn about meditation. I meditate to unfurl the self, clean the glass darkly, and strengthen the mind. The Buddhists promise only an understanding of suffering and a means to its end, though there are many milestones along this road. I wish...
The topology of progress is frustrating in the revelations of its unexpected troughs, and heights that transcend themselves into plateaus. The revelation of progress is frustration, proving itself only by the quagmire of unfamiliar stretches, yet (do not fear, for) they hide in their shadows easy slopes of epiphanies spurring euphoria. New lessons earn new vistas promising fresh territories for...
Right view is a way of knowing what it is that we experience. It is approached by a collaboration of labelling and interpretation. To know samma ditthi (right view) means to know that we exist in a maelstrom of a phenomenon that includes choices and that their relationships and unfolding are manifestations of a calculus of conditioning along a river of time and suffering. Autobiography I read the...
Editorial notes: This post was found in ‘Draft’ mode in the original blog and may be incomplete. It is published here in its original state. It was last updated on 23/01/2016. Perspective of samma ditthi[I] Right view is an achievement of comprehension, regarding the nature of experience. It is the answer to the question, “What is reality”, and also “What is the...
