Free Me Corporeally

Death Awareness

I recently just finished Jed McKenna’s third book “Spiritual Warfare”. I have been consuming his triology non-stop for the last couple of months. He has helped me in ways I could’ve never fathomed. I feel eternally grateful to him and the person who showed me his books. Seriously. They’re amazing. 

Anyways his whole deal is basically about waking up. He talks about how 99.9999% of people are asleep in the dream-state. That the world is basically a poorly scripted mellow drama and everyone is playing their role without realizing that it’s all fake. It’s really hard to sum up in a paragraph, but his basic assertion is that all beliefs and concepts are false and that the only thing that is true is the underlying is-ness, that which cannot be divided further. Therefore, our roles such as student, daughter, mother, beautiful, angry, intelligent, etc are all false scripts, roles that we play because we do not realize that they are so.

We are prisoners of the constructs handed down to us by society and our families and the only way out is to basically chew our own legs off. To say fuck all of this and go set out to burn every belief from our minds until we are no longer deluded into thinking anything false is true.

In short, I agree with him. This way of looking at the world has helped me profoundly, though I find myself not yet ready to completely cut myself from my matrix. I realize that I am filled with untruths and that maya (the force of delusion) animates all that I am. In my most conscious moments I am completely connected and in tune with all that is. But those pass, and yes, I am not yet enlightened. I still have roles I desire, and dreams I wish to manifest and I am trying to convince myself that that is not wrong. The funny thing is though that the more you convince yourself that all is in alignment and nothing is wrong, the more you are outside of the dream, because the dream is propelled by fear of wrongness. Fear of the unmanifested space of no self. Without this constant, fire of fear burning underneath us, the constant projection of falseness- wrongness, there is no self. Oh, oh, oh the irony. It burns! 

Now, back to the title of this post. Death Awareness. After reading hundreds of pages of this man’s work and him basically asserting the same thing from as many directions as he can (because it is not about WHAT he is saying, but how he can point you TO the truth- that which cannot be divided further), he introduces something which seems completely new to me. Death Awareness. 

What does this mean? Well,  basically that death is your best friend and ally in awakening. That the dream-state rests on the belief that death is this abstract thing in the future which does not concern the present. Or perhaps that death isn’t real, and that there is something MORE real waiting after we “die”. I totally relate to this. I think in order to cope with the vapidity of life, people are placing their bets in death, as though on the other side everything is more complete and here were just learning little lessons and biding our time. 

I have no idea what happens after we die, how could I? That said, I think it would seriously enrich my life to keep the reality of death always within reach. I mean I act like I know I will live a long life, but I really don’t. My mortality is the only thing I really can be sure of, and in that there is so much freedom. If death walks beside me and is the only thing that is true, it could help me open myself up to life.

One can only exist while the other survives, and in this there is an urgency that could help propel the human race out of its lethargy. We spend our lives in our heads remembering how we got off on our baser senses and waiting for the times when we’ll do it again. Drinking, fucking, reading, talking. All the things we appreciate are indeed beautiful, but how much more could there be if we aligned ourselves with the universe, realizing that nothing is wrong and everything flows in infinity? I can only begin to fathom what that would mean, but I have a feeling it means a lot more than wondering if Jimmy is gonna take me out to dinner and spread my legs later this weekend. 

Sorry to be crass, but really? What are we working for here? Birth, grow, enjoy, label, worry, work, die? There’s a lot of greatness in the funhouse of Maya, but Jesus, there’s potential for so much more. And how do we find the impetus for seeking out a limitless life? Well by realizing that each moment is fucking amazing and could be our last, right? It’s not morbid, it’s common fucking sense. 

And here comes the real fucking nugget of this whole rant. To me, death seems like a bad hair day compared to a life un-lived. I do not fear death, not in the slightest.  But I do fear waking up in a hospital bed one day old and sick and cloudy, wondering how the fuck I got there and why I let the heaviness of life lead me into stasis just like I saw my fore bearers do.

I see the people who came before me that are supposed to be my role models. I see them growing old and lethargic. I see their decrepit cells, and their metastatic resentment. I see their addictions temporarily relieving them from their un-dealt-with pain. It is a sad fact that most people in this world look forward to one thing and one thing only: their drug of choice. They despise their life in an aware and pure state, because there is so much pain not yet purged, so they drug themselves into a stupor after working at a job they couldn’t give a fuck about. And let me remind you that I’m not just talking substances, but anything we use as a distraction: tv, sex, drama, meditation, over-eating, video games, cell phones etc.  Some are better than others, yes, but if you’re using something to ignore the pain and hatred of your situation you are biding time until your death by way of your own little distracted drugged world. 

Woo life, it’s great! For zombies… 

This, my friends, is no fucking way to live. 

So maybe give death a minute or two of your time. You are going to die, that much you know. You actually truly know this. Wisdom and truth right there. Pure and golden truth. Use it, or go look at your future in the stasis of pretty much everyone who came before you. 

EDIT:

And of course I write this and then stumble across this article. 

http://jezebel.com/5913942/how-to-feel-when-an-impossibly-promising-22+year+old-passes-away

A 22 year old yale grad (my same age/same school year/same passion (writing)) just died in a car accident and her future is now non-existent. Does this sadden me? No. It reminds me. Of what? Well of everything I wrote above and that as I continually align with the universe it gives me clues that shows me I’m on the right path (like me running into this article right after writing this). 

“But I think the best lesson to learn from her untimely death is that 99.9% of the shit we worry about every day is meaningless, because everything we have — all that we have — can be taken away from us at any second. Being jealous is a waste of time. Appreciate everything you’ve got”

Ya know

You’re getting older when you decide to stay at home, work on your resume and go on a run instead of going out dancing and drinking wit cho frenzzz.

At least I’ve got Katie Kate’s sweet beats to keep me companyyy

YOUNG/OLD person foreverrrr

Back

The questioning was over.

The answer was obsolete.

For I had begged to know

Where I would naturally go.

The heart of your disconnection

Needs time to breathe.

You peer at my projection

But I am not as you perceive.

You fostered this moment,

This space expanding to envelop time,

And in the stillness I walked back there.

 Home. A place that is and was wholly mine. 

All is Truth

“Meditating among liars and retreating sternly into myself, I see 
that there are really no liars or lies after all, 
And that nothing fails its perfect return, and that what are called 
lies are perfect returns, 
And that each thing exactly represents itself and what has preceded it, 
And that the truth includes all, and is compact just as much as 
space is compact, 
And that there is no flaw or vacuum in the amount of the truth—but 
that all is truth without exception; 
And henceforth I will go celebrate any thing I see or am, 
And sing and laugh and deny nothing.”

-Walt Whitman

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consciouscreation:

Photo-oriented

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Slay thoughts

“Thought must be divided against itself before it can come to any knowledge of itself” - Huxley

“To hold a pen is to be at war” -Voltaire

Wake up

Let’s take torches to our minds and rest safe in the knowledge that truth doesn’t burn.

Night Stand, Night Fall

We chanted Bowie covers, dribbled fractured French,

Sipped cheap wine, and wondered in the morning how

The IKEA lamp light and silly jokes went down so well.

I guess it wasn’t about genius or ego, it was about getting off.

It’s not easy to pry oneself from the matted sheets, and face

Unknown genitals, dirty clothes, and dirtier dignity.

But sometimes you have to give it all up in a haze, if not for fun,

Than just to remember that humdrum stability is actually quite nice.

I’m really just the silly one, that likes to swim around in pain,

Go over the details a few too many times, and wonder

If I am crazy, or just plain dumb. But that’s not even it,

It never was about them, or the buzz, just me, really.

Sometimes a trip turns into a fall, into a wound, a bruise,

And magnifying all the little pained pieces, each step of a devolving night,

Seems better than letting it all recede quietly before it impresses

Indelible notches that can be used to measure the wine next time. 

Girl

You’re not as weak as you’re acting. 

Creative constipation

Sucks. 

Really though, it’s been a flurry of blank word docs lately, and I just can’t take it. I have creative little babies that need to be birthed! So, I figured whining about it here, and reflecting on some recent realizations might help. 

I wish I could hold all of the wisdom I have in my clearest moments, and carry that with me everywhere. I wish I had a pen or typewriter or lap top every time I let the moment flow so I could wrap them into pretty phrases.  What is a writer but a gift wrapper? We take each little moment, image, experience, gift and tie them up in ribbons and bows. Am I being too flowery? Most always :) 

Even right now, I am getting frustrated writing this. Things are not flowing well and I feel like my thoughts are just ridiculously disorganized. And the translation from thought into actual words is lacking at best. 

I guess the truth is that I’m finally at the point in writing where I am fully doubting myself and my potential. I think when I realized I liked writing I was enveloped in this protective bubble that was my new-born excitement from the profound (and much overdue) purging of all my insights into something productive. What an excellent high! I was ripe and ready. 

Now I am realizing that while I have many things to say, I have a lot of work to do to hone my poetry. My organization is often in shambles and the way I think is very different from most people. I live in a messy nest of abstraction, and nearly everyone who reads my shit is lost. 

I guess I kind of like it that way, but then again I kind of don’t. There are so many motivations for writing that I am often torn on how much of myself I should give over to others. Who am I writing for? I’ve asked myself too many times, and the answer is always both. You and me. I write to explore and I write to illuminate. I write to hold balance in image, tone, and rhythm. I write to send off all of the little clots of energy I foster in my gut. To send them out into the world, hopeful, that someone can make use of them and pass on the torch, or maybe I am just glad that their energy has been lifted from me. With each purged moment I feel not only lighter, but fuller. It’s a paradox, and it’s incredible. And I want to drink it up.

I had the most excellent and liberating thought on the bus today. I was hungover, tired, and feeling fucking fabulous (it was sunny! people were happy! I was off work!). I had just had a slurpee which was a fucking solid decision and was listening to RJD2’s “Ghostwriter” an epic song (seriously, walk down the street to the shit). And boom, there was the obvious and most stunning realization. “The world is my playground” and dear God, if that’s not true I really don’t know what is. We are the universe experiencing itself my friends! We are, we are, we are!! I promise you, we are. There is no ultimate morality, or plan or entity in the sky. We are swimming through a beautiful and omnipotent landscape of infinite possibility just because we are. We experience beauty, and then boredom, and then loneliness, and then relief, and then anger, and then sex, and then, and then, and then. Our lives are a long strand of experiences and we are always in the right place, doing the right thing, because that is what we are doing! Not only is it all perfect, but the more you realize that nothing is wrong, and all you are here to do is to experience, you can really let loose and enjoy! And you can keep pushing your trajectory into the realm of fun and fullness. 

For some reason humanity is fueled by fear, the fear that something is “wrong” but that conceptual notion is just as silly as Maria Bamford’s voice. Why have humans forgotten the obvious? That thoughts aren’t “selves” they are just thoughts, that the universe is not explainable in a concept, that, that that. I could whine all day, thereby contradicting everything I just asserted. But really, it’s ALL good. Nothing is ever wrong. Ever. It just can’t be. Because that’s a concept. What is wrong on an infinite landscape, really? A dark little spot? Like were all gonna rest in some dark little spot for eternity and be “wrong” because millions of people had little thoughts that they believed? Jeez Louise, humanities bar really needs to be raised (ha look at what I just did… made a statement based on the assumption that something is wrong…). The concept of wrongness is the real opiate of the masses, and the more I unfold out of the kind of a mindset, the more I just fucking enjoy anything that comes my way. Drop my iPhone and shatter the screen? Sure! Cringe when I drunkenly act like a retard? Oops! Sing a song and send it to my mom? Hell yeah! haha, and on and on and on. Further, next, further, next. Next, next, next. What is life, but what’s next? 

Also speaking of singing. I really did record myself singing Lana Del Rey’s Million Dollar Man and send it to my mom. She said she played it all day, and she left me a voicemail of her listening to it (and quasi singing along). She is my first fan, and I am eternally grateful to have such a badass and supportive mother. Serious universe, fucking thank you for this gem. I could not be more grateful today for her. And guess what, tomorrow I might feel completely the opposite? That’s life. It comes and comes and comes and we can’t stop it, because we are it. Mmmyess. 

I FEEL TEN POUNDS LIGHTER. *flush* ;)