You are the void.
Doesn’t everyone want to wake up? That’s what’s so strange to me.
- the model was what they searched for
it was their own thought process which kept them from seeing
I say all I want to do is write and now I sit to write and I prefer to sit quietly. Not add more sounds to my mind in the forms of words, thoughts arising, making noise.
Yes, as usual, the fan is blowing overhead. Tonight it’s on a higher setting and I can hear the rough brown pages of Be Here Now rubbing together, page 75 scratching at page 76 (it was their own thought process which kept them from seeing . . . ).
And so could I possibly be falling into innocence? In so many ways my attitude is almost jaded, scowling, shaking my head. Does the ego swell before exiting? Before thinning?Ah! Assuming that jaded, scowling and head-shaking is ego! Could it not be awake?
I have the urge to try to make it all happen, whatever it is. I got up from writing to lock the door behind Andrew as he heads out to a metal show (always perfect timing on the nights I’m staying home to write), and as I came back over toward the couch, my mind went to a punch list of everything else I think I should be doing after I finish writing this (write a newsletter, work on new subscription project for my column, should, should, should). And then on the heels of that is: “How am I supposed to do everything I want to do and also exercise and eat well and rest and quiet my mind and and and???”
So I just sit back down, breathe, type.
I straddle these worlds: mind (thought processes) and . . . what do you call the other one? Is it enlightenment?
I don’t use that word (sorry) lightly.
I don’t think it means what I thought it meant. Ha! I imagined I was hearing critters rustling in the leaves outside my front door and felt my heart rate and breath quicken and then realized, it’s more pages of BHN chirping, like a cricket rubbing its legs together.
YOU ARE ENLIGHTENED
What’s there to be done is done whether I have a thought about it or not. I’m sound asleep to think I’m – that is, little Carin – the source of any of this. It’s a funky dance.
There is no I unless it’s the great I. The great Eye. I am. But “I” am not. Carin is a costume character convinced that her story is the real deal. Like an actor in a play, not knowing he’s in a play. My skin looks good. My belly changes shape. I had a headache last night. Breathing goes through this body, out my nostrils, in my nostrils.
I think about these other characters writing here. My new buddies. My friend Blake out there, so young to love Jerry, finding feathers like the rubber snakes I found on tour. I think of you all and hear a SMASH! like a plate of glass breaking, like when Superman re-routes that nuclear missile into space and inadvertently releases Zod and his pals from the Phantom Zone.
I’m digging the metaphor. Smash ourselves out of the sleeping ego. Release from the Phantom Zone. Ahhhh . . . fly in space. Freedom. Awake. Awake. Awake.
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