the principle of change

Whenever the statement "everything changes" is heard, most people nod their head in complete agreement to its apparent truth. However, a closer look at peoples' reaction reveals that their understanding of the statement is only casual, and directed at the most superficial evidence of change. For example, take the case of the death of a close relative. Most people are shocked by the death of someone close. This reaction is true even if the close relative was near death for some months or years. When death does come it is experienced as a sudden, immediate event having a specific time and place. The most ostensive part of change seems to capture our attention. In this case, we notice the obvious change, from a living relative to a dead relative. However, the inevitability of change as an on-going continuous process somehow escapes our awareness. The moment life is spawned on earth, so too is its death. We therefore, should not be surprised when death comes. Change, it seems, is noticed immediately by its overt physical symptoms, and is not given primary consideration as an integral part of all on-going events. Events happen, changes occur, yet our attention is focused only on the most outward aspect of the event, and not on the underlying process. In truth, nothing on earth has real duration, for nothing remains without change for even one billionth part of a second.


The understanding of this truth was brought to my mind while riding a bicycle. As I was riding one day, I was forced to the edge of the sidewalk I was riding on by a pedestrian. My tires rolled over a large bulge in the concrete. I was nearly thrown off. I stopped, got off the bike, and went to see what exactly it was I had rolled over. It was a large crack in the sidewalk, caused by the roots of a tree. As my eyes followed the crack to the tree, it suddenly occurred to me how changeable everything is, and how little attention I give to that fact. Here was a slab of concrete, solid, rock hard, laid with the intention of permanence. Here too were the tree's roots, extending and growing, knowing nothing of permanence. Then little by little, year after year, the tree's roots pushed up and cracked the concrete. An apparently relentless effort, yet not fully noticeable until the concrete was cracked and raised above its original poured level. How is it that the pervasiveness of change is not readily recognized?

The reason for this weak reaction to the processes of change is mainly due to the limited quality of our senses. Our normal vision, for instance, is limited to within a certain range of light waves. We hear within a specific decibel range. We taste, touch, and smell, all within a specific range of flavors, tactile sensations, and odors. These given limitations function as a kind of clearing house filtering out all sensations not precisely corresponding to the normal range reception. The result of this filtering process products a common or standard range of experience patterns, and their accompanying state of consciousness. For instance, we awake each morning at approximately the same time. We wash with the same smelling, feeling, soap and water. We drive the same smelling, feeling car, over the same route, through the same landscape, day in, day out. Usually our job consists of doing a number of the same procedures, over and over, in the same place and at approximately the same time of day. These routinely repeated events have a common or standard sensual quality to them, and thus are perceived as changeless or static.

In addition, to this kind of standard, sensual quality, are other aspects of our human perception that combine to help create a common noun out of the verb to change. There is the ability of our conscious mind to isolate specific events, thereby framing in a small detail of a much larger whole. There is the ability of our memory to hold whole, part, or a series of specific events and to recall them at will in a form many times more static than originally perceived-something like taking a photograph, where one infinitesimal moment of our dynamic, fluid world is frozen in a solid, static form.

Change is not only operative in our material world, but also in all the more subtle realms of our world. To illustrate, suppose you suddenly were blessed with extraordinary capabilities of vision, millions of times keener than anything known. Now focus your super-vision on that woman standing in front of you. See her blond hair, light complexion, blue eyes, and red shoes. Now adjust your vision to see through her skin to the musculature. Notice how her muscles wrap, connect, and inner-connect. Notice the continuous change in the tenuity of her muscles as they adjust to gravity. Now adjust your vision to microscopic. See the armies of bacteria, continuously signaling, digesting, stimulating, discharging, and absorbing. See the red blood cells speeding through arteries, giving nourishment-constant movement, constant change. Now adjust to molecular vision. See her molecular configurations and their interactions. Now adjust to atomic vision. See the oscillations of the atomic action, the speed of light movement of the electrons. Now adjust to sub-atomic vision. See the vibrational wave pattern, then the particle, alternate, seemingly at random. Now adjust your vision back to normal. Here we see a human being once again in her most dense, material form. It is only with the realization of the plurality of realities surrounding this human form, and their complete occupation with the process of change, that we begin to grasp the eminent presents and action of the force of change. Of all concepts known about the Cosmos, the concept of change is, ironically, the closest to being an absolute constant.

golden youth or silver age

Vitality left me, I am awkward and slow,
crooked appendages shake to and fro.
Cease the day, cease the night, for the
young that's old age's plight.
Decrepit body, features sunken to my skull,
bellows of skin hang from jaw.
White hair and skin; I look like someone
who was bleached from within.
Aah! Sweet youth! Dashing in all directions:
bouncy, bubbly, brisk, bright and brass,
all pink and rosy cheeked, tight cropped
head, sparkling eyes, thin waisted, tight
skinned.
Oh! To be young again.

BULL!

I'd rather white hair, than a full crop
set on a corkscrew head. Scattered brained,
hardly trained, standing around in a stoup.
My white hair a sign. It's a compliment for
solving life's predicaments. With each
solution a new sprout of silver. A brilliant
dome, a silver star.
Bright, brass, prime hay? To bright to ask
for advice, to brass to use it if given,
and to prime for anything approaching the
sublime.
I have served my time in youth and never go
back except to collect a memory.
If you think old age is for napping
just ask Charlie Chaplin. Not an old bull
with a crumpled horn, but a silvered eagle,
soaring from it's ground history, steely eyed,
keenly aware of where and how to use life's
energy, and yet graciously available to counsel
any or all who would listen.
If I had a choice, "Golden Youth or Silver Age"? I'd
have silver with no hesitation.
Sliver glitters as gold, only in a different light.

withdrawal

I'm leaving behind the rest of my kind, and removing myself from the race.
I'm washing clean society's scene, and rinsing my mouth of bad taste.
Withdrawing from muzzled mouths, machine-gunning blank words with each round;
From the printed accounts of gruesome, terrible crime;
From the noise and the dirt and the slum and the grime.
I'm leaving this ocean of bullshit far, far behind.

As the earth spins in orbital glide, the sun shades its back and lights its front side.
Untolled lives end with the night. Untolled lives begin with the light.
Life seems to float on a pool of extremes;
Flowing from best to worst or worst to best, with occasional leveling.

I'll not be swayed. I am determined to leave, and once gone, there'll be no weeping
on my shirt sleeve.
Withdrawing from an economic mutation: freeze enterprise, castlepolism, and press-
chasing power; from increase the exports, decrease the imports, tariff davenports,
duty-free whiskey quarts; from inflate the dollar, deflate its value; tax all the income
who is the victim?; from grow with the country, consume a T.V.; use a lawyer regularly to gain a 3% increase in G.N.P. ; from inflation, taxation and money orientation.
I am taking leave of it all, and I'll burn my credit cards as a symbol of withdrawal.

As the earth spins in orbital glide, the sun shades its back and lights its front side.
Untolled lives end with the night. Untolled lives begin with the light.
Necro or bio, dispositions of mind; where place the difference?
The decision is mine.

I'll not bend. My mind is made up. I'm withdrawing from a political circus that
features corrupt; from the codes and statutes obstructing my time; from the courts and their justice, mentally blind; from the in-forms, the out-forms, the forms for forming forms,
and the formed forms from forms.
Take all the forms, roll into a wad, then blast it into orbit and form a new moon.
I'm leaving, leaving, I tell you, and it isn't to soon.

As the earth spins in orbital glide, the sun shades its back and lights its front side.
Untolled lives end with the night. Untolled lives begin with the light.
There are flowers that open full bloom to the sun and close tight to the moon;
Accommodating the change of day in a most thought way.

I am leaving! And when I am ..."safe in my sylvan home, I'll tread on the pride of
Greece and Rome." Safe I'll be, without ambiguity. Safe I'll be, separated from
society. Safe I'll be, withdrawn from that which annoys me.

Egad! I am a fool. To escape is mad. I am only accepting the good part of the world, while withdrawing from the bad.
I'll use flower wisdom; accept life's extremes, then accommodate the differences
as my awareness deems.

I am going to stay; mingle with my kind. Accept all behavior as human and where I can, adjust and refine.

life's energies---integration

LIFE'S ENERGIES


New modes and aspects of being prick
my pores, as if a burning field of life's
energies engulfed my core, in a fiery,
sparkling, blue aura.
And I, like a magnet to iron files, attract
these forces in subtle patterns.
Insight bombards my brain, knowledge
seeps through my frame, as residue from a
skyrocket after explosion, falling star like
through the night.
Its all movement, a swirling, spinning, blended
and mixed, simply and naturally.
Mass measures of energy are released, yet spent
without the feeling of effort. Time runs but lays
no burden.
So much to being, moment to moment.
So much to accept, moment to moment.
So much to understand, moment to moment.
Yet an order to apparent chaos.
A life time of order in confusion.



INTEGRATION


The golden faced, reclining Moon
nestling in the fleece of a generous cloud,
issued beams of golden light to capture
neighboring clouds and ignite them into
ghostly shapes, against the blue-black night.
The stars gathered up in various tinctures of
twinkle, set a magical tempo: moon, clouds,
sky, stars, dancing in perfect rhythm.
My fate was to witness this Cosmic harmony,
feel the pang of my disconnected soul, and
yearn for integration.
How far am I from reclining Moon?
How far am I from generous cloud?
How far am I from twinkling star?
How far am I from me?

know thyself

Above the lintel at the Greek Temple of Apollo, at Delphi was a carved phrase, Gnothi Seauton, "Know Thyself." It was thought to have originated from a response by the oracle's priestess to Chilon of Sparta's question, "What is best for man?" This injunction wasn't intended as a marketing ploy aimed at attracting new customers or some kind of koanic riddle. Plutrach, an ancient Greek historian, and at one time a caretaker-priest of the Apollo Temple said the phrase was a salutation addressed by the God ( Apollo ), but that it implied far more. It also seems to be an admonition and a reminder to all that entered, that within the operations of their own being lie the universal principles of life. Those principles truly illuminated by the wisdom of knowing the universal workings, relationships, and intermingling of all the forces and elements of their lives, would also know, by correspondence and analogy, their workings, relationships, and interminglings of the cosmos, because the same forces and elements operate in both fields. The phrase then acts as a salutation, an admonition, and a pathway all for the purpose of pointing out to human beings the direction towards spiritual progress.


For most people the phrase, "Know thyself" escapes their understanding, usually by a dullness in awareness of relevant self knowledge, or more precisely ignorance. Most people do search for spiritual truths, but with 'blinders on.' Blinders on, is a horse racing term. Blinders are put on the horse to narrow the horse's view, so as to decrease the possible obstacles and dangers the horse may see. People who search for spiritual truths with blinders-on, look exclusively for those truths within the mundane world; the world of shifting sensations and emotions. Most people believe that their identity and purpose can be found within that world. Ask any person the question, "Who are you?" and invariably the answer comes through a litany of seeming, worldly, pertinent facts: "I am Randle Redman, 6ft, 175lbs, brown hair and eyes, Caucasian, Irish/German, right-handed, Chicagoan, 20 years old, junior at Boston U., athlete, majoring in Bus. Adm., Catholic, Democrat,..." etc., etc. All this particular information combined, draws a composite picture of the entity, Randle Redman. What is more, we can track this particular entity through time and pinpoint him in space. At 3:45pm, Central Standard Time, Dec. 24, 03, Randle Redman, is in his parent's home in Chicago, Il. As a matter of fact, his movement through all phases of cultural life can easily be compiled, recorded, and plotted: marital status, financial status, health status, educational status, work status, etc., etc. This manner of calculating human identity reminds me of a poem called the "Unknown Citizen" written by W.H. Auden. The poem describes, in a satirical manner with ironic overtones, the obituary of an unknown state "hero."


               "He was found by the Bureau of Statistics to be
               One against whom there was no official complaint,
               And all the reports on his conduct agree
               That, in the modern sense of the old-fashioned word, he was a
               saint...
               ...When there was peace, he was for peace, when there was war,
               he went...
               ...Was he free? Was he happy? The question is absurd:
               Had anything been wrong, we should certainly have heard."


The poet makes us take a critical look at this kind of "real" and acceptable information, even though the unknown citizen, ..."had everything necessary to the Modern Man," and ask, 'Are those identifiable facts the most viable measures of the true essence and value of our lives or are there other more subtle, more enduring characteristics that would present a truer rendering of our lives?'


Under a closer scrutiny, the "real" information used to define ourselves quickly brakes down. Randal may decide to change his given name, his handwriting will change, his age increases every second, certainly his weight and height will change, and according to scientists, Randal is not atomically the same even for one second, and that every seven years of his life the atoms and molecules of his body have been replaced. What appears to us as solid and real is actually in a state of constant change or to use a word coined by ancient Greek philosophers, "flux." This state of flux is a universal principle inherent in all manifested things. Thus every thing is always in flux, coming together and falling apart. Obvious evidence for this principle literally looks us in the face every day. Most of us view our face in a mirror several times a day: when we shave, put make-up or comb our hair, etc. That face that we view in the mirror's reflection is not the same face we viewed at age seven, fourteen, twenty-one, or even yesterday. Our outward appearance is continuously changing over time. Here is a dramatic case in point: years ago I read a story about a young women's experience while imprisoned inside one of the Nazi's death camps. She survived four years before being liberated. After liberation she had an opportunity to view herself in a mirror, an experience she had not had in four years. When she first saw her image in the mirror she truly thought that the reflection she was seeing was of her mother, not herself. She could not immediately recognize her own reflection because of the tremendous physical changes that had taken place over those four years of imprisonment. Self conceptually, she still identified herself as a young girl, with all her youthful, physical attributes.


We can only keep ourselves the same or "real" because of our mind's ability to conceptualize- to create a mind picture of ourselves in relationship with our outer world. This capacity to conceptualize allows us to establish a virtual persona or ego of ourselves from our sense feedback. Our visual consciousness, gives us a sense of ourselves; our feeling and touch, gives us a sense of ourselves; our memories, thoughts, and actions gives us a sense of ourselves; our body and its pleasures and pain, gives us a sense of ourselves, but the bases for this reality of ourselves is a mental fabrication. We often hear people say, "I am not myself today" or "That wasn't me. I am usually happy and engaging." If that wasn't you today, than who are you today? Are you one or two? The self that is you today or the self that is making the statement about not being yourself? Which self is the "real" self?


When we search for our "real" identity, the one we feel is happy and engaging, we find a plurality of emotional and psychological conceptual selves, all appended to our persona, any one of whom can appear in time and space if the conditions are right. We can, and usually do, spend our entire lives trying to create a solid, "real" self by tying our sense of self to our bodies, to our physical environment, and to the material things we collect and attach to; a task that consumes an enormous amount of our time and energy. No matter how long we search or how much energy we expend or how many things we collect we will not be able to find a solid and substantial self. The same is true for the world around us. We have a sense that everything is as it appears, but if we lift the veil of appearance, we catch a fleeting glimpse at the tenuity of our ego -life and the world we live in.


Do we have a real identity? And if we do, where and how can we find it? If we look closely at the criterion Randal used to identify himself, we see that they have at their core various degrees of impermanence. If Randal is to truly identify himself he must use criterion of a more universal and permanent nature. The great mystics and sages of ancient and modern times unanimously testify that our true identity can be found in the discovery of our divine nature. This divine nature, they say, is a god-spark infused within our being by the Infinite, which is the emanating , principle source of the entire Universe. Over the course of history, they have called this god-spark by many names: the Christ within, the Buddha within, the Krishna within, the Universal Consciousness, etc. In the New Testament, Colossians 24-27, St. Paul states clearly and plainly that it his task to "fully proclaim Christ's message, which is a secret God hid through all past ages from all mankind, but has now revealed to his people... God's plan is to make known his secret to his people... And the secret is that Christ is in you, which means that you will share in the glory of God"... This is truly good news! "Christ in you" does not however, mean that a historical Christ can be conceptually pressed into your thought stream, like a virtual Christ, or the actual spirit of the historical Christ possess you through some mystical use of his name or by some ritual, but that you as a human being have an innate, Christ principle, essence, which is always present within your being. Therefore, you need only to lift the veil of ignorance, fear. and the attachment to sensation to see and to know your true self.
In the Shvetashvatara Upanishad ( part of the spiritual text of India) it says:
            ...In the depths of meditation, sages
            Saw within themselves the Lord of Love,
            Who dwells in the heart of every creature
            Deep in the hearts of all dwells , hidden
            Behind the gunas (essential qualities of
            differentiated matter) of law, energy,
            And inertia. He is One. He it is.
           Who rules over time, space, and causality.

Christhood, Buddhahood, Krishnahood, is our native state. We have lost our way playing out karma through the Great Drama of Evolution, and it is our ultimate purpose to find our way back Home. The Bible says, "Be still, and know that I am God." Gautama the Buddha says, "Though one were to conquer a million men in battle, that man who conquers himself is the greater victor."

anthology of family

A group that shares, one unto the other,

experiences portraying, loyalty, trust,

strength, respect, enjoyment, and pain,

sprang from a primitive game. The

enviorment directed; the group inacted

the eternal theme, survival. Gathering

instinctively in what is now called a family.

Male and female urged to mate, so the

species could propagate. The group binds

tightened, gravity like, pulling relatively. A

seemingly infinite process, from the first

living cores, to the present nuclei, a malinia

of suns and moons spun around the earth.

As ripe, red blood rushes through vessels

spawning corpuscles that light your inner

being. So the family process produces

prophetic knowledge to sustain your outer

scene. First lesson is to gain need gratification

through caring intervention. Flailing arms,

kicking feet, mouth wide open crying for

something to eat. "Patient baby, mother's

waiting for the bottle to heat." Lips cornered

up, eyes reflection, father's coming in baby's

direction. See your father, strong with a gentle

hand, that what its like to be a man. See your

mother, soft with a caring smile, that what its

like to be a woman. See their model, behind

them you mimicly follow. Lessoning comes too,

from the dinning table. "Jenny Fuller, our next

door neighbor, whose father is that spectacled tailor,

always helped her parents, always stayed even with

social tenants, married a rich and prosperous

fella; hail the community's Cinderella.

Now family is more to me then knowledge gained

from its company. This occurrence will elaborate

what I mean to communicate. I opened the back

porch door, instantly appearing, a vivid scene that

burned into my memory. The Sun's, golden, brilliant

rays, dripping everywhere from a light blue haze; Ma,

attentive, hands stretched high, hanging white sheets,

billowing with corners flapping, against a soft and

gentle sky. In that eternal tick, I and the Universe

danced a syncopative kick; an extraordinary experience,

a breathless testimony to the wholeness of my

sanctuary, ecstasy at five.

These words nice that sing of family, but how far can

a branch grow on a single tree. Stifled growth,

contorting from brother and sister branches for

aspiring chances. To be the root and trunk and branch

and leaf, is what personality conceives. To fly to the

top most star, unencumbered. Why else are we uniquely

numbered?

Unique is true, but a number gains value from its context

in sequence. What would a twenty two be without a

twenty three? Thus in that stellar, vacumbed trip, a

lingering comptrail will cut and rip, leaving a light years

span between the traveler and his klan. Then when

isolated from life support who will caringly listen to

your troubled report?

Let me grow amid brother and sister branches,

encumbered, but feeling strength in caring numbers,

gaining wheeling power, for dealing with the frustrations

and complications, of life's peregrinations. Like the sap

squirting through a tree, the juice of life is the family.

the fall of the leaf

It's Autumn, the atmosphere is filled with
colors, reds, yellows, golds, the sent of dried leaves,
wood burning, fireplaces, and cool, crisp air.

As the Sun moves south, taking its light to the
Winter Solstice, all life prepares for its Winter
sleep.

I watch, as each and every, leaf drops off from their
life source and slowly float, twisting and turning, not
in fear, but in joyful surrender, in meeting their finial
resting place on the earth. In my mind, I hear, "there
is a time for everything."

Their life cycle played out to the absolute final end, from
their budding, to their photosynethic, green, to expressing
their true colors.

What more can be asked for?