Friday, August 7, 2009


If there's an appeal to meditative equipoise it's freedom from endless rounds, an entry into the fifth point. When what was, is and will be are recognized as mere appearances to the mind, the self no longer goes among them, blown here and there by their seduction and revulsion, self-deceived, starving, enraged by the phantoms of false promise. In the theatre of the heart, the incipient, emergent, manifest and dissolute are read for their poetics and not experienced as a cruel wheel the self is tethered to.

From the fifth point, the mystery of arising is restored to being. Wrists free, the heart plays with immaterial things, enriched by the milk of a lioness whose feet never touch the earth, as finitude opens into an ocean of bliss.

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