Banking on Flow

On this planet I sit
A mountain of mind-rubble worth of no essence-money
A plane of freedom

Does it matter if, while at it, I am naked or dressed to the nines?
Does it matter if I call my consciousness “spirit” or “dao” or “consciousness”?
Of course not.

"What is this all about?" reader-writer's mind scratches its forehead from inside.
Sure, you can go chasing that question.
But I say: ask yourself instead this: “Who is asking?”
and, if that's not enough, ask: “Who is asking ‘Who is asking?’”

On this plane of consciousness I sit
Still a mountain of mind-rubble but no longer asking who sits, just sitting
A plane of freedom, just as before, just always, not a kopeck's worth of difference.

No money in this,
only freedom and love.

p.s.
but, of course, there is always more, and, of course, there’s always less to all "this" sitting-standing...
p.s.s.
which particular “of course” is, of course, a matter of mind not to be minded...
p.s.s.s.
as for Dao-Course, it is hissing silent on this non-matter of certainty, like a river snaking through a mind-jungle, stinging any and all who believe what they see...


pavel, banking on flow

Average Mind Goes from Angst to Om in 2.46 seconds

I, Life,
a non-stop flow of pattern interruption,
a blood-red open-top military issue Hum-vee,
ride you, the Passenger of Time, like a Pur Sang,
 ‘round and ‘round the Indy 500 So 'Ham Circle,
even now: vro-omm, vro-omm!

Here’s, by the Dao-Way (which knows no seconds),  
the instantaneous, 0-to-60 translation of your automotive trajectory from Sanskrit to Sanskrit: सो ऽहम्