The Nature of the Rug

realize the nature of the rug
is to continually go
from beneath you.

then...

indulgent contemplation

I enjoyed reading about my name, at the wikipedia page about it.  I particularly liked reading this part:

"W.F. Albright held that it meant "soil", or "earth", and was the name of an earth-goddess."

Being partial to contemplating ideas of and about the 'ground of being', I am amused to think that perhaps in some way, my name has meant just that.

today...

i feel like a space object, endlessly entering the atmosphere of truth, endlessly burning myself away

hello moment of now

lose the hope for affirmation of being

no separate self exists to affirm or provide affirmation

meaning, value, or affirmation is not required for life to be

benediction

two rabbits.
full moon dusk.



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enough...

...is enough is enough.


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so many ways to dance around the truth

one day i will die.  it might happen gradually, losing my mind and then the body failing.  it might happen suddenly in a violent car crash.  it might happen peacefully, asleep in my bed.  i may be aware of it's approach or i may never know what hit me.

these are unavoidable facts.

the human body depends on the earth to live.  it requires the air here, the water here, and the food here.  the human body has a brain.  the brain and the body are pretty much inseparable, and despite medical science, chances are good eventually both will perish.

all of the senses will cease their functions.  there will be no more sight, no more sound, no more smell.  the skin will never sense a touch or a breath of wind again.

the mind will cease.  thoughts will never again arise.  consciousness will end.

the cells of the body will remain aware.  as the body decomposes, the cells will break down.

at no point, will any of this cease to be life, working perfectly.

this process will occur in one way or another regardless of any words ever spoken by the mouth of this body.  no thought that could arise here could abort this timeless mission of life to fall apart, to break down, to change, to recycle.

how the imagination copes with this reality is intensely diverse.  despite this creative outpouring of the human mind, nothing changes the inevitable.

for me, finding a way to face the reality of my own death, has been the only effort worth making.  this is how it seems, and yet it's very clear that there is nothing driving that effort besides the awareness of the truth of my own end.

whatever could be identified with, as my self, is doomed and entirely out of any other controlling force.


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