and yet…the sky is beyond all art.
the insight that mathematical construction sheds on the codec of intellectual installation and the startling candidness of Buddhist meditation experience has given my latest contemplations quite a stir. I was struck dumb last night when I was faced once again with the heated inevitability of death. It brought a kind of slice to my daily interaction, and yet I am scared that I am a fiend of these pushing-compelling idioms. As I dropped my last friend off from a car ride, I was thanked. But that only lead me into a series of catch phrases. “What is myself? This thing that is soon to die? Though thanked, I’m not sure what has appeared and what has disappeared. The awareness is all it has for itself. Wind breezes through…”
When pushed to the edge, beyond where anything can reach one…It’s an overwhelming that approaches the scary: what do you work off of? What’s the function? This is why I think there must be a salute to insanity and awakening. Pressed on all sides by infinity and inevitability its cantankerous to reach out for help. Something must be said for taking a rusty knife into the desert to dig for springs. Espcially when you’ve all you’ve got.
What do you expect to see at the end of your tunnel? Isn’t the abyss the very thing that is supposed to force you into wishing you had some kind of mind authority? The abyss is the very thing that exacts to us that our place is not appointed nor forsaken. Maybe our renunciation does not so much bring us into a new place, as many would expect. Bewilderment is not so much our fated disposition when faced with absolutes (like an abyss), but seems to be more like our RIGHT as bearers of consciousness. And the ungraspable quality of consciousness bursts away into infinity. Infinity almost asks to be discovered in its own hopefulness. I mean, infinity seems to come out of a hope that there is more than there is, because what IS seems to always be continually unfolding. And yet, and an aside, I’m not sure if we can touch upon anything without also interweaving it with the idea and reality and circumstance and permeation of consciousness. Every thing I could hope to present is so subtly interwoven with consciousness, and even my attempt at a non-consciousness twined idea is itself flawed because it, in a sense, refuses to address its root. Every place where infinity reaches there must consciousness also find itself. In every structure presented consciousness will bear its head forward. What can be broached certainly has a root somewhere, yes? And maybe this is only one aspect of the boundlessness of mind.
What then is the reputed place referred to as no-mind? Is it even a ‘place’ at all?
