You, I: I, You

I am always with yJou.

Today I touched the spinning luminous spheres of soul and Spirit and was glad of life and consumed with breath, even though my place was filled with noise and motion, a place of relinquishing control and trust in others.  Even as I was jostled by rattling passage I soared among the stars of Spirit’s infinite domain, leaving a wake in the soup of its all-encompassing energy.  All things reacted to this miniscule ripple in the universal sea, though only a tiny few were sentient to notice.

Vibrating at our assigned frequencies I am, you are, we will be.  Ever we touch and are apart.  Each illusory day seems to pass, change seems to be, change and sameness as inseparable as being and non-being.  Awash in the ocean of being, we are moved.  Rising into the universe of non-being we simply are.

You are always with me.

Back

JessSalemI am a response to alone-ness and the ever-present fact that “life is suffering” according to someone much, much more famous than I am, but although alone-ness is an important fact to accept but it need not rule, or be a rule, or whatever.  Yet as a fact it is undeniable, except by those who do not accept facts.  Facts are in fact flexible, since they are entirely dependent upon point of view.  It is arguable that you can make a rock into a toadstool if you believe it so.  Truly believe, that is.

Yet if you are believing a lie, can you make it true?  I think not.  Or perhaps I don’t think, I’m not sure.  I am a cartoon.  There are people who make lies the truth, it seems, but the seams tend to show when you sew lies.  Sometimes you have to look at two lies and find the truth that lies between them.  But can truth lie?  I am so confused.

Anyway … alone-ness: fact or fiction?  Me:  fact or fiction?  Jury’s still out.

I explain a few things..

Balance and imbalance are both illusory and real.  The Universe is both changing and unchanging.  The aspect that is changing moves froconv62a1m balance to imbalance and back to balance again.   Imbalance is inherent in or perhaps synonymous with change, and change is life.  That is why in life there will always be balance and imbalance, either within, without, or both.

You and I are both illusory and real.  We are each others’ creations.  You pull me out of your body and into existence.  I breath animation into the clay illusion of your flesh.  We are our own creations.  Man and woman we made us, and we were good.

There is no contradictioconv62bn in your belief system except that because of the nature of the Universe it is at once both true and false.  Acceptance is not rational, but it is inevitable.

There was a man who knew he was simultaneously himself and everything else.  In the end it is unclear whether he was killed by others or his misunderstanding of his own complexity.  There is no question in anyone’s mind that he could have walked away had he desired to do so.

The most basic beliefs portray both masculine and feminine aspects of the Universe.  He rescues and defends with irresistible power.  She radiates a light so beautiful that it can kill.  They are One.  Elsewhere the Pure and Mischievous chase each other’s tails in a dance that lasts the length of time.

Here I chase your tail because that is my purpose.  You know it, too.

Simply put, this is that and you are, too.  So get off your high horse.  Walk with us, yourself, her.  Let your horses run free.  You will, too.

Terrain of Mutuality

conv61dFrom this vantage all memory of future care is erased and the moment is freed of it.  For this reason alone it is a diamond in the coal pile of time, sparkling like a small but powerful beacon of joy.

In the beginning I was surprised that something so seemingly selfish in its pleasure could be so completely shared; that despite the intense and memorable nature of this enjoyment only mutual thanks were due.   Later no pleasure was sufficient but one so completely shared, though still, it seemed, only mutual thanks were due.

I was compelled to explore the other side of the coin of the illusions of ‘give’ and ‘take,’ and found that both do hconv61bave their attractions and all is not lost if one of a couple enjoys a fuller experience in an episode.  Part of the pleasure is sometimes the anticipation of fulfillment when brought only to the edge of the precipice of pleasure where the other has already jumped off.   Certainly the deferred explosion is often greater.  Perhaps this is because of the greater desire that pursues it.

It is important always to return to the precipice and finish that which was begun, not just for fair play, but for the greater joy.

Awaking with dawn kissing your skin with warmth, remember the attractive activities of the night and bring them with you in memory into the day.  Your friends will all enjoy your silly smile.

conv60“I want to play maybe once or twice a month at my own club.”

“Why not every night?”

“I think I would like to continue to play with different people in different places.”

“I understand.”

“I can hire bands to play different kinds of music on different nights.  Then I will have more wonderful live music to listen to.”

“Wouldn’t you rather play it?”

“Sometimes I prefer to just listen.”

“That’s nice.   Where and when?”

“I am looking for signs that the time is at hand.”

“What about making it ‘the’ time?”  ‘

“I am trying.”

“Soon it will be effortless.”

“Thank you, sweet, sweet Tanya.”

“Thank you, Jess Killmenow.”

 

Gravity En Masse

conv59Gravity is one control, substance another:   the role of the living is to resist these.   From the time we spring from the Earth we are pulled with constant gentle force back down toward it.  The first few times we raise ourselves to our feet, Earth’s gravity inevitably pulls us back down toward whence we came.  Often as we continue our initial training we encounter this mysterious downward attraction.  Our entourage comes to jeer at us just as we requested they do, because it seems we do not apparently possess the elementary worldliness to know that ‘what goes up must come down.’

Some face upward and econv59a1njoy the thrill of experimenting with gravity by ski jumping, sky diving, skate boarding, and bungee jumping, for a few examples.  Others cling to the ledge of security while gazing fearfully at the distance between themselves and the surface of the Earth.

There are those who study the mechanics and science of gravity and tell us that all things possess the energy of attraction in the measure appropriate to their mass.  For example, you and I attract each other in a very real physical sense, despite the absence of sexual chemistry or appealing stimuli of any kind.

Gravity pulls on us, compressing our spines and causing anything that is not fastened securely to shift its relative position gradually and slowly, but irresistibly downward.  Seeing these gravitational effects reminds us that we, too, are temporary, and we, too, are on our way surely downward, downward to rejoin our Mother, our stuff to be re-mixed in the great def jam of existence.

Realizing this we are tempted to say, “Jess Killmenow,” but most of us don’t mean it.  Most of us mean that we would rather spend our years with butts, breasts and tummies high and pert, not low and saggy.  Yet when it comes down to it, any day here is a good day.  Even if the vehicle is not so shiny anymore, we still have places we want to go.

Swim against the stream, my comrade salmon.  Rise against the downward pull, as the seedling rises, pressing ever gently upward.  Sometimes there is no measurable growth, yet our efforts to grow are never unrewarded.

Frequency

conv58a“The existence of everything is completely dependent upon the frequency of vibration of the same kind of particles.   The natures of things are determined by their frequency, everything opposite built of the same building blocks vibrating at different speeds.  You and liquid oxygen are made of the same exact stuff.  It’s time to stop being so self centered.

But it is delicious, all of this:  the goldfinches and Corvettes, carrots and sky, snow and carbon, shadows and mirrors.   So compelling, these slight variations in amplitude and/or modulation that produce this extensive bounty of varied stimuli.  One might almost think it contrived but for the sheer size and numbers of it.

Think of this:  if everything stopped vibrating there would be no difference between anything.

Applying reason is not truly productive.   We can recognize our wavelength influence and according to our detachment seduce the Creative hand to our small will, yet the Creative is the common hand, influenced by all.   Legend has it we decided it would be so, that it would be out of our control yet not beyond the human daily influence.  We have hinted to ourselves that it (and we) could all quite suddenly simply not be.  That is the fun of it.  We just do not and cannot know.

In making love we can see a small resemblance to the Divine – an exact frequency, angle, force and speed applied with a sensitivity to your small breathless responses produces the desired culmination of your female pleasure.  Timing my own, we may explode in simultaneous enjoyment of a moment of unity mimicking the Universal unity, catching thereby a glimpse of the vibration of the Eternal.  This is only an illustration of the intimacy of our connection with the Divine, the Universe, all matter and energy everywhere.  There is no limit to us except our sensitivity to the Universal vibration.”

“You can stop talking now, Jess.”

“Okay.”

Reflecting the Surface

conv55b2G There is no rhyme yet un-guessed depth beckons within.  Where are your mittens?   There were but shadows, as were they.  Your mittens are here, too.

We form things into other things.   A tree becomes a newspaper or a house, stones an automobile body and black, subterranean gooey remains are transformed into a platoon in an army of servant objects – yes, including mittens, though yours came from the coat of a sheep.   These objects all broadcast their signature energy akin to the same energy that animates your flesh, including that grey stuff in your head.  You are here to have random thought.  Accept this and let’s get on.

She thanked me for coming.  I thanked her for the same.  It was a glad evening followed by peaceful slumber, our chemistry’s altered subtly by intermix and hormonal release.  We are fortunate to awake and smile upon each the other.

Enjoy the glittering disorder and let it pass through you.  You need not be afraid or sad.  Enjoy it for what it is – part of you on its way through you.

Undercurrent

conv55bedSee the waves like immense ripples, line on line to the horizon and doubtless far beyond.

Let the liquid selves blend in warmth and gladness.  It could be you and I; it could be them.  It does not matter.  There is no matter during the instant of oneness they share, only the universal unifying energy flowing through all of the ten thousand things only to return to itself.  It is apart and yet part of all.  It is and is not.  It is all.

A moment outside time, blind and helpless, and it is over.  We retreat to our comfortless separateness to glow like dying embers with the memory of our oneness for a time, until once again the stark lines of existence are redrawn so that we can finish the game.

Some of us smile, remembering the pleasure as a purely physical sensation, a mere biological fornication tickling our most righteous portions.  Some of us do not know the scope of the illusion that we have fashioned for ourselves, but are certain as certain that this is all there is.

conv55Some of us smile at the pleasures of the simple, who do not know their spirit was reunited for an instant, and so remember only the localized joy of a well-stimulated and fully satisfied body part.  Those of us who gaze more deeply at the well see the underground river blow the surface of the dark water and know it has neither beginning nor end.

Afterwards we make the bed and move on to other things, but it is our choice to take with us a moment of oneness or a memory of skin on skin.  Make your choices wisely, for it is the choices that determine the direction of the game.

Enjoy the game.  And tell me everything.  I love to hear all of your adventures.  They are mine, too.

Location, Location, Location.

conv56The blizzard now past, the thaw begins with a deep grayness, as if the very Earth is moody at the prospect of change.  All is heavy with water in its many forms – liquid, solid, semi-liquid, gas.  The gray of it permeates the world with a reluctance to wake.  Winter’s bed must be a deep and somnolent refuge for one who is otherwise always growing.   One can understand being slow to rise.

I walk now like one deigning not to wake his sleeping mate, as if on ice each footfall weighed and measured to minimize impact, deliberate and slow, a setting down of the particular portion of the foot, the big toe the advance recognizance for the ball of the foot.  The balls of the feet, the manhood of stance and balance, feel the stability or lack thereof in advance of the heel.  If there is not sufficient support for a heel it must not descend, but must be borne up and over to a more stable location … but silently so as not to disturb the beloved.

She remains as cold as death yet I am not deceived, for I know the heat of the life that seethes beneath in a caldron of never-ending creation that buoys this boy across the frozen water to the safety of the snow crust on the further bank.

My posse is with me, guiding, advising, keeping me from harm.  When I trust them I am fine.  When my fears prevail I am lost.

conv56aFinding myself in the fertile ground of manifestation, past the further bank and down the block, here are possibilities for my dream come true.  In the barrage of changes lies hope for change, personal change and circumstantial, substantial, to allow the truth to materialize in a form.  I aid this by imagination and aid to imagination like the drawing that depicts the first floor of the Killmenow Jazz and Poetry Club as a thought balloon as I walk the streets in search.

For a jazz and poetry club needs a place.  I will find that place.

For a moment I bask in the grandeur of the desire, to be the boss of managers who make my vegetarian bistro and bar run like the finely adjusted mechanism it is meant to be.  As they run the day to day, I set policy, help book acts, design menus, play music and write poetry.  My life, ideal.

Next time, if you’re good, we’ll talk about the Meditation Studio, Recording Studio and Small Press on the upper floors.  And then of course my private office.  Yes.

Now, however, it is time to detach, for without detachment no desire can be.

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