Never born

"I have lots of things to teach you now, in case we ever meet, concerning the message that was transmitted to me under a pine tree in North Carolina on a cold winter moonlit night. It said that Nothing Ever Happened, so don't worry. It's all like a dream. Everything is ecstasy, inside. We just don't know it because of our thinking-minds. But in our true blissful essence of mind is known that everything is alright forever and forever and forever. Close your eyes, let your hands and nerve-ends drop, stop breathing for 3 seconds, listen to the silence inside the illusion of the world, and you will remember the lesson you forgot, which was taught in immense milky way soft cloud innumerable worlds long ago and not even at all. It is all one vast awakened thing. I call it the golden eternity. It is perfect. We were never really born, we will never really die. It has nothing to do with the imaginary idea of a personal self, other selves, many selves everywhere: Self is only an idea, a mortal idea. That which passes into everything is one thing. It's a dream already ended. There's nothing to be afraid of and nothing to be glad about. I know this from staring at mountains months on end. They never show any expression, they are like empty space. Do you think the emptiness of space will ever crumble away? Mountains will crumble, but the emptiness of space, which is the one universal essence of mind, the vast awakenerhood, empty and awake, will never crumble away because it was never born." - Jack Kerouac


Crazy Horse is one of my heroes

A few paraphrased paragraphs from Ian Frazier’s The Great Plains: "Crazy Horse was a whole person from the moment of his birth to the moment he died.  He knew life and he knew where he wanted to spend that life.  He was beaten but never defeated; he never surrendered.  He never signed anything.   No photograph, painting, or even sketch exists of him.  He was killed; he was not captured.  He was so free that at the most desperate moment of his life he only cut Little Big Man on the hand when he could have killed him in anger.  When he met a white man he was not diminished by the encounter.  His dislike of the oncoming civilization was prophetic.  The idea of becoming a farmer never crossed his mind.  He never met the President, never rode on a train, slept in a boardinghouse, ate at a table, wore a medal, top hat or anything else white men tried to give him.  When Crazy Horse was killed, far more than a man’s life was put out.  Freedom - Imagination - Limitlessness died there.  He refused to lie on a cot.  He chose the  floor.  Dead on the floor, he showed us where we stand.” This is why Crazy Horse is my hero. What does it mean to be a Human Being?    “Crazy Horse” is a good answer.


Unknown known

Whether I succeed or not is irrelevant … making my unknown known is the important thing. – Georgia O’Keefe