The body
Sensations
Feelings
Perceptions
Thoughts
Sense consciousness.

It all comes from what is sensed in the world around.

The world of sights, sounds, smells, tastes, touch, words and ideas.
 
But I am not any of these things.
They are not me or mine.

Am I the objects in the world?
Am I sense-impressions and words?

Dependently originated they do not last.
As conditions change so do they.

This body is not mine. It grew by itself.
A biological process I have no control over.
It changes whether I like it or not.
It ages, gets sick, will one day die.
If it was mine, I would be able to tell it to stop ageing, to not die.
To be handsome, not ugly.
But it changes regardless of what I say.

If I was to chop off a body part and lay it on the ground.
Is that body part the self?

Where is the self in these five streams?
These five aggregates of clinging:
body, feelings, perceptions, thoughts, sense-consciousness.

When one lets go of identifying with them
Filters out all that is not self.

What remains?

A boundless emptiness not dependent on conditions
A state that isn’t born and doesn’t die
The unconditioned
Peace
Liberation
Relief from the pain of wanting.

Hard to put into words.
But I will keep trying.

How long must a man lie on a bed of nails
before he realises it is not good for him?

What does it take for him to end his torment?

We cling to this garbage of sorrows.
Following the breadcrumbs of desire.
That lead nowhere in the end,
only to despair.
And Mara’s snare.

We cling to hope.
Only for it to be smashed.
Then cut ourselves trying to put it back together again.

Trudge endlessly through this toxic sludge.
These empty wastelands of craving.
Never really finding satisfaction or relief.
Trapped in an insatiable cycle of wanting.
Feel anger when we don’t get what we want.
Burnt bitter by the angst and pain of longing.

This world is cruel.
And greed is brutal.
A sickness.
Vacuous, destructive, inane.
To carry on pretending otherwise is insane.

The problem with life.
Is death
and pain.

The time comes when one must walk away.
Stop stabbing oneself with the poison.
Find the remedy within.
Walk the path to freedom.
End your suffering.

Put it all behind you.
And not look back.
Whatever you do,
Don’t look back.

-Asoka

…

Pacing back and forth
I am tired but mindful.
Waves of tears crash.
Into the ocean wind.

I leave the beach to find shelter.

Watch each presently arisen state
flow and fade away.
Mind is like the ocean.
A morphing psychic energy,
Restless
Dissatisfied.
Moving
From one thing to the next,
Darting erratically.
Flickering this way and that
Becoming different shapes and patterns.

Like the wind.
Its involuntary movements.
Constantly changing.

I sit still.
In the temple of the body.
In the solidity of the earth.
Attentive to the air element.
The cool touch of it on the skin.
Centre with the breath energy,
The whole body and mind.
Earth and air become one.

And in a moment of bliss.
The mind converges.
All goes into sync.
Becomes unified, and still.
Whole-hearted.
Content.
Present.
Harmonised.
Tuned into Nothing.

And I leave the world behind,
Everything disappears.

A pigeon watches me with interest
Perched above in the Victorian architecture.
Night becomes dawn
And it coos with delight.

The unnerving banshee shrieks in the tunnel
Turn out to be seabirds.

-Asoka

...

Sensations can feel dull in the morning
But a cup of tea helps

I meditate on the perception of light
To brighten the dullness and drowsiness.

Then go for a walk
Sun is shining
Windy
The sea choppy
Splashing over the sea wall
I went into a brief trance watching 
The constant state of flux
Always changing, rearranging, never the same.

Later in the day
The weather changed
The wind settled
and the sea was calm
The serene surface reflecting
The sky above with seagull wings
Like a translucent jewel
A massive opal.

But there was movement on the water still
A more refined change
The air quietly whispering gentle patterns on the water's surface.

A happy looking seagull paddles past 
Leaving a hypnotic trail of ripples in his wake
They emanate from his being
Across the liquid surface
Towards me.
Beautiful.
Metta.

I sit and meditate on a hill overlooking the bay.
On some dry grass beneath a yew tree in a disused park
Feels like I am sitting in some ancient ruins.
I sit upright and still
Imagine I am the Buddha
Till my foot goes to sleep
And then I laugh at the delusion.

Day turns to night
On this spinning orb in space
That seems perfectly still when you sit on it.

But it is spinning round a huge fiery orb
Which itself is spinning round a black hole.
Like an intergalactic game of snooker.

Is everything spinning?
Am I spinning?
What is everything made of?

These fractals
Energies
Spirals

I become very still.
The breath stops.
And there's what feels like white noise.
Pixels constantly popping in and out of reality.
But where they pop in and out from is like a blank canvas.
An emptiness I can't see beyond.
Every part of the body is like this.
It's everywhere
This background noise
This cosmic vibration
this mysterious white noise
Beneath form

What is it?

-Asoka

Window open just a crack,
Cool air on face and neck.
Warm body under blankets
Breath like the ocean waves.
Sound of traffic slices shapes through the air.
A plane passes overhead like a crackly Thunderbird.
Voices talk in the background and
I imagine I am another animal, and the vocalisations become like the mysterious utterances of another species.
I listen detached.
Breath at the centre of it all.
Even at the very centre of my being.
Which is hollow and empty like an inner cave.

" This I have made up:

       Once the Buddha was walking along the

forest path in the Oak Grove at Ojai, walking without

arriving anywhere

or having any thought of arriving or not arriving

and lotuses shining with the morning dew

miraculously appeared under each step

soft as silk under the toes of the Buddha

When suddenly, out of the turquoise sky,

dancing in front of his half-shut inward-looking

eyes, shimmering like a rainbow

or a spider's web

transparent as the dew on a lotus flower

--the Goddess appeared quivering

like a hummingbird in the air before him

She, for she was surely a she

as the Buddha could clearly see

with his eye of discriminating awareness wisdom,

was mostly red in color

though when the light shifted

she flashed like a rainbow

She was naked except

for the usual flower ornaments

Goddesses wear.

Her long hair

was deep blue, her two eyes fathomless pits of space

and her third eye a bloodshot

ring of fire.

The Buddha folded his hands together

and greeted the Goddess thus:

"O Goddess, why are you blocking my path.

Before I saw you I was happily going nowhere.

Now I'm not sure where I want to go."

"You can go around me."

said the Goddess, twirling on her heels like a bird

darting away, "or you can come after me.

This is my forest too,

you can't pretend that I'm not here."

With that the Buddha sat

    supple as a snake

    solid as a rock

beneath a Bo tree

    that had sprang full-leaved

    to shade him.

"Perhaps we should have a chat,"

he said.

    After years of arduous practice

at the time of the morning star

I penetrated reality, and now..."

"Not so fast, Buddha.

I am reality."

The Earth stood still,

the oceans paused,

the wind itself listened

--a thousand arhats, bodhisattva, and dakinis

magically appeared to hear

what would happen in the conversation.

"I know I take my life in my hands,"

said the Buddha.

"But I am known as the Fearless One

--so here goes."

And he and the Goddess

without further words

exchanged glances.

Light rays like sunbeams

shot forth

so bright that even

Sariputra, the All-Seeing One,

had to turn away.

And then they exchanged thoughts

and the illumination was as bright as a diamond candle.

And then they changed mind

And then there was a great silence as vast as the universe

that contains everything.

And then they exchanged bodies

And clothes

And the Buddha arose

as the Goddess

and the Goddess arose as the Buddha

and so on back and forth

for a hundred thousand hundred thousand kalpas.

If you meet the Buddha

you meet the Goddess,

the Goddess is the Buddha.

And not only that.  This:

The Buddha is the Goddess,

the Goddess is the Buddha.

And not only that:This:

The Buddha is emptiness

The Goddess is bliss,

the Goddess is emptiness

the Buddha is bliss.

And that is what

and what-not you are

it's true.

So here comes the mantra of the Goddess and the Buddha, the unsurpassed non-dual mantra, just to say this mantra, just to hear this mantra once, just to hear one word of this mantra once makes everything the way it truly is:  OK.

So here it is:

    Earth-walker/sky-walker

        Hey, silent one, Hey, great talker

    Not two/not one

        Not separate/Not apart

    That is the heart

        Bliss is emptiness

        Emptiness is bliss.

    Be your breath, Ah

    Smile, Hey

   And relax, Ho

And remember this:  You can't miss. "

- Rick Fields, Dharma Gaia, pp.3-7

Life can feel dark and harsh
Leaving one gutted like a market fish
Broken like dropped glass.

The lonely cry an ocean of tears
That noone sees, nor hears.

Life is pain
And never again
Will I come back to this world
I'm going to walk away
Unfurled 

one day...