It isn’t clear whether it’s a sinking into knowing without content or a not-knowing. Should it be?

Upstairs, the neighbour beats his wife. Everyone hears it. Everyone is a cynic; they know the police won’t help. The wife screams for help. Again the question: At home a tiger, in public a pussycat.

Embody. Dis-disembody. Re-embody.

Is it or is it not a constant balancing act: to “care for the self”  and “care for the soul” on the one hand, and to dismantle the fundamental illusion of separateness on the other? Is there or is there not a negotiation between self-cultivation and self-dismantling? Does such a question presuppose the ontological reality […]

From the insanity of being little to the hubris of being All to the inorganic stirrings of being and back

“CUT THE KLESHAS RIGHT AT THE ROOT!” he screamed at himself. “FOR EVERY DEFILEMENT, A SLASH OF THE SWORD!” He vowed not to get up until all afflictions had been permanently worked through. They found his body in a half-assed half-lotus position.

“I’d rather starve in this country than intentionally use the Buddha-Dharma to ginger up emotional feelings for giving people an uplift.” – Bukko

The further into the “in here” one travels, the more “out there” one abruptly ends up.

Murderous rage, stripped of murder and rage, is the flash of a sword at night.

Some are unclear about the difference non-attachment and detachment. To them, the difference must be stressed, or they will think the way leads to indifference. But to others, a newfound indifference to trifles — trifles which, once upon a time, would have led to pointless overwhelm — is sweeeet.