I in the Sky

~ Mormon Mouse ~ Leave a comment

I in the Sky
There is a body projecting you,
that is the one doing the things that you do,
and this body called yours can know through and through,
but can’t know what it knows, so for that it has You.
For that it has I, to be more precise.
But who is this I that thinks that it is
the one who does all of the work,
taking credit for things that it does not do,
like a know-it-all ball-hogging jerk?

This I is a network of thoughts that are thunk 
with the body from whence they came,
a network that changes like everything else
but tends to think that it’s the same.
And all of the thoughts that it thinks of itself
are hash-tagged with I, me, and mine,
including the thought of a thinker of thoughts
which thinks it thinks all by design.

But what are thoughts really, and do they exist?
They do, but they are not real.
Like rainbows appear out of shimmering mist,
they color the sky of the mind.
But without the sun the rainbows aren’t there,
and without the moisture that moves through the air,
and without the observer there’s nothing to find,
no colors, no thoughts, an I of no-kind.

Thoughts are reflections of what is out there,
and what it feels like from inside I’s lair—
an inside and outside contrast and compare, 
made up of the game of there-and-not-there.
Neurons fire up or stay powered down,
as reaction-reflection to what is around,
patterning patterns of senses we’ve found
to help us rise off of the ground.

And if you know all of this, can you hope,
to fix mistakes you think that you make?
Or will you just bind yourself up with a rope
that seems real but really is fake?
Whatever you do will be what you do,
and done by the body projecting you,
which is the one watching “I,” its reflection—
the great “I” which rises in every which way,
in endless waves of resurrection.

—Saint Andrew of Snohomish

More or Less Blessed

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More or Less Blessed
Is it really more blessed to give than receive?
Jesus thought so, so that’s fine to believe.
But the problem with that, if you ask me,
is it makes giving something we should all try to get,
And getting a thing about which to fret.
It forces spontaneous virtue to be,
and makes Heaven a place that just isn’t free.

The thing about giving that nobody notes
(perhaps they are too busy looking for motes),
is although it is great to give things away 
(so great you should try to give things each day),
there’s no way to get this giving to do,
without someone there to receive it from you.

You can’t be more blessed 
(And someone blessed less),
without someone to take what you’re giving,
so if it wasn’t for them, you could get no gem, 
no pearl of great price for good living.

Givers and Getters, neither is better,
if you have to have both for the blessing.
So they both can be great, and share the same fate,
or else who will you give to in Heaven?

—Saint Andrew of Snohomish

If I Ask Him

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If I Ask Him
If I ask God if He’s there,
and He doesn’t say a word,
should I take that as a sign
or assume I wasn’t heard?

If I ask Him if He’s there
and he answers He is not,
should I trust that He is right
or suspect that He forgot?

If I ask God where He is
and He answers “Here am I,”
Did that answer come from me
or am I just a crazy guy?

What if I don’t ask a thing
and I never think of Him,
and he never hits me up
or calls me on a whim?

Does it mean that He’s not there?
Does it mean He doesn’t care?
Or that He’ll get to me eventually
When He finds a moment to spare?

No matter what I ask
or what His answer be,
one thing seems the same
in this ask-and-answer game—
I can ask things without Him,
but He doesn’t answer without Me.

—Saint Andrew of Snohomish

Without Jesus

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Without Jesus
No me without Jesus,
no Jesus without me—
if I never sinned He never could be,
but that would make sinning a good thing if He
is good, and is good for the sin side of me—
No me without Jesus,
No Jesus without me.

I see without Jesus,
without Jesus I see—
if I see without Jesus then how can He be
the one I was taught that we nailed to a tree,
without whom I finally see and am free,
of the feeling there’s some other way I should be—
I see without Jesus,
without Jesus I see.

I’m free without Jesus,
without Jesus I’m free—
if I never sinned He never could be,
if I never sinned then I would be free,
if He never sinned than neither did We—
we’re free without Jesus,
without Jesus we’re free. 

—Saint Andrew of Snohomish

Wiggly World

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Wiggly World (for Alan Watts)
The wiggly world is all there is 
when no one is around,
While straight lines always show us where
the humans can be found.

Reality is never straight,
never measured, never late,
always perfect, never wrong,
not too short and not too long,
but ever waving onward in a never-ending song.

Straightening is made up fuss,
that just may be the end of us,
because the real, wiggly world
on which we put straight lines,
always overgrows them if we give it enough time.

And straightening is never just
a thing we do out there,
it also is a thing we do in kingdoms of thin air—
imaginary kingdoms where we only think and feel,
and symbolically confuse ourselves
as to what is really real.

How funny that we wiggle while
We try to straighten things,
forgetting that we too are part of what the Real sings—
It sings the Whole without mistakes 
And never sings things wrong,
It creates us, we create It,
Both the Singer and the Song.

Concept of You

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Concept of You
What is a concept,
And what does it do?
What is a concept?
A concept is you.
For you cannot conceive
Yourself without it,
So there really is 
No doubt about it.

You’re a concept,
An Idea,
An Abstraction too,
And You is your symbol 
For doing by who.
You is a hashtag,
For all that you care
To attribute to one 
Who’s not really there,
Who seems to live inside
A skull that grows hair,
But when we look inside skulls
We find nobody there.

Concepts, ideas,
Abstractions, oh my—
Symbolic thinking
That helps you get by,
In this game full of symbols
We made to get high,
That we’re forced when we’re born
To play till we die—
Concepts, ideas
Abstractions, oh my.

If you were not a concept
Then you still could not think,
Of yourself without concepts,
You could not make that link.
And while it’s true that
There’s much more to you than your thinks,
The rest of you smells
But doesn’t know if it stinks,
As stinks is a thing
Only concepts can think.

Concepts, ideas,
Abstractions, oh my—
If you are what you think,
This would explain why,
It’s so easy to be terrified when you die.
For thoughts cannot go on with thinking at all,
If the body they think from can’t rise from its fall.
The body won’t mind if it’s time to stay down,
Alone it can’t know if it won’t be around,
But the concept it has of itself, You and I, 
Will keep on conceiving right up till we die,
Right up to the end of its walk toward the light,
Or the end of its darkening descent into night,
But neither the light nor the night’s really right—
Conceptions conceive until their own fall,
Because they cannot conceive no conception at all.

An Ever-Unusual Game

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An Ever-Unusual Game
(for Alan Watts)
I am what I am,
I am what I do,
And I can be what I am
Because I’m not You.

I am what I think,
I am what I feel,
I’m what I remember,
But am I real?

Some of I Is, 
Some of I’s Not,
And I could not remember
If I never forgot.

You are what You are,
What else could You be?
You are what You do,
You’re You and not me.

You are what You think,
You are what You feel,
And what You remember,
But are You real?

Some of You Is,
Some of You’s not,
And you could not remember
If You never forgot.

But If I don’t know I 
Unless I know You,
And we both feel like I,
What the hell do we do?

If not for You I never was born,
And if not for I You neither—
If not for the both of You and I,
Nothing exists that is either.

If I do something to I,
Or if You do something to You,
Both You and I will find that we
Both do it to I and You.

And if You do something to I,
Or if I do something to You,
Both You and I will still find that we,
Both do it to I and You.

So if all that we do affects I and You,
Then are we different or are we the same?
Or just two-sided parts in a whole of no parts,
In an ever-unusual game?

-Saint Andrew of Snohomish

Truth Disguise

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To the one who wants more truth I say,
To get more I know a way—
Just make it easier to be gotten,
Then more lies will be forgotten.

For the ones who lie to you would not,
If you didn’t make them feel they ought,
To be the way you think they should,
And bad your bad and good your good.

So if you want to get more truth,
And be much less of a lie sleuth,
Then bend with truth instead of break,
And truth will out for truthness sake.

But if you make truth want to hide,
For feeling it will be denied,
And feeling that it will suffer
Too much against your stiff truth buffer.

Then truth will often turn to lies,
That utilize a truth disguise, 
To throw you off their lying trail
And keep their true friend out of jail.

Truth with lies and lies with truth,
They start collecting in our youth,
Preserved on hidden, secret shelves—
Secret shelves made of ourselves.

Sometimes our selves can hide so well,
Which ones are true we cannot tell.
They wait and want to be revealed,
But some might better stay concealed.

-Saint Andrew of Snohomish

In the Whole of All Parts – Saint Andrew of Snohomish

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I could expound this little rhyme of mine and philosophize away to my heart’s content.  I could use it as inspiration for a sermon against the objectively false truth claims of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.  Or, I could simply let the words speak for themselves so I can move on with my work, and hopefully sometime in the near future I’ll finish some more poems— the one about honesty, the one about my place in space, or, if I’m lucky, I’ll finally finish the one about butt cracks (Take out your hand / reach around back / And feel around till you find a crack).  For now though, I’ll just set “In the Whole of All Parts” aside in this post. I might be back…

In the Whole of All Parts
No parts without whole,
No whole without parts,
No starts without ends,
No ends without starts,
No hearts without brains,
No brains without hearts,
In the parts and the whole 
Of the whole of all parts.

-Saint Andrew of Snohomish

Star That You Are – Saint Andrew of Snohomish

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Star That You Are
Everything happens before you become aware of it—
Including you.
And when you realize this to be true,
Relax—
There’s nothing for you to do,
Except what you already are—
Your being is doing,
Your doing is being,
And your you-ing shines on like a star—
A star that shines back on itself and thinks “Welp,
I’m not really shining that well.
I should do my job better
And be a go-getter,
And shine more, or I’m going to hell.”
But shines are directed
By all things connected,
And not by the will of the star.
The will’s just a feeling
That can act like a ceiling,
To keep stars from shining too far.
But even when you find out
That your “you” has no clout,
And that everything’s there before you come about,
You can shine all you want on the shadows of doubt,
But you will still be the star that you are.

-Saint Andrew of Snohomish