The one not satisfied now, Is the one not satisfied ever, For the time that is not now Is the time that will be never.
Everything happens now, Nothing happens later, And the difference between those times Is as real as the equator.
So you can make your future plans, But to bring them to fruition, Now and never later Is when you press ignition.
Now is when you do all the things you do— There is no later time to say “I should have done that then,” For every time that time arrives, It is always now again.
The Weather Today What’s the weather like today? From where I am I’d have to say, That I couldn’t say if I wasn’t me, So if I couldn’t say, I couldn’t be, And if I couldn’t be and couldn’t say, The weather couldn’t be some way— It might still be some way to you, But that would be a way you do, And if I’m not here I couldn’t say A thing about the weather today.
Perhaps the weather’s cold and damp, Or perhaps the sun is like a lamp— A heat lamp that’s turned up too hot— But whatever weather is or not, Another’s presence makes it be. Any other thing will do—you or me, A fish or bird, a rock or tree— For weather never is a thing Which alone remains a certain way, But an ever-changing process That is never not at play.
What else is there in this world, But never-ending process Into shapely patterns swirled? When it’s us we say, “that’s me,” When it’s outside it’s the weather— They may seem different as can be, And we may not see their tether, But different things can be the same If they always go together.
The You-ing of Doing Do you precede do, Or does do precede you? Or are they just sides of the same? The answer depends on your own point of view In your doing of life’s living game.
I think if you’re first You’d do less of your worst And more of your best without fail, And remember just how you started your trip On your personal consciousness trail.
But if you come after the doing, You have what you need for a you-ing— To get self-aware there must be something there, For a self-sense to begin accruing.
Do you really do, Or does doing do you? Or is that the same by two names? Are there nouns without verbs or verbs without nouns In the doing of life’s living games?
Here and Gone You may choose whatever paths you will As you travel up and down life’s hills, But between the time you’re here and gone, You cannot depart from the path you’re on.
For every change in your chosen way, There will never be a time to say That you are not on the path you’re on— If there were you would be not here, but gone.
And when you’re gone after you’ve been here, You are not so far away, but near. Although you’re gone, you are never there. When you are not here, you’re not anywhere.
Perhaps nowhere is the same as here— There is no distance between the two, But nowhere is so pure and clear, When you look at it you see right through.
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.
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?
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.
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?
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.
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.
Mormon Mouse 