inquiry

> The concept of enlightenment ceases when there is no > thinking or talking about enlightenment, as is the nature > of things. Without an effort of sustained focus, energy, > on some-thing words and ideas are no thing. They simply > are – arising and passing away. To notice this is to > become aware of awareness, which too is yet another layer > of illusion – the observation and being of the process > is not accurately described by words; the words only point > to a living reality from which they emanate. > ... > Where are you in all this?

    a “real” nowhere man
 typing in his nowhere land
making all his nowhere posts
         for nobody

(surely all questions are trick – i.e. to “word-faith” “things” (not to mention a seeming subject/ob(ject)server thereof) into seeming existence – questions?)

> So it does not take a prophet to see what the rest of the > year holds: another wave of infections, more unnecessary > deaths, incalculable harm to disabled people and their > families, and then — if sanity briefly takes priority > over commerce — another lockdown.

But apparently it does take a prophet to see the harm in murmuring second++ hand hearsay to whatever masses are bored enough to be screen addicted.

Strange night, last. A couple step-grandchildren stayed over, despite our having a couple pre-new-career meetings this afternoon. But I understand my wife's need along those lines, and we done a good thing. (heh... “thing”...)

But 'twas a night of dreams at least as seemingly real as the seeming main dream event. Hit the bathroom unsure whether “I” “real”ly had quite the former software position. What it's passwords might be if “I” hadn't. Where “I” was at in the process of taking on the new challenge (teaching middle school math and comp sci).

This typing seems to be occurring at 6:31am in the local timezone, front drapes still drawn lest the mechanism wake the boys, who would likely “rambunct” my wife too early from desperately needed sleep. They're sleeping on couches in the family room a couple rooms from this living room. And I've a tickle in my throat in serious need of a cough (you know: the kind that makes the eye nearest it water). But hold onto it “I” must, or pay the random exuberance consequences.

Part of this morning's disorientation was, no doubt (oh, now I want to hear Gwen sing!), a strong does of seemingly “getting” reading material very much a long the lines of the seeming Wu-Wei Wyrd personage passing through this place of late. And of course it can't be 'splained without risking word hypnosis (if not coma), and this installment is way waaaaaaaaay to much of such as it is.

But whatcha gonna do, boy? Whatcha gonna do?