About Me

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I am a mystic madman, a wandering wildman, scholar of esoterica, dilettante sadhu, dready-headed hippie (only have a few jata on the back of my head right now, though more be forming of this third set of knotted hair), gentle yogi, fierce foe of falsity. I was a preacher, but I renounced that. I was married, but she renounced me. I was a grad student at one of the top universities in the world on my way to becoming a professor, but I realized they taught lies there too. I am protector of souls, lover of mountains, smoker of herb, fond of hot springs, oceans and lakes and rivers and rain and sunshine, devotee of Devi.

Hindu Gods and Goddesses

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Slight Refuge and Fleeting Habitat

My little refuge from the hustle and bustle of the big town of Laramie (or is it a little city?). Got a visit from a rather polite policeman who informed me that the Union Pacific people called on me, and said I'd need to move my camp. So next day I moved my camp a short distance and discovered this lovely little spring (though my designation appied to this little seap of water might be incorrect, as their may be a different source for this water flowing from the ground than the deep earth). Had set a granite lingum stone and a poplar branch trishul up in the circle of trees where I was camped, so only placed a small lingum in the "Swamp" as I've come to call this little haven. Built a two-person bench out of some scrap wood I found, and a meditation seat out of three granite rocks as legs and a larger trianguar/diamond shaped rock for a seat, complete with custom woven cattail mat to make lotus (or half-) a more pleasant sit. Though I haven't seen any frogs yet, I have heard them croaking--an encouraging sign considering the toll pesticides have had on amphibians here (nearly wiped out the Wyoming Toad). Haven't seen any faeries yet either, but that doesn't mean they haven't discovered this magical little spot. Did spy a male yellow warbler sipping from the upper pool, and of course the mosquitoes just love the place--thank goodness for dhoop (incense) and citronella!! Thinking about getting some citronella grass to plant by the spring, as well. Though it seems I'll likely not be making it to the National Rainbow Gathering out in Pennsylvania this year, at the least I got a spot to meditate in the meantime, and some semblance of natural beauty to behold whilst I linger in Laramie a bit longer. May my brothers and sisters and friends at the Gathering be blessed, and the rest of ya' not fortunate enough to make it to the Gathering of the Rainbow Tribe be blessed too. Please keep in mind (or perhaps join in from where you are) that at sometime around noon EST on the Fourth of July, upwards of fourty thousand souls will be intoning the sacred syllable ॐ (pronouned "AUM," from whence are derived both "amen" and "amin") with a wish for world peace and justice. (btw, if any locals or people passing through wanna know the whereabouts of this secret meditation garden, just ask . . . is there for respectful use by all and any so far as I'm concerned)
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Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Of Clouds and Brick


Contemplating quilted patches of clouds calmly drifting by over the Grand Avenue downtown storefront facades, gray undersides with dull silver to white-shimmering fringes above the red to brown bricks and carved stone or wood crowns and ornamented windows sills and door frames and plaques denoting antique dates of construction, contrasting orders emerge: ice crystals forming fractals forming amorphous massings of percipitatious possibilities casually hanging out in limbo between unseen layers of atmosphere and between floating and falling, indeed responsive and harmonious to the most intricate patterns of molecular bonding and movements of air and vapor and heat and cold flowing 'round the globe, quite complex sequences intrinsic to the very nature of matter; to stacks of fabricated rectangular blocks staggered evenly along established lines, embellished with carved crowns of stone and wood to break the monotony of bricks and mortar.

Though indeed natural patterns yet prevail in the face of synthetic intentions and the most seemingly unnatural of human contrivances, amidst angular and measured constructions and divisions and delineations of downtown buildings and human experiences, these provide at least a clear aesthetic contrast (if they don't actually conflict) to the seeming random yet indeed intricately and ornately ordered and eternal patterns of elements interacting, whether four or five or a hundred and eighteen.

Human order, to a degree and insofar as not instinctual or intuitive or truly spiritual, is subject to fashion as much as to physics, and is much more concerned with maintaining control and appearances than are the clouds and sky, earth and water, fires above and below, wild animals and plants and other things that live and grow.

Indeed, despite human presumptions of power over nature and pretense of being somehow separate from the natural world's sometimes chaotic symmetries, when all appearance of stacked brick and grid patterned neighborhood streets of asphalt and concrete have been erased by actions of wind and water, earth and fire, we shall realize patterns of Nature are those which abide, like those that form crystals in the sky or underground, which order seasons and orbital dances of planets and stars and electrons and make molecules to build cells and bodies and life to live, and which order the consciousness we already know as ourselves, and behind the scenes our Self, most true.

Then we shall surely see the absurdity of so many sacrosanct and subjective hierarchies and constructs, classes and caste as these compared to those eternal patterns and natural frameworks which abide beyond culture or fashion or nigh any and every mere human device or devisement. When this cycle of illusions built upon illusion is o'er and we each and eventually all come to a recollection of that which is lasting, pure, natural and knowing, those arbitrary taxonomies and blueprints and artifices we felt so seminal to our lives and sanity will be but the proverbial 'dust in the wind,' or perhaps remembered as of little more importance than a wisp of cloud temporarily interrupting the pleasant warmth of the sunshine, a likewise pleasant experiencing.