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

Sunday, November 28, 2010

She's Still My Lover, Even When She Ain't Thus as Another !!

Cycles of seeing Her manifest, through the veils knowing She is at play with me, and simultaneously working with me (as of course are many other conscious souls) to transform this reality to what we know it might be. Healthy, pure, intense and blissful, ananda, shanti, lila done right, celebrations and varied flows to make life and contingent forms of experiencing simultaneously teaching and play, partying and yoga done in good form and not as divorced realms of life lived, bhakti in ecstatic dance and even drunkenness, yet with a pure flow guiding the game just the same.



And of course, romance, for even as I've scarcely had any lovers o'er recent years (compared to the previous plenty), She is present just the same--er, almost, for caressing her breast as a mountain surveyed with careful attention and admired just ain't the same as Her astride me or arms and legs otherwise entangled in passion's throes, her breasts pressed 'gainst my chest and such. My linga raised in solitary devotions and tantric meditations is not the same nor equal to a yogini's yoni fitted 'round. Nonetheless, She constantly makes Herself known in the midst of whatever milieu. Jaya Ambika Mahamaya !!! Jaya Parvati !!!!! Jaya Ambika Tridevi !!!

Friday, November 26, 2010

High from Buena Vista

Sitting sipping coffee and whiskey, mellow lounge music, fire and ice and smokin' out by the flames. Kindness came my way, green for little green exchanged, the trek above to Bhudevi's flowing soothing sweet water's heat contrasting temperatures to cold sky blowin' snow helpin' restore flow, or so my senses say. Seeing still moment by moment and in words o'erheard things tell tidbits of the amazing secret of yoga. The endeavor to read through these lila can be a delight, and can be terrible too, tenuous in some tellings, whether true or mere ruse, yet all always adding up to eternity, beautiful if fluxuating, vibrations and minds, beings who are truly Beings and Being. Absurd and archetypally sometimes rather twisted, and in this play I'm not by any means alone, and seems I play my role well enough, as world's not ended and life goes on. Rather intense at times responding as is best/zreyas to the play played out, with mind ahimsa when might, and tigmamanyu at other times, dance/nata when most beautifully manifest unless in lovemaking and romance. Cycles flash before my eyes and energies/intentions expressed and felt from others I experience, and with no certain prognostication or litmus to determine which of so many inputs to truly trust, though seems instincts exist to guide one through such lila, and I still can laugh and dance my way through the right scenes and pretty well on cue, or leastwise from the point of view of this actor participant sometimes standing back from the action on stage, and others in the midst. Wordplays and headtrips from other minds, of whatever antiquity or novelty, run through mine as if played out is some play designed for manifesting the order of things in leastwise my experiencings, if not at more substantive levels.

That one maybe Durga, this fellow Hanuman or Krshna, that woman Kali, this stately fellow Ram, and so on, yet other minds, perceived and otherwise express possibly contending pantheons (though all those stories have their connections, no doubt) or paradigms or plays' scripted materials overlapping, leading to an interesting milieu. Mix Shakespeare with the Ramayana, or Frisch with Oklahoma, staggering scripts to make some sembance of sense, in between another dialogue entirely. And might be groups, crews, yo!! travelin' in sometimes groups in the play, with whatever binding motive or vibe. And all the while I'm fed clues as to each player walks past, offers this gesture or that, and indeed even seems sometimes smells are manifest with whatever scene, blessing or taunt and seems with some entrained or programmed response oft as not far from my own intincts, yet still not overpowering mine, leastwise where really counts. And of energies flow through me, I've some allies who speak in other tongues, mostly native American Indian, from the sound, though could be wrong. Benevolent others and allies surely, both from inside and out, help me respond, though gotta wonder at the flow of what seems pressed at times a certain incursion on freedom. If for transformation of society, healing of vibration, tunig of the free yet perfectly timed nata of the Universe.

Monday, November 22, 2010

Jay Z, ThinkMTV, Water for Life and Celebrities Using Fame Like They Oughta, YO !!!

Haven't watched much MTV since, well, prob'ly since the eighties when it was mostly music videos. On the occasion of stayin' in a "hotee" this night ("hotee" is road dog speak for hotel/motel, a celebratory occasion for those who usually sleep in a car or in whatever available patch of trees, downtown rooftop or abandoned building), whilst surfing the channels--nearly doubling over laughing at an infomercial for dildos, something even eighties MTV did not predict--I came to Jay Z bringing awareness to young people about the plight of so many children who have no access to clean water, and to efforts to give access to this basic human need to some of the millions without. This is exactly what those with such celebrity capital, as well as those like Bill Gates with excessive money, oughta be doin' with all that flow, ya' know!

See, there ain't nothin' wrong with having dough, nor with living reasonably comfortably, nor with being famous, so long as you use what you got to make things better for others, too. The evil in money is in not sharing it when you got it, and the evil in Hollywood fame or other noteriety is in not using your influence to bring attention to issues like lack of clean water, basic human needs unmet in a world of excessive wealth, environmental ills, etc. This oughta be common sense, and indeed many in the Hollywood community and music biz' and other positions of fame, as well as many with otsa cash do indeed do lend their time and energy, celebrity status and bank accounts to make a difference.

So cheers, kudos, and hooray to those who, like Mr. Jay Z, do what they might to help those in need and to draw attention to the issues need real attention, like clean water, nutrition, clothes and shelter and the plight of our environment. Those be the folks in show business and with billions to whom I can say namaste without reservations, no doubt !!!


http://www.mtv.com/thinkmtv/features/global/water_for_life/

http://www.un.org/works/OLD/water/jayz.html

Friday, November 19, 2010





Annapurna, Devi (top), the mountain (middle), and Mount Princeton in Colorado. See post "Kailash and Pikes Peak and Sacred Geographies Generally" for the simiarity between the appearance of Kailash and Tava (Pikes Peak) and other interesting geological and geographic similarities and signs of the truth of the ages and the times.

And just came across the below stock photo of another vista of Mt Princeton, which interestingly looks alot like Trishul, a mountain in the Himalayas which represents the weapon of Siva and said Person's presence.

Mt. Princeton


Trishul

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Animal Visitations, Lila and Yoga

As I was falling into a meditation on the meaning of the conjunct terms and appelation satcitananda and almost into r.e.m. sleep, I returned to some degree of wakened state to a dog barking and person beckoning, then the yowl of a big cat. The cat's cry came closer, then closer.

(For best effect, play whilst reading)


As I lay in my down sleeping bag and beneath the plastic tarp's been my shelter, I came to nearly a full return to my waking mind as the cat passed behind me and between me and the Country Lodge, and sounded not much o'er a dozen yards from my bedroll. In a state of almost awakeness I grabbed my hand axe in preparation for a potential battle, though I rather think t'was a she cat and one wanted not a battle, but a sire. I suppose musings about battling a cat for it's skin to wear caused me to consider this one might be taking me up on the idea. Perhaps that I grabbed the axe disuaded whatever chance might have been for that myth to manifest, as it should thus be bare-handed I battle a tiger or a leopard for its hide to wrap around my waist. I suppose my nylon leopard-print sarong shall suffice for now, when I ought bear proper regalia, truest to myself/Self.

Foxes and crows or ravens have been next most significant wild things to this journey and recent lila manifest into real life in my experiencings. Upon first returning to Laramie after epic journey to eastern Canada to find a scarcely known beloved (in the romantic/quixotic sense), I awoke to a fox peaking over a rubble pile just feet above my bedroll. After checking with movement to ensure this creature was curious and not ill, we shared a few moments of eye-to-eye. After rolling up my bed and starting towards the downtown, I passed by the decrepit ruins of the Empress/Fox Theater on Second Street (now demolished, alas), and decided to lend my efforts towards the renovation of said once grand venue, to no avail, alas. Also would often encounter a fox on the way to and from my squat by Spring Creek and the tracks in Laramie.

Ravens and crows have been rather significant players in my path, most notably since one mushroom trip in Washington state, whence donning a shinny and almost irridescent black shirt given me on the streets of Portland whilst I was plying sage smudges, a gaggle of ravens took roost above me, and followed from tree to tree as I started running down the road flapping my arms and calling by my best immitation of their tongue and calls. Though my most notable interaction with birds in Laramie after returning from the eastern states was with the Swainsons's hawks had a nest near my squat and left me a feather, I did gather two black feathers of crow or raven kind which a attached to a carved stick along with a hawk feather proffered by my neighbors in the tree. Considered protectors of sanAtana dharma, literally "eternal teachings," crows and thier cousins are species I attend to with a considerate eye and ear, whenever they chance to fly circles 'round or perch nearby my seat or stand or path.

Of foxes on this journey, near Fossil Creek Road south of Ft.Collins I met another of these red furry friends, encountered on both sides of the highway as we both sought to find a meal around strip malls and fast food joints. This fox walked with me for a stint and then went another way as I went to check for dumpster scores. May have been another brief encounter or two between then and the fox I met behind the quick stop at the lower end of town, here in Woodland Park. This fine specimen of Vulpini vulpes was digging in the dirt at the edge of the road when we first met and exchanged greetings, then passed by my bedroll as I lay under a tree between a neighborhood and a school playground just off the main drag, not unlike the path of my feline visitation of last night in its path round my bed. The night before the foxes visitation, I found a long and elegant wing feather from a raven by my bed.

Indeed, yoga is an endeavor not just including people and Deva-Devi, but includes creatures wild and domesticated, as in truth all are of One, or at least of not-two (Advaita). One of the recognitions expressed in many peoples' choice to endeavor a vegetarian is that the creatures we encounter might just be deceased friends and relatives coming for a visit, else visitations of the Divine. Suppose thus despite failure thus far to do much business with the petrified bones and teeth of long deceased and (mostly/likely) extinct species, and thus deprived of blessings of fiduciary returns, I've been granted a good many blessings from wild critters attending to me and my endeavors subtler and perhaps more important than immediate material gain.

Friday, November 5, 2010

Old Colorado City, Conversations and Musings

Oh twisted tales I am living through, a storyline practiced, rehearsed,played over and over in some other's mind in preparation for my meandering through this mad gauntlet, this absurd play. day by day I meet scenarios to which my mind's already privy, or been made privy by another mind--one of more than a few have found their way into my cognition by whatever avenue, and which provide interference sometimes even with my motor functions. Today I am sitting at Agia Sophia coffeehouse, a coffeehouse and bookstore however loosely affiliated with the Orthodox Church.

After a self-led tour through the store, I settled on a seat next to an east window on the first floor, and facing a pair of women who I'd overheard discussing churchie matters. Somehow the segway presented itself into a conversation with the pair, a sweet elderly woman of ninety years who told a few tales of her youth in Jamaica. Though maintaining blue eyes and relatively pale skin, something of her appearance indicated she may have been to some degree of African descent. The other, a face not unfamiliar--a cue that generally indicates some degree of association with the reminiscent other, providing clues as to how to interpret said sorts of meetings--a middle aged woman with a pronounced nose and greying hair, hazel eyes and a toothy smile, reminiscent of two different older women I knew in Oklahoma years ago.

At the onset of this chat I gave the spiel I have found it necessary and felt obliged to proffer so often, especially to those to whatever degree deluded by the Christian paradigm: Abraham and Sarah and Haggar were predated by Brahma and Saraswati and Ghaggar in the narratives of ancient India, Christ analogous to the more ancient Krishna, and Islam hearkens to Siva and various names and forms of Shakti in certain pivotal tenets and terms (see posts "Hidden Origins of the West" and "One, Two, Three, What're We Fightin' For?"). Also noted several Sanskrit cognates in the English language over the course of our conversation: English "God" is derived from the Sanskrit "go," which translates directly as "cow," English "right" comes from Sanskrit "Rta" (denoting "correct" and not "right as opposite to "left"), etc.

In this exchange, as with so many these days, an underlying narrative passed through the periphery of my thoughts as sorta a voice-over, either telling hidden meanings of the exchange else weaving webs improv-style to confuscate, or perhaps a bit of both. Directional cues and oft twisted or perverse sub-narratives and odd arrayals of mind, space and time of interdimensional nature are thus presented, tieing persons from my past experiencings and mythic figures, archetypal references and historic personages presented as connected more than piecemeal, much of the time in such tight synchrony and externally veritable and verifiable expressions, seeming valid hints and clues that these prove difficult to dismiss as mere fancy, delusion or lie.

The players in these little lila sometimes bear more than striking resemblance to others I have know from the past, sometimes with startling implications, and sometimes hearkening to events from the long past past, and sometimes to figures and figurations of celebrated fame, Hollywood stars and murti presenting Divine persons, and all woven into a rather confusing narrative that seems to have been woven since at least my early years of this life. One friend of the fairly recent past, a beautiful young woman I met in Laramie just a few years ago is a clear double (if a tad bit thinner in the face) to a murti of Mahamaya I came across on the internet and had downloaded to my computer.



Many women I've chanced encounter over the years seemed reminiscent of one particular woman I became immediately enamoured with years ago upon seeing her dance, and who I have determined was and likely still is an avatar of Parvati, at least or especially in her dance and in her laughter. These sorts of visual cues indicate relationships of persons archetypal and Divine, not unlike what is posited in the Emerald Tablet's "as below . . . so above, as above . . . so below."
The Divine plays out in the mundane, and the mundane is determined by--and determines--the Divine. In the fractal universe understood as maya, the stories of Gods and Goddesses are our stories in life lived, if examined carefully and insofar as the myths are well writ and properly told.

Even in the names of places writ across the map are clues to constructions of this game we all play, whether consciously or no. Pathways woven into the arrayals of maya manifest in story and song, maps and myth, dream and drama tell of this constant yoga ("yoke"/"union"), this grand nata ("dance"), this sometimes absurd yet generally beautiful lila ("Divine play") that is played out in seeming infinite variation in and throughout eternity.

Still, in the midst of such, though I can make out certain consistent themes there are intrigues maintained, mysteries and uncertainties conveyed that sometimes make for grand adventures, and sometimes for manifold sufferings. This is where yoga is essential, and I ain't just talkin' asanas, breath-work and pranayam relagated to a "yoga studio." I mean the "alteration of sense-vibration, that pure consciousness might abide" (Patanjali's Yogasutra, vs. 2-3). I mean tuning the symphony of maya, mellowing the "vibe" (Sanskrit, "sphurti"), correcting voices out of tune and fixing instruments needing restringing, destroying dissonance where it does not belong and playing the right songs the right way. I mean destroying lies, dealing appropriately with ills of minds and Mind, battling demons would inappropriately interrupt the flow of the raga or bhajan or cause corruptions of the kiertan sung by the devoted.

And yet, as I know these modes and means to be true, compassion would stay my hand when it seems some storyline might have importance to the grander scheme, else to the wellbeing of innocent others caught up in the milieu, and exercise caution and consideration to the nuances of the tale told and played out. Rather a pain in the arse, back and neck, sometimes, yet indeed seems there are times to forgo one's own plans to pay due heed to sufferings and confusions of others, and to grant others' plots woven due consideration. So onward into this story, this absurd lila, this oft as not twisted tale I go. From here, perhaps I shall venture yet again to the other side of the divide (Continental, that is), else to familiar stomping grounds to the south where there are more who are aware of the more ancient and abiding tellings and contexts and of true to life myths, where obfuscations of the truth are less prominent and the people more open to dharma not confused with false dogma. To be honest, the ignorance and intolerance of the Christian community and the psychic and other assaults of those guardians of the lies which falsely uphold said faith make me long to retreat to someplace like Taos and the Hanuman Temple, where hippies and like open-minded folk, as well as the traditions of the Pueblo Indians (rooted in India, btw: see "Maybe Columbus Found India After All: Traces of India Amongst American 'Indians'") hold sway, and where the matrix of reality doesn't so much favor lies upholding a corrupted (if not corrupt from the beginning) system of belief (sorry Colorado Springs, your relatively recently adopted evangelicalism is rather a drag. Namaste, nonetheless).