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I'm illuMentating; where the flash of neuronal fires flower into sudden infinity, where one " . " 'dares to see reality', but, really, we're inventing reality, every single-time --
yep, life is real, only then, when I am ...
-- yeah, you also remember, I use to recite rote mantras in Tibetan ...
like the Manjushri di di di di di di di, man he was juicy concerning mental Mercury n' words that see, cogently gently-clear - that 'n others reading the scripts on long sheets of idiogrammatiks, written in 'lil tics, so very dear --
nevertheless, light reaches the eye, bounces around inside 'til chemically driven, there you sigh a wonderin' why, all these reflections are a cussin' conjectures 'n opinions, which're becoming brainiacchtungs that are rungs down the ladder of your holes, where all the dirty cloths goes, where all your petty small-guys go, where goes goes on and on, and it hertZ to know --
and you get sick 'n tired of slogging soggy jeans, that means nothing more than you've been wired obscene, mired in the darkness of a thousand different tribes bad dreams, tunnel-visioned and it all earnestly seems to be about you, about you, and oh it's bad --
but when all the words fall from your synaptic trees, serendipitous contraries 'n chaotik-clarities, oh won't you, won't you please, dive deep up there way beyond your event horizon, your verities version not sufferin' the inner idiot disease, something farther than you'd ever did see, with eyes blinded by the light of your inner 'lecktricity, , bent by your inner eccentricities, excited by the ripples of these reflections of a golden-mystery, 'til your back to where you've know you've already been -- and then you start all over and really begin, but it's all been, about-you ...
oh, but you want to, you want to, get back so bad!
after-awhile we'd recite in an awesome alacrity, we'd meditate to where words could not go and learn to relate about what we already did know, in a language only the heart can swell with glow, and it was bright with an effervescent vortextual fractaliscious flow...
and it's Manjushri-juicy , reverberating and crystal clear, and it's not about you, no, it's not about you, anymore...

28 Mar 14

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The title caught my eye, a central Mahayana principal...if that's the right word.

With a lot of your writing I like to read through a number of times as it's very filling and needs multiple sittings to enjoy the entire banquets.

It's psychedelic with out being trippy, like MacKenna, which allows the full flourish of your thoughts without leaving us completely outside of them.

Nice play on the Manjusri idea. :)
 — jenn

love L9, or should i say paragraph 9. ;)
oh, and soggy jeans, yes. ok, all of 6.
everything is great.
it's all good.
 — mandolyn

thanks jeNN -- yes, it's Mahayana but also Nyingmapa too which is the lineage of Tibetan Tantra that I studied through -- I'd met a wandering Tulku, a beautiful bodhisattwa who taught me how to cut through it all, and how the heart is a wish-fulfilling gem, which can feel the flow of adamantine-reflections now and again ... your analysis is cogent and well said, revealing your depth and colour then ...
 — AlchemiA

thanks for reading and your Mandyfull reply -- it's wit and wisdom that you let fly --
 — AlchemiA

You are quite a few steps ahead of me on the path, Alch, not that I'm counting steps or trying to catch up :)

The idea of the heart as a 'wish-fulfilling germ' is very interesting. One of the meditations I was guided through was of the heart as a small red temple, placed upon a small green hill, and in the single chamber of the Temple is a single droplet of ... well, something, essence, water, something so pure it is innocence and purity that cannot be corrupted by anything.
It is within the Red Temple of the Heart that we return to, or get to know, our true nature.
 — jenn

'wish-fulfilling GEM' I meant  ... naughty serendipity for creating the word germ out of gem ... or was that just me making a typo and not paying close enough attention? :)
 — jenn