taoy1

Chapter 1: How do you Begin

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Beckons the question from my brother to me. I can give you a list of alternative answers to suit that question, but he is referring to who do I think I am to know any bit of truth. Anything. How we know anything is something he is not interested in. He would rather live his life it seems based upon thinking he is nothing and everything. I call it A-viodism. But I prefer to think I am at least something. I must be. Right?
To him the answer is right and wrong, but this pinpoint of a delicate trap that everything is and at the same time is not, is a circular argument leading itself to chase its own tail until it becomes too dizzy to think. There are things that are as they are and outside of one's own intellect lay the interesting conversation over reality and actuality.
Who the fuck are you to tell me anything. My own quest for self existence beyond the confirmation of the 'other'. Self-actualization or self realization as it is known, where your awareness becomes aware of itself. However, the story also lies in the bitterness that is felt in the younger brother telling the older brother anything. I have nothing but love and compassion for him. And if anything it is the generations that go after us that we must listen to their new and innovative ways to approach old dogma. If we are to learn it is to listen to the words of the wise and be open to the young inventiveness. If we close the gap off to either direction we are doomed. It is also an experience to desire information, knowing one is constantly learning and does not pretend to know everything and this limiting their experience to the world and one another. But the fact is, he challenges me, and in doing so, makes me more inflamed to seek my quest for knowledge. My whole life seems entrapped to prove myself to the world but now it is time to prove the world to myself. To get to the bottom, or top depending where you are looking from.
That is the story you might read. Or I might write to try to figure out the answers thus far I have made on my delicate trip. Although these are just words placed in a seemingly coherent manner, there is a lot left out, and a lot that is superfluous. But here it goes. To understand nothing is perfect we can leave it in its simplicity and entirety of just being as it is, the way that it is, and that is perfect.
I know nothing. Yet I continue to write as if I knew something worth writing about. If I stopped here, which would probably be the better scenario, I couldn’t rest in peace.
"The teacher comes when the student is ready."

Chapter 1 ½ ; ?

I am a man, or for the sake of this I will make the assumption I am a man in physical density. Better to just say I AM, which spiritual density is. A being filled with so many questions; where do they come from and what is the point of trying to answer them, if all explanations are invalid or unnecessary .What makes them invalid to me, is the delicate nature of language, thought, and interpretation. The reason I write is because I do not know, but I desire to know truth, I somehow think I will sleep easier at night or help whoever reads this in some way. I have come to learn that we can perceive these ideas on an intrapersonal level. I know that they are pointers for the way, to expand my experience not limit it. That is why the world fills with wonder and awe when we stop trying to predict and expect things, but allow them to rise on there own. When you become empty and allow the universe to fill you, it is amazing. Being mindful that the present is all there ever is and getting to that Zen state or beginners mind.
Even if I knew it all, it would not deepen my faith. Faith is not intellectual but rather a feeling one gets by listen to the voice of intuition. I know. My knowing is my faith. “I would show unto the world that faith is things which are hoped for and not seen; wherefore, dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no witness until after the trail of your faith." Aw ha! I exclaim, there it is, and just what I was looking for, or needed to hear. That bit of revelation for my mind to play with at the perfect time. Coincidence, Serendipity, Synchronicity. I think. But no more then life. It just happens.

That’s what it was, the idea that “This is my Life”, whose life is this, “This is your life” The one you gave up and devoted to what your concept of god is. This is your life given with a bit of devotion to whom? This whole act of devotion is another story for another time. This story is one I like to call: