Out with the old, in with the new.

This blog was originally conceived out of personal interest and a desire to share the varieties of graffiti that I witnessed on the walls of the women's restrooms at the liberal arts college I, until recently, was a student of. Having never once fulfilled this ambition, and having completed my degree, I feel the time has come to retire this forum. I appreciate the audience that has visited this site, mostly composed of strangers, and if any members of it wish to continue reading my writings, I redirect you to my new endeavor: http://glassgiants.blogspot.com. Thank you again for your readership!

Recent Works III (Med-Lg Format)

Recent Works II (Medium Format)

Recent Works I (March-May '10)

A Series of Annotations

This Will Be Our Year

Read Midnights Children by Salman Rushdie.

Heading to India in July. In the North, and Nepal. The Land of the Buddha and Tantric Buddhism.

Today is my birthday, and this year is my year!

Fractals, Time, Circular Thought, Galactic Cosmos: An Exercise in Tantric Consciousness

Abstraction A: Fractals

This is a visual mapping of a fractal set. It is also clearly a mandala. Let us think about this. The seed syllable of the deity is the originating point of the essence of the mandala. If the seed syllable could be imagined as the starting point of the fractal, the endless repetition of the starting point becomes the emanation of the principle deity outward from the center. From this pattern of emanation arises the structure of the mandala palace, in which the deity abides. In this way, this image and the images of fractals below are visual representations of the mathematics of cosmic vibration, the cosmic ratios of space. This provides an argument in favor of Tantric metaphysics which argue that the mandala is inherent in the fabric of the cosmos, that paintings of mandalas are not created images, but revealed. It also supports the necessity of accurate proportions in the portrayal of mandalas. Fractals are not approximate, they are precise patterns based on exact calculations, as are mandalas.

Abstraction B: Circular Thought (Finding the Center)

Crop circles are geometrical patterns constructed in fields of crops. their origin is mysterious. some say they are made by extraterrestrials, or inter-dimensional beings, or they're fixed energy patterns known to the ancients but long forgotten, or that they're just hoaxes, created by crafty human hands and nothing more. where they come from, however, is not what's important. rather, it is how the human mind attempts to make sense of mystery and symbol, and how human minds necessarily ascribe meaning to symbols.

How do we make the vastness of the universe tangible? By creating it in space, visually. the universe is evolving in my mind. I am going to learn how to speak the language everyone understands. subtle sense faculties.

what would 17th century philosopher benedict de spinoza say about crop circles? that they are nothing more and nothing less than a phenomena of nature, the causes of which surpass our faculty of understanding. he completely refutes any possibility of miracles. (which hume borrowed without recognition in 'of miracles'.) now, spinoza's conception of nature is as all encompassing as and identical to God. god is nature. fact. the power of god surpasses our conceptual faculties, therefore the power of nature surpasses our conceptual faculties. that is why there are natural marvels of mysterious origin throughout the planet. crop circles are only one example. the fabric of the universe is a vibrating frequency of light which shifts in an out of different patterns, creating and undoing ceaselessly. order into chaos. order out of chaos. it is merely shifting patterns. galaxies are nothing less than this. their basic patterns are the elements, which give off a color, which is an energy frequency. these energy frequencies encounter each other and create change and balance. change is a balancing act.

crop circles are an encounter with the unexplained. when human beings encounter the unexplained, their minds, confronted with their own ignorance, instantly attempt to explain it. that is the marvel of human intellect: to recognize the limits of your consciousness, and have reason reveal that this too is part of the pattern.

every moment is an experiment in consciousness. every experience is an experiment in emptiness. every moment must count. every moment is right now. everything is always happening all at once. without everything nothing could be. everything is real. but nothing can be without everything else. one thing necessitates all things. from one. a circle is one, but it is infinitely expanding. a circle can always get bigger. the depth of human thought expands with our knowledge of the cosmos. as i sit here i ponder a nebula. because that nebula exists in the same universe as i do, as i sit here on this chair in this room on this floor in this building on this block in this city in this country on this continent on this circle. the circle we walk in everyday. no matter where we walk, we are always walking in a circle. from the moment we rise to our feet to the moment we rest on our backs, we never stop moving in a circle. sure it's not a perfect circle. that's hardly the point. it is meant figuratively. our orbit around the sun is an elliptical path, so it is like this: we are moving on a circular trajectory the center of which is always being moved. the pattern is always being slightly offset by some force. it's being pushed, challenged. despite the push, the pattern never falters. it is consistent. the zero-point of the continuum establishes balance with the ceaseless re-centering of this trajectory.

it is a fact that the conceptual mind experiences material reality in three dimensions. but within those three dimensions there are infinite dimensions. it's fractals, simply put.

this image of fractal patterning appears to me to be a field of buddha fields, all intersecting and merging, not unlike the collision of galaxies. the point is not where it is but the fact that the circle is always centered. always. the point is not that the center exist out there, but that it exist in the mind. that is how visualization mediation produces realization. by creating an enlightened space the entire architecture of which is united with your mind, you become the center of the universe. you are the singular zero-point, the placeless center from which the universe is created in every moment. there are no dead ends. everyone deserves a beautiful life. and buddha helped give it to others. sometimes i feel like a pratyeka buddha. like i have experience true, all encompassing enlightenment. i have experienced the depth of emptiness. i discovered a gem in indra's net on the platform of a subway in brooklyn new york, on all saints' eve. it was a circle. an empty circle. on an earring. i recently lost a similar earring, found it a month later, then lost the other one a few days after that. and another earring a few days after that. one two one one. one two one one. one two one one. one two one one. one two one one. 5.

this is the reality of my conceptual process, which is circular. time is not linear. the universe is not linear. even light bends. my mind is made of light, so it bends with the light. plants bend with the light. crop circles possess their power as the center of bent light. that light is energy, and the pattern, whatever its source, even produced in a ritual manner by humans (hoax circles), is in that respect entirely analogous to a mandala. mandalas are not defined by the image so much as its function. certainly the pattern is important, but only with regard to how it coalesces the existing light in a visually approximate way. the ground is only the point of departure. there are dimensions radiating outward from every point in space. and their are infinite points in space. and every point is a center. finding the center is a matter of knowing where a circle begins. and it begins at the center and moves outward in a circular motion. like a fractal. like some crop circles. like mandalas. like stupas. like an orbit. the center is constantly moving and constantly remains the same.

crop circles could be anywhere. they're hardly different from any other pattern found in nature. there are faces, figures, shapes, everything stamped on the surface of this planet. just because we don't see it doesn't mean its not there. padmasambhava understood this. that is how he conquered the volatile natural forces of tibet. knowledge is limitlessly attainable in every moment. there are no good and bad. tantra allows all, because all is full of emptiness. with nothing there is the possibility of everything. in the empty space of a field appears a circle. it is mysterious, and we contemplate it. in the empty space of a piece of paper, words appear. we discover our own mysteries. and we discover our own truths. truth is freedom. mysteries free our minds from the confines of conventional thinking.

Abstraction C: Time Does Not Exist

time is circular. a wall clock is round, a circle. around and around it goes. the line from the center to the periphery is the present moment. everything falls within its trajectory at the exact same moment. time is infinite clocks all measuring the same infinite moment. and yet the mind is always happening in the moment, the eternal present, the perfect center. it is as the dalai lama said: we are all the center of the universe in our minds. but what does it mean to stand in the center of ones mind, the cosmic clock? time does not exist linearly, but in circles, always moving around. yet the measurement of time begins in the center. when you stand in the center of the clock, time exists only in the centrality of the moment where you stand in relation to it. in that way, you are the center of time, the determining factor in the experience of the moment.

Fractals and Mandalas; One and the Same

Finals. Bitch. I got this.

I know I'm smart enough to pull this off. Get ready.

Two in a Pair

I was sitting in the courtyard at school, in the Northwest corner. I was smoking with a few friends, when I abruptly look at the ground over my left shoulder. Sitting on top of the dirt was an earring I had misplaced perhaps a month ago. I exclaimed, "Oh my God!" and picked it out of the dirt. I brushed the dirt off and marveled at my discovery. Since noticing it was missing, I was of the conviction that it was surely somewhere in my room. It never occurred to me that it might have been lost at school. Needless to say, I was surprised to see it in the courtyard. However, I am quite happy that the universe was kind enough to return it to me. My ears missed the earrings and the other earring missed its sister.

Dream Upon Waking

Mecca and Babylon were competing soccer teams having a match. Mecca wore red, and Babylon wore Blue. But this was no ordinary soccer match. They were playing with two balls, which were also the prize. One was the sun, the other was the moon.

Where "I" ends, everything begins.

yesterday morning i had a dream

Today I went to a museum. There, I saw a vajra and vajra bell, separated from me by glass. When we left it snowed lightly. No cars dropped out of the sky, of course... but still.

I dreamt this morning. After waking up at 4am, and falling back to sleep shortly after 5am. I don't remember much, but I remember the feeling of spontaneous magic, serendipitous coincidences, and cosmic energy. It was a feeling I had been longing for and asked for before drifting off to sleep again....

It was snowing. LMc and I were in an antique shop. In a display case by the register there was a large vajra or vajra bell. I held my hand over it and felt an incredibly strong current of energy passing into my hand through the glass. That caught the shop owner's eye and she and I spoke for a while about energies. I took a job application and she introduced me to her other employees. Then, as I was drinking something, the shop owner, a middle-aged woman with long light brown hair put a pill in her mouth and remarked that she and her employees had to go to their AA meeting. So LMc and I went up to a roof deck and watched the snow falling. But after a while, we got in a car. I was sitting alone in the back seat. The snow was falling in blankets, and the wind was whipping the giant flakes through the air. We drove down a road well lit by the moon. Suddenly the gusts of wind picked up, and cars literally were dropping out of the air onto the road, six or seven of them. One was your car, but it was empty of passengers. Then a ferrari or lamborghini the same color as your car stopped directly opposite my window. I looked out and there you were, sitting in the passenger seat beside some friend. I was so stunned to see you there I immediately jumped out of the car, as did you. You introduced me to your friend, in his car. I shook his hand, then he put my hand in yours. I woke up shortly thereafter.

Dream Life

I feel your lips on mine as I lay alone in bed. A feeling I've never felt yet remember intimately. Good night, I miss you. Yet I hold my tongue while you are in retreat. Good night, see you sometime soon. See you tonight.

One Time, All Time, One Moment, This Moment

One time, I dropped acid that bathed me in light. I have no doubt about the visions that subsequently I was invited to have. My hand discovered its natural ability to reveal truth. My pen is my sword is my magic wand. Its fire is purple and green. Its air is orange and red. Its earth is brown and black. And its water is blue and gold. It embodies the irreversible rotation of the mandala of earth around the sun. A straight line is just a circle viewed from zero degrees. I see things, beautiful things, everywhere, and they only belong to me through the transitoriness of the succession of moments. There is nothing to fear because there is nothing to lose. My identity only exists through a shattered mirror, reflected in the pieces of other consciousnesses looking outward. Practice looking through the mirror inside one self. It is called clear light, and it is undifferentiated. The unity of one is the unity of all. I have siddhi, but I don't know how to use it. Oh, but I do. Through my pen. The pen that is held in a hand that begrudgingly rests. It is bursting with creative energy. It wants nothing more for ever than to be put to use. When my brain stops working at what to say and gives the hand freedom to say whatever the paper reveals, that is my pwer. My magical power of pen and ink to reveal what is already always present and ever obvious.

***

I spend too much time unsuccessfully telling my thoughts what to think. They don't decide what they do, they just do it. By attempting to ignore a thought, it only becomes all the more obvious. I'm listening to my thoughts and feelings and expressing them, and I feel incredibly calm, and content, and energetic. Sometimes the weight of cosmic responsibility collapses on me. I must turn that collapse into expansiveness. I am trying to, from within to without, the opposition of macro- and microcosms is increasingly meaningless from day to day. The transition from day to day has become increasingly arbitrary as I train my mind to be present in the singularity of momentariness. Words are just approximations of what feelings sound like. Art is just approximately what the experience of feeling and the feeling of experience look like. My mind has been shackled, but now my writing hand remembers how to be honest and channel all that dark energy into illuminating words, symbols on the paper. The last few years I forgot how to write for myself. I was writing with suspicion, and always the secrets and doubt remained, keeping the truth from myself for fear of discovery by others. It remained, pent up inside, piling up until there was no room left for new feelings. It's about time I cleared things out, internally and externally. Not being secure enough to even express myself in the one way that has always come most naturally... that would make anyone depressed. This feels amazing. I can quite literally feel pent up energy in my neck unknotting through the practice of writing these words. It is a warming, relaxing of tension around my ears where my skull meets my neck. It is an unusual sensation, but it feels good since the discomfort is just the tension draining out of my muscles. Now it is passing through my shoulders, unknotting the tangles between my shoulder blades. I never would have put together that not writing was cause the physical embodiment of my stress. I always assumed it was not exercising. But if I think about it metaphorically, I haven't been exercising my mind or my heart because I haven't been writing. I feel more balanced and relaxed in this moment than I have in years, and as I write this another knot of energy in my right shoulder unwinds itself and passes down my arm into my hand. I'm quite pleased to feel the tension in my back relaxing but I feel that it is happening slowly, and there is a lot of built up tension in there. About two years worth of pent up energy and emotional strain. Why do I always deny myself the pleasure of writing from my heart? In writing and art even pain becomes beautiful through creative expression. Pain is constructive, positive through its capacity to reveal beauty. That is the utility of art, to present ways of seeing beauty that are not always apparent. I had somehow narrowed my expressiveness to such a small portion of how I experience this reality that I forgot how real all those other feelings and experiences are. I am positive that I will sleep restfully tonight, and will dream easily. It is so much easier to just write what I'm thinking instead of thinking in circles about what I am thinking. Better to get all the thoughts out so there will be room for new ones to come in. I feel as thought a drain has finally been unclogged and I am no longer sitting in a tub of tepid, filthy water. All the unclean particles have been washed off, so I can drain and wash the tub so it will be clean for the next time I need to wash my brain out. All of these unexpressed thoughts have been obscuring my vision so much I could hardly distinguish what all the words on all the papers I wrote were supposed to mean. I'm saying what I mean now. My heart is in someone else's care. I am terrified by being out of control of it, and at the same time it is liberating to not have to mind it myself. I know it is safe; I just don't know how much attention, how much love is being shared with it. I sometimes feel that its caregiver resents his responsibility and neglects it, but that he also realizes its vulnerability, paying it enough tenderness so as not to inadvertently injure it. It's simply too vulnerable to be transported around. I suppose the place where my heart is right now is its true home, in the place and with the person that facilitated its coming into being, its reincarnation, when its wounds were filled with gold and closed with golden stitches, and forever watched over by my third eye, a wide-open sparkling green iris... and finally sealed with a reverse S, the mirror image of my Self. I can't bear to ask for it back, because it isn't worth the risk of harm. But I know he feels its beat. My magic is real to those who know how to recognize it, and I feel he does even when my thoughts doubt him. And I must ultimately obey my feelings, because they are true no matter how I might rationalize them. My heart is out of my hands, and I must obey them, obey his touch.

Uncertainty = Possibility

Potential and very approximate course of action after graduation

Move home for 2-3 months, save money, spend time with ailing grandparents.

Move to Dharamsala for 3-4 months, study Buddhism, Tibetan language, and volunteer as and English teacher.

Apply to Peace Corp.

Get in to Peace Corp, spend two years helping people

Apply to graduate school

Probably Naropa Univ for MDiv in Buddhist Studies

Graduate after 3 years.

Help people.

Reflection on Beauty

I grant myself the conceit that although I do not need external validation of my appearance, nonetheless, it is a good feeling when I pass a man on the street in my neighborhood and he takes it as his personal responsibility to tell me, "Oh my god, you're beautiful. You really are gorgeous," and continue to shout similar comments at me as I walk on. I don't consider myself to have show-stopping good looks, but I realize that it really just depends who is in the audience.

Why this Monday sucked

I misplaced my camera sometime around noon and didn't even realize it until 5pm. Luckily, I lost it at school and someone turned it in. Also, I forgot to unplug my charger in the reading room because I was in such a hurry to get out at 10pm. I had just paid $86 for it less than two weeks ago. As of 11:20, it was inconclusive whether it was lost or found, because the security guard at the desk couldn't be bothered to walk 20 feet to see if it was still plugged into the wall. I am banking on the fact that there were so few people in there when I left that no one took it and one of the librarians found it and turned it in. Please let this be true. I can't afford another stupid $86 charger. I'm not speaking figuratively either, in the sense that it would be a financial pain in the ass to replace it. I literally do not have enough money in my bank account, which was another wonderful discovery I enjoyed today.