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December 2011

Intersection. The first phylogon, a widening ripple from a single touch, not even a universe yet, and hardly a passing thought about anything. Simply a result for which there can be no less attention but no more precision.

The timeless phylogon in the cycle. Things seem ordinary, logical, and balanced save for that one strange moment, the moment that is different, that wakes us up, the moment that generates the story. Each cycle has an exception, a turning point, a most memorable moment, a touch of the infinite, an opening for new ideas, a suggestible place.

Conveniently our mind wanders, and wanders again, (what is meditation but returning from this wandering to attention) and in this distracted, sometimes daydreamed, defocused moment, new ideas and directions pour forth. An inventor explains, "The idea just popped into my head." In every cycle the story grows and changes to fit the new data.

We are not creative beings, we are being created.

The final phylogon. The lesson is birth and death. Creation and cessation. For every life there is one last phylogon, one last moment filled with everything. The lesson is learning to sit in that moment, filled with fear until filled with peace, over and over again.

Knowing yourself is not the same as living with your self. Doubt accompanies a journey. A hard road back. Expectations vs results. Difficult letting go of an identity that was defined by a goal. The disappointment of getting what you want. Facing the ordinary without anticipation. Normal life.

Entanglement. Structure in the void. Grabbing at fragments of order. Taking refuge at castles in the air. The waking up process is slow and mostly concerned with deciding what is real and what is not. How to climb out of delusion? Who is trying to wake up?

Dimensional ladder. Climbing up to the ordinary.

Basically what is going on here is the beginning of the end of the journey, you know, starting for home, the compromise accepted, still more work to be done, the most tedious part of the trip, a long road ahead with many obstacles remaining.

The crux of the matter. A constantly turning mind. Self reflective feedback. As soon as you get rid of one thought another arrives. An engine for suffering. Find an inflection point. Halt the motion. Breathe.

Hypnopompic musing. Slowly moving from being awake to being aware of being awake to being aware of being aware of being awake. How many frames get activated simultaneously? As many as it takes to feel whole.

Can't ignore the world any longer. All we need to find now is the door.

Our hero is starting to feel like himself again. His experience seems more solid. Do you see picture frames, windows or a tunnel?

Close, but not there yet. Which path is the right one through this hallway of doors?


A portal. An opening. A gateway to now. He's found the right one. The phylogon of the moment of awakening. A clear door of perception.

Our hero's journey is almost done.

Waking up with the sun in your eyes. Squinting. Watering. Sensitive to light. Closed tight. Look again. More pain. Squeezing shut. Wait. Afterimage fades. Slowly peek. Shut tight again. Turn head. Blink, blink, blink. Open little by little. Two more blinks.

When the day starts the dream hovers in the background but is usually forgotten.

The CEO releases the timeless and both men are back in his office. Sitting face to face. Both feeling like they just woke up from a quick nap.

"Thank you for coming to work with us," the CEO is saying, "Programming the phylogon engine is a unique experience. The staff here will bring you up to speed quickly and their tutorials are well worth the effort. As for accommodations, I'm sure you'll find the apartment we provide to be quite adequate. If you are similar to our previous operators, we will probably only see you in the lab. People tend to get immersed in this kind of work."

He laughs, thinking over his own apprenticeship to the machine and wondering how many of these interviews he's been through. He can remember only one.

When the mind fugue that contained the CEO and the programmer divided, some transfer occurred. Their timelines, seen as individual strings of phylogons, asserted themselves; but the brightness in the middle took a lot longer to sort out.

Then again, years may go by.

We form emotional bonds with others after intense experiences; but this is far beyond loyalty or friendship. Far beyond entanglement. Far beyond telepathy. In this case, we recognize our selves in others and then we become them. This kind of transmigration was beautifully depicted at the end of the film '2001' as the astronaut named Dave saw an aged version of himself and then became instantly old. In 2011, the pooled entity that experienced the world through the senses of a young programmer now feels itself looking back at the programmer, through the eyes of an older executive. Memories tell a life story; but the deeper entity remains restless, unconvinced and wondering what happened.

Two suns, two paths. The CEO watches the programmer pack up and leave. Memories tell him the meeting was 'business as usual' but a resonance with a stray sign on the programmers notepad pulls at something deeper. His thoughts turn inward. He resolves to winnow out observer from observed and find out how he got here.

The phylogons encircled him, en-cycled him, clouding his vision, keeping him from seeing beyond their realities. He felt that something intelligent was clinging to the phylogons, passing judgement on the action inside and trying to keep him contained in his roles.

Circle expands, cycle constricts. Exploring inward he finds a terrain best navigated by intuition, instinct and openness.

The closer he gets to the boundary the more he doubts himself. "I'm me, how could it be otherwise? How could I cross outside of myself? How could I be me and someone else?" he declares, "One can't leave one's self." And the phylogons surrounding him sing in agreement, "You're a CEO, remember? You live in a house you remember buying. You recognize the people you see from the memories in your head." The phylogons are smart.

But that sign on the programmer's pad! He knows that he drew those marks. On that pad he has seen a special kind of sign; one that resonates outside of language. From the timeless he understands that if it were his mission to break through, he would have to transmit a signal that ended all doubt.

Boundaries of his own making. What keeps him from the timeless? Why can't he let go? Is his desire for nirvana the very thing that is blocking his path? Or is he clinging too tightly to his roles? He worries what others will think. Social norms are strong. If he told anyone he really belonged in another body, in another life, how could he explain that?

The phylogons surround him. Can he squeeze through a gap to gain moksha? Is there escape in his job as CEO? Or any job? Will being the best father in the world secure freedom? A helpful neighbor? A faithful husband? Is there liberation in living out the image in which he finds himself?

Always darkest before the dawn. He is crushed by fear's tight grip. Can't let go. Won't let go. What will the truth be like? Will I lose my self? Will I die? Will I end up naked and homeless? Will I give up my favorite things and live in a cave?

Why do I want to change? Who do I think I am? What if I find out something I don't expect? That I can't erase? A path I can't turn back from?

What if I find out I am the CEO? What if I find out I am not?

And just like that, our hero is free, whole, and in the world. The end of the journey comes suddenly. He is all at once awake; everything being already there to begin with.

He experiences no ah-ha moment, no rational coup-de-grace to the mystery, no amazing revelation, just noticing that, for a while, the fear is gone and he can pass from experience to experience, from life to life, from person to person, without doubt, and without hesitation. He no longer worries what anyone will say since he now understands how he is not separate from anyone.

This end is a new beginning, not surprisingly, just one separate part of a cycle. The first phylogon launches the next. A cycle completed is the backstory to one that builds on it.

Every moment contains presence, memories, and dreams.

Sunset, mountain, meadow, ocean.

Sunrise, mountain, beach, hotspot.

Blustery trade winds, passing windward showers.

Year-round growth.

I found All-Embracing Sublime Delight who became my lama,
And I begged him for teaching upon Original Mind;
Through the practice of unforced attention to whatever arose,
I gained the good karma of entering boundless free space.

I found a Library that became my Lama,
And I begged for direction on the way to universal synthesis;
Through the practice of integrating all experience
I gained the good karma of perceiving purity in all forms.

- Drukpa Kunley (1455 - 1529)


We speak of beauty. Perhaps instead, they evoke a kind of truth. Surely because they reveal, in their very abstraction, certain kinds of thoughts - thoughts that have chosen, instead of words, to express themselves in lines, shapes, and colors.

-Franck Andre Jamme, from an essay in "Tantra Song"

Green coconuts.

Sea shells.


Burning within. An island, a sign, a universe.

This year we had the good fortune to meet a man from Tonga who knows and loves coconut trees. First he showed us how to open green coconuts to easily drink their fresh, sweet milk. Then, after climbing the trunks and trimming the fronds, he carried down an open seed pod; a part of the tree that none of us had ever seen. The kernels inside the tough green hull were packed tightly around tiny white spheres, the seeds that grow to full size coconuts.

A certain warm fulfillment, a survival instinct satisfied, comes from nourishing yourself on local bounties.