Head to Heart

That's Not The Future Out There.

That’s Not The Future Out There.

MELBOURNE, FL — #Death #Writing

February 3, 2015 12:54 PM

The book… it’s too clunky. Too much head, and not enough heart.

Time to harmonize its nature.

I’m sick of theories.

It’s time for the tide to change.

3:57 PM

Saw the movie Birdman. All about meaning and existential angst. Good movie. Funny, but dark.

The sense of self. Self-absorption. The mind turned inward. Even Michael Keaton gets it.

Change of subject, sort of: I’ve been getting a few comments and a bunch of emails on this Gas Gauge of Death thing lately. No matter how many times I explain it, they just don’t seem to get it.

Reality is right here, right now. Everything else is just noise in the mind.

I doubt I’ll address this issue anymore. I’m so tired of the drama. So tired of their fears. So tired of explaining myself.

The Present = Reality.

The Ominous Future = A whirling illusion in the mind.

Why should I feed the illusion?

The Funeral


February 2, 2015 11:55 AM

I left the coffee shop and traffic pulled me in the opposite direction I had intended and I found myself in front of church and I parked and I processed the photo for the previous post when suddenly a funeral procession—led by two motorcycle cops—passed behind me and I was happy for the dead and sad for the bereaved and I wondered who felt more alive, the living or the dead?

I feel connected.

I feel guided.

I feel alive and dead all at once.

Here and not here.

And it is beautiful.

The Cyclical Nature of Tides

Man and Bird... Waiting.

Man and Bird… Waiting.

MELBOURNE, FL — #Encounters #MiracleLog #LivingIt

February 2, 2015 9:33 AM

A great blue heron soars gracefully down the beach, landing next to a fisherman setting up his poles in the sand as the pre-dawn sky slowly brightens.

Like the heron, I stand there and watch, waiting patiently for something. Unlike the great bird, what I wait for isn’t so concrete as a scrap of bait from the fisherman’s kit. What I wait for is something far more subtle. Something unknown.

She has pulled me here—gotten me out of bed at this ungodly hour and dragged me to the beach—but I don’t know why.

So I stand in the soft, cool sand… and I wait.

A young couple lean against the railing on the boardwalk above, arms wrapped around each others waist, murmuring softly—happy and comfortable and alive.

I stroll over to the fisherman, his eyes red and bloodshot from a lack of sleep—the Super Bowl I suppose—and he tells me that the heron appears every morning, and every morning he tosses him a piece of bait.

Like the couple above, the fisherman and the heron have a relationship, an unspoken promise binding each other.

Like both couples, I too have a similar relationship, but mine is far more subtle—more intimateI have a relationship with the Divine.

I stand there, listening to the light surf while the fisherman—comfortably lost in his thoughts—gazes silently at the horizon.

I nod to his poles sticking up in the sand, “Your lines aren’t out?” It is hard to tell in the early light.

“No,” he replies, “I’m waiting for the tide to change. A few minutes now. Soon.”

I turn back to the sea and think about this, about how tides are cyclical in nature and how some tides are more conducive to fishing than others. How outward flowing tides—high to low—pull the bait out to sea and thus are good for beach fishing, while inward flowing tides are better for other things—more active things. Surfing perhaps… and swimming.

I walk back to the parking lot, intent on washing the sand from my bare feet, but a homeless man arrives at the shower just ahead of me, strips down to his shorts and begins to bathe.

I smile and nod to him, he needs the flowing water more than I—he appreciates it more—and walk over to my rig and brush the sand off as best I can and drive to a coffee shop where so many people give me the push/pull double-take thing that I check my appearance in a mirror.

I look the same to me.

But somehow, I feel different.

Messiah Complexes

Wall Buddhas

Wall Buddhas


February 1, 2015 11:40 AM

I’ve decided to create seasonal ebooks of this diary rather than monthly versions, so the next installment of A Mystic’s Journal should be available in early April and not later this week as I had originally intended.

Reasons: Time, simplicity, value to the reader… plus, as a nomad, seasonal-centric activities are auspicious (I love that term: Auspicious).

11:46 AM

I had an insight the other day, and a lot of emails, feedback, and just feelings have been supporting it:

God speaks to the individual, not the masses.

I think it is natural for Mystics to make this mistake, that what the Divine says to them is applicable to everyone—after all it’s easy to get cocky when God talks to you directly.

The evidence, however, supports the contrary. The evidence indicates that Her message is for the Mystic personally and isn’t directed at everyone else.

She told Moses A, Buddha B, Christ C, Mohammed D, …. She tells me one thingAdyashanti another, Tolle something else, Rumi this, and Dave that.

Each Mystic says, “This is the Truth,” but really, what we should be saying is, “This is what She told me. This is what I believe is the Truth.

Big difference.

Still, when you get below all the noise, every Mystic seems to agree on one thing:

There is an all-knowing, all-powerful, all-loving Intelligence behind everything.

All “truths” after this core Truth are simply the Light being bent by the mind of the Mystic.

These lower-case truths are not lies, nor even half-truths. They are truths individualized involuntarily by the Mystic’s mind. The Mystic thinks he is speaking the Ultimate Truth, never realizing that his mind is required to bend and distort it in order for him to realize it.

In order for the Light to manifest, it has to be bent by the mind. The Truth is going to be distorted by the Mystic’s culture, beliefs, gender, shadow material, and personal history.

The Light, to be understood and described, has to come through the individual mind. Because of this, there is simply no one-size-fits-all Divine Message (as any religion, cult, or spiritual movement would have you believe).

This sounds kind of dark and cynical, but on the contrary, the experience—how it feels—is exactly the opposite: It feels intimate. God speaks to us personally and individually, lovingly and one-on-One.

A deep, intimate relationship with the Divine. It doesn’t get any better than that.