When you sit by the river side, when you sit by the river, silently looking into the reflections, do you feel that the cogniser, the cognised, and, the cognition are different from you? Can you separate the triad? Can you use your own being to become this whole spectacle: the rivers, the mountains, the birds, trees, and, also the erudition of the scriptures, and, books, the dharmakaya and the body of Buddha , the desire for enlightenment? Can you dissolve or take it back again into that void where absence and presence have no meaning of their own, where ownership is lost and the author is dead? What is known and what is unknown?
Does it need syllogisms – the logical supersymmetry to gaze into the monsoon clouds that will bring rice and paddy, barley and wheat, a treat for those who are living and partly living by the scholastic erudition of their own slaving ego? At dusk light, I felt the river didn’t move, the birds were almost made of glassy citrine, jade and lapis lazuli? Do dreams cross over to death’s Twilight Kingdom, the magic serpents disappearing into an ocean of timeless spaceless domain that is not contained by anything, in that profound absence the only presence of these awareness that I am Not ….kindled the light that has no shadows to complement it
Do you call it an experience? When the experiencer and the experienced and experience itself have dissolved into that no-thing leaving only scriptures or dharmakaya that are of no use unless you have lived the life of a mountain with carious teeth in an act of simultaneity with the burning forests, and, rolling of broken toys after the city was bombed again and again? Did you lend you hand to offer some daisies and carnation to the weeping child, the lonely father or to those digging up bodies in a heap of ruins? Are you the photographer of the leading daily? Are you the author of another book? Are you the one who sat by the Mediterranean and saw civilizations come and go? Are you Tiresias with wrinkled skin? Are you the Seer, the Man of the Old Mountains who has become Mt Kailash and the reflection of all birds in the lakes of Kashmir? Who are you that gave dreams and deep sleep to all these beings? Who are you that creates and destroys in a harmonious sequence that can only exist with my own existence?
The fading of its ownness started as the rivers disappeared into the ocean where the churning of the milk bacame the fire-ether vastness that produced time’s ergonomic scriptures to engage with these objects, these apparent beings….
One into the another, each collapsing into its next higher segment till nothing remained to be spoken or seen
And the story ended on its own
Children are like that….they often forget what they want to say, but, there is no confusion of words like in the Tower of Babel, the sounds were crystal like diamonds and milky white like the pearls in the memory of the river…..Do you understand before it’s understood by any Other…
Joy Roy Choudhury's Web Log 