the realm of the highest human endeavor

1. The Not-Even-One, the One, and the dualistic Two which we embody ("on the one hand and on the other hand") merge to make the Three, this interwhirling we call life. 
2. General consciousness dwells in and as the dualistic two. 
3. Intuitive awareness opens to and as the Three. 
4. The Not-Even-One can be felt as, through the Three, one approaches the One. 
5. The Three is the realm of the highest human endeavor. 
6. Opening to and as the Three consists of one part attitude and three parts Grace.
7. Humility, will, faith, intellect, and love make up the attitude. The Grace is free.

trinity

0 - wu- nothing - source - father/mother
1 - yu - something - emanation - son/daughter
2 - t'ai - everything - interflow - holy spirit/chi

3 - wu-yu-t'ai - trinity - perichoresis

easter

I love Easter. Life arising out of Death. All of Nature displaying this pattern mysterious yet familiar. Famil-iar: in the Family. Even and especially our very God, Source and Wellspring of All, volunteering to go through this Recycle to show Us how It is Done.

without sin

"Sin" is not a popular term and is open to ridicule by those who reject an out-moded Christian paradigm based on guilt. To me, sin is still a viable concept and useful construct, but in the emerging cosmic citizenry paradigm (which includes Christianity), it is defined more realistically. No longer are we penitents flogging ourselves with penance nor the rebellious daring all blaspheme -- two categories of being which the old conception of sin produced in abundance.

Sin is separation. Sin is cutting oneself off from one's full being. Rather than opening to cosmic citizenry and full participation in the interflow of being, one shuts oneself down, proclaims oneself a separate tiny kingdom, refuses to open to the synchronous and the synthronous.

I know. Folk are fond of saying that sin means "missing the mark." Same thing. Separation. Separation from the mark. The shot arrow thunks off target or off bulls-eye.

When we are no longer whining petitioners or rebellious buttheads but actively involved as cosmic citizens (in Christian language, Christ consciousness), we are no longer separate. We have opened into a realm that is without sin. Our Source is within us and we are within our Source. We do not stand aside to look at It. We are It. And It is us.

excerpt from the anthropological study of phenomenological endeavor

"He said hello to the Morning Jesus. The Morning Jesus is calm and bright, good sunshine colors. Humorous, the Morning Jesus is humorous, laughter in his heart. Not like the Evening Jesus who is blue and silver. The Evening Jesus descends on him like a cloud of dreamful sleep." (From the Anthropological Study of Phenomenological Endeavor)

humus humor human

Humans: a cosmic experiment whose outcome is yet to be known, except by the Great Ah-Hoo-Ah-Hoo-Ah whose end is only a fresh beginning and whose beginning never was.

amniotic sac

Self-reflection: absorption in the echoes bouncing off the thin, tough, and shifting membrane of the imagination.

heart and sole

Heart in the cosmos,
feet in the world of men,
I make my coffee,
I dance and sing.

the preachers of yore

The preachers of yore, of my childhood, whether on Sunday or one of those hot eternal Revival summer nights, would get up in the pulpit, the cockpit of the church, and give chase to that same old fox, the fox without which those little churches would not exist.

He, the preacher was always a he, a woman could play the piano but not preach, he would unleash the ravenous hounds of hell, fangs dripping with fox-ripping saliva, followed closely by the four apocalyptic horsemen thundering on fox-stomping hooves. The fox? Well, it was you, of course. You that put Jesus on the cross. You that killed the only beauty in the cosmos. And the hounds of hell were breathing down your neck and if they didn't finish you off, the horsemen would stomp your sweet ass to nothingness, are already stomping.

I learned a lot from those preachers. I learned the power of imagery, of story, of mythology. I learned the power of words. I learned the power of rhythmic repetition, of a speaking cadence that caught folk and bound them into one attentive ear. I learned the power of creative imagination and its effect upon the physiology, of creating images that lead one from heart-pounding stress and ache to soothing waters of eternal bliss.

We might leave church and revert to our worldly ways but for an hour or so we were tightly knit as one body and the world made sense and our sins were forgiven and life was good.

A salute to you old preachers and revivalists! Masters of your art! My first tutors.