Shiva In My Driveway

There’s a man breaking up my driveway. He’s turning it to rubble.

I expected this to happen.

Everything eternally overthrown and turned to rubble.

I spend a certain amount of my time deciding what’s a good thing and what’s a bad thing. As if my preference had some effect on how things turn out in the multiverse.

When exactly has anything ever turned out? Do I select a point on the light-speed unfolding and say, There!

I thought someone would show up with a backhoe or at least a jackhammer.

This man has a sledge, a pick and a pry bar.

He sets a pace and holds it.

I’m going to say that everything is instantaneous and eternal. Everything that is, always is.

There is a problem with my claim. It is my mind that is carving out things and their passing. If I say this moment, I’ve stepped outside of this moment. I’ve digitized eternity – turned it into time.

But I need some way to talk to you.

So…

What if I say that the thing destruction is one with the thing creation?

… that birth and death are thereby one?

Have I seen love lying dead by the side of the road?
Did I try resurrection and could not do it?

I put dimes on her eyes and said, Well … that’s that.

Shiva in my driveway.
Jesus on the mainline.

The old yogis said that the steady overthrow and undoing is for my benefit. It is for my experience – to be either endured or to be seen. Seen clearly, my experience would be that of Sat, the experience of Is. Seen clearly, I could not speak of my experience. I want to talk to you about it; I want to call it something. So, I call it Love. Without direction. Without object. Without beginning or ending. Without name.

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4 responses to “Shiva In My Driveway

  1. Shiva is the great riddler and you have become him here. And why not. The gods are a reflection of us after all. Shiva the destroyer does not have to explain himself. It is self evident or not. Let the perceiver make any case they like and they, like Shiva, are also creators.

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  2. So what might happen if I refrained from comparing, for just one hour of one day, say just before lunch? Could I do that? Could I just not have an opinion? I think this would be the invitation to the sledge, the pick, and the prybar to unearth something deeply buried. The arrival of my sweet upheaval would be at hand. But I have an opinion about exactly how sweet that would be, and so I wait awhile and think about lunch instead. I smear some mustard on a piece of cheese and bread and taste spice and salt. I am having an opinion sandwich. My life is an opinion sandwich…

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    • Hi, Martha. It is very difficult to go an hour without making some sort of judgment. The experience of that difficulty can be important: Do we endure the discomfort so that we can say that we did? Or, do we watch closely what’s going on so that the experience becomes a teaching? And think about this – a deep teaching doesn’t arrive as a characterization that sums you up one way or another. That would be a narrowing, and a deep teaching expands. Remember, too, that judgments and opinions come in layers – you think you’ve done with it only to see later that it’s just gotten more subtle. Don’t worry about that; just pay attention and keep practicing. Would you like fries with that sandwich?

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