Showing posts with label Jack Kerouac. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jack Kerouac. Show all posts

Saturday, February 15, 2020

empty and awake






We were never really born, we will never really die. 
It has nothing to do with the imaginary idea of a personal self, 
other selves, many selves everywhere: Self is only an idea, 
a mortal idea. That which passes into everything is one thing.
 It’s a dream already ended. There’s nothing to be afraid of 
and nothing to be glad about. I know this from staring at mountains
 months on end. They never show any expression, they are
 like empty space. Do you think the emptiness of space will ever crumble away?
Mountains will crumble, but the emptiness of space, which is the one
 universal essence of mind, the vast awakenerhood, empty and awake, 
will never crumble away because it was never born.


The world you see is just a movie in your mind.
Rocks don't see it.
Bless and sit down.
Forgive and forget.
Practice kindness all day to everybody
and you will realize you're already
in heaven now.
That's the story.
That's the message.
Nobody understands it,
nobody listens, they're
all running around like chickens with heads cut
off. I will try to teach it but it will
be in vain, s'why I'll
end up in a shack
praying and being
cool and singing
by my woodstove
making pancakes.
 
 
 

  ~ Jack Kerouac
from  The Portable Jack Kerouac
with thanks to whiskey river
 
 
 

Friday, January 31, 2020

the silence inside the illusion






Everything is ecstasy, inside. We just don’t know it because of our thinking-minds.
 But in our true blissful essence of mind it is known that everything is alright 
forever and forever and forever. Close your eyes, let your hands and nerve-ends drop,
 stop breathing for 3 seconds, listen to the silence inside the illusion of the world,
 and you will remember the lesson you forgot, which was taught in immense 
milky ways of cloudy innumerable worlds long ago and not even at all.
 It is all one vast awakened thing. I call it the golden eternity. It is perfect.
 We were never really born, we will never really die. It has nothing to do
 with the imaginary idea of a personal self, other selves, many selves everywhere,
 or one universal self. Self is only an idea, a mortal idea. That which passes
 through everything, is one thing. It’s a dream already ended. There’s nothing
 to be afraid of and nothing to be glad about. I know this from staring at mountains
 months on end. They never show any expression, they are like empty space. 
Do you think the emptiness of space will ever crumble away? 
Mountains will crumble, but the emptiness of space, which is the one universal
 essence of mind, the one vast awakenerhood, empty and awake, 
will never crumble away because it was never born.


~ Jack Kerouac


Monday, September 28, 2009

from 'On the Road'

.
... the mad ones 
the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes 'Awww!'
.

~ Jack Kerouac,


.