JOHN DAY DAM, WA—(I wrote this last night while on Mt Hood, but with no connection and awakening to a morning snow fall, I decided to head to lower elevations for awhile.)
No internet. No phone. No Frog Master. The lack of distractions and the powerful memories stirred by this place are having a profound effect.
As I relive those days of awakening—as they are felt while sitting on the rocks by the brook or wandering the woods of the mountain—I can see how subtle identities have crept in over the years: Teacher, rather than just sharing. Special, rather than just open. Mystic rather than just aware. Drifter, rather than just wandering.
Immediately after awakening, “I” was nothing more than a collection of verbs—of actions: Aware, sharing, open, drifting… But over the years, the sense of identity has subtly contracted into nouns—of imaginary things.
Very, very subtle “imaginary things”—far softer an identity than most teachers or mystics or drifters possess, but still there.
What am I without a story?
What am I without an identity?
What am I behind these thoughts?
It’s good to be reminded of these things. That I am no “thing.”
The mind wants to grasp it, “What am I?” but there’s nothing to hold on to.
Frog Master or no, this is a very powerful place.
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