teachings of a modern spiritual adept
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Bite size teachings across 30 years.

For 30 years t.k. has offered radical spiritual teachings on the divine nature of non-dual contemplation and realization. Enlightened mind here and now, born from this culture, addressing the issues of this time and place t.k. offers transmission through countless forms - words being one of them. Here are some short pieces from his teachings over the last 30 years.

in the dimensionality of emptiness’ clarity

Struggle between ‘thank you’ and ‘fuck you’    the ceaseless stories of self importance skitter scatter across page and moment. Mythologies of intemperate light. Wave and particle flicker between the shifting lines of twilight like a Poetic Edda of photons.: imagine a dance, imagine a battle, imaginations of benefit and harm, gods and men, buddhas and sentient beings dance across carpet, wall, mind, form realms and beings, quests and longings, triumph and failure. All the while both light and dark are held within a single mystery untouchable by concept.

 Bored husbands live entire lives in the cracks of a wife’s disregard.

 You, naked on a bed      blindfolded      so

                      that

                              nothing       

                                              might distract from      

 

                  the

                                   t

                                        r

                               a

                                       i    l

                                         i

                                     n

                                            g

 

                                                  of kisses,      

small bites { whose faint mark

 [ in a time less puritan than our own] were called the Rosary of Pearls, ] nail

 marks – their crescent shape named for the phases of the moon }

 

leading down    

be -V- tween      

your legs

 

                                        )(

                                                             to that place of treasures    where     tongue     soft     as      light

draws nectar of immortality

from living flesh.

 

Grass grows in the hairline fractures of a sidewalk. New dawn peeks from behind sandwich shop signs in front of the Smithsonian’s monolithic brick visage. A thousand times a thousand stories bubble forth, frothing, spinning in the dimensionality of emptiness’ clarity. Some you can catch hold of. You call them a ‘self.’ You dress them up in illusion’s colored threads. You become bewildered. You remember.      a simpler time      but   remembering is not reality and implication is not certainty.

 

Looking down I see the red stain. I call it ‘Life’.   e  - xpanse   mystery    non duality of pomegranate  taste ...

....  the feel of sunlight   .....  of  warm lips. I remember Mori’s name.

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Priya Tsomoindex 4