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The Wisdom Verses Podcast

  • Esplicito

    Fragile Joys 13

    8 GEN 2024 · 13. Beings are born and die. In spring the plum blossoms and the seeing of plum blossoms. Enfolding unfolding, blossoming and fruiting. The dark revealing, the bright concealing in each new relation. Each new leaf and flower the totality. Possibility impossibility flow in and of each other and in the secretmost recesses of the Heart unpossibility non-darkness unlearning mysterious envelope of wholeness. In the leaves and branches there is a hidden laughter; its roots in the formless, its blossoms appear within form. Oh, disorderly face of appearance! Oh improbable visage of sofas, volcano, landscape, wasteland, three-toed sloth and roses, so many roses. Hey, appearance! Do you hold us captive? Do you set us free? Or, are you simply going about your business of appearing disappearing… unexpected entanglements, quantum tracings of flower and bud’s atemporal relationship before during and of all emergence- the formless, strange meeting place, ant’s foot and peony sexing. In spring the plum blossoms and the seeing of plum blossoms.
    Ascoltato 28 min. 44 sec.
  • Xuan Xue: The Dark Unlearning, 49

    3 GEN 2024 · 49. A man is lost in the woods. For hours he runs, then stumbles. He looks for turning in ellipses and spirals. Thirst overtakes him. He comes to a glen with two pools of water. One is poison. One is nectar. What happens next is a toss-up. A woman is born in a desert. She wakes up full grown. Sand stretches for as far as the eye can see and further … as far as the mind can imagine! There is no end to it. She will have to make her home from desert, from heat, from the knowings of sand particles. You woke up today and appearance stretches as far as mind can wander in every direction. There is no explanation of why you are here. You wake up full grown into experience. Appearing stretches everywhere and everywhen. You will have to make a home from the waxing and waning of the moon, the patterns of traffic, forest pools. There are choices. Look for signs. Joseph was thrown down in a well. Mandarava in a pit of thorns and tar. Jonah into the belly of a whale. Padmasambhava—the Cool Grove Charnel Ground. Are these anywhere else? You too must make your home in the midst of irritations. You too must find delicious laughter tumbling out from the mouth of everywhere. The Friend of The Way does not teach you. That one is a mirror. The world reflected in empty brightness reveals signs, pathways. In that mirror: one forest pool shows a banshee, an owl, a dark river and, in the other, a sun, moon, staircase of flowers. A mirror offers no advice, only vision.
    Ascoltato 36 min. 16 sec.
  • Esplicito

    Xuan Xue: The Dark Unlearning, 62

    20 NOV 2023 · In this AWESOME and PERFECT teaching, t.k. delivers a masterful exposition on emptiness-nothingness-openness as the essence of reality, through explaining his poem: 62. There is a homeland of wisdom where my beloved dwells. It is an openness irreducible, untouched by sorrows. It is a place where every thing is lost, and the beloved appears as the everything radiance of without cause. There, there can be no thought, no concept; lover and beloved do not signal the separation of the number two, nor do they imagine Oneness. They refuse that game. No truth or untruth, no good or bad, no stages of the path, no mantra, samaya, deity, or tantra, nothing to do and nothing left undone. There, there is no Christian or Buddhist, no Trump or Clinton, no five element play and no substanceless light. There, there is no self and no other, no terrorist or friend, no immigrant or native. There, there is no duality nor non-duality, no prayer, no meditation, no work and no relaxation, no beings, no Buddhas, no birth, no death. There, in the Utterly Nothing Palace, my beloved and I cavort in love untouched by care or worry. Oh, yogi and friend, I hope you too will join us in our Nobody Nowhere Palace, the Apophatic Palace
    Ascoltato 36 min. 52 sec.
  • Esplicito

    Fragile Joys 22, 23, 24 - Three Poems of Mori

    16 OTT 2023 · 22. 23. 24. Three poems of Mori: 1. Japan, Harvest Moon, fall 1470: sunlight meets chandelier; now things get erotic. everything delights in opening. . the pleasure of colors spill out everywhere. the mood of lucency, moonlight. son of an emperor daughter of a peasant. uncreate mind’s insistence on alternatives (Wave? Particle?). her body, careless across bed. his lips to her warm wet. worship meets. mind silences. the Davisson–Germer experiment is made in love. now things get erotic everything delights in entering. (A person enters a room. The room has more than one door. The person must enter through one of them never all of them at once. An electron enters a room. The electron can, and always does, enter through all doors simultaneously.) the pleasures of wisdom spill out everywhere. 2. Denmark, Cold Moon, winter 1067: After Loki I was the first to borrow Freyja’s cloak of falcon feathers. I flew to you. Flew across centuries and oceans. I could not bear the separation and so, not finding you quickly enough, I consulted the Thrice Burnt Thrice Born, the she-witch Gullvieg. She spoke: “I am sorry but there is nothing I can say that would not perchance dismantle, denude, destroy the careful contrivance you call ‘your life.’” And so, I lay down on pine bow bed, wildflower, arch of bones, Viking feast in the halls of Fólkvangr. I practiced the s e x magic of the old Norse: dwarves painted on the sides of barn timbers, the deep pull of ancient wells, the sorcery of touch wood, skin bag ermine gloves. Due to my being a man, she would not at first see me. But she was Freyja’s sister and so I told her it was of you. I knew she would understand the backward way of love; I told her you are my household. I told her that without you I have no poetry. She laughed like lunacy. “Love’s unknowings outweigh human contrivances,” she whispered. She burnt plants: henbane, mushroom, pine sap. She unmade man-ness, took away gendering. She went to her loom, loosened a knot in the woof, the ways in which you were hidden were undone. She tied a knot, the enemy was bound. She made me a finder of futures and pasts. That unsane sister tied the words ‘yours’ ‘mine’ to colored thread and wove them into the community of messengers the bird-headed females called envoys of sages. Then and there I unbecame and became again. Now, unlike that odd species called “men,” I am not endangered (or engendered) by womanly freedoms... When I die I will go with the half who journey to Freyja, to you. Let the men who only know battle go to Odin.   3. Atlanta, Flower Moon, spring 2001: new moon’s darkness is a cloak a mantle over your shoulder. (I can’t quite remember anymore did I call you or am I the called? little matter.) now i journey down. my lips draw out threads of pleasure – a little art that weaver taught me. now my kisses open, disclose. now your hand invites, draws in. now this time, and that, are only. the milky way of your legs spread their beauty across the pilgrimage of my hands. your sighs balance my accounts and the three times become one.
    Ascoltato 58 min. 15 sec.
  • Xuan Xue: The Dark Unlearning, 10

    9 OTT 2023 · 10. A child runs through a field of wildflowers; their eyes fill with beauty. Another walks an open-air market, St. Rémy de Provence, the smell of olives and ripe melons fills her body with a joy. A joy untouched by word. When sense field and sense object meet in innocence, their union becomes the swelling forth of Love. How do you know if they have met in innocence—there is silence. Silence pervades perception and brings with it mysterious benediction. Silence flowers. An invitation is heard, received, met, entered. All that—before the word “desire.” We grow up. We become preoccupied. Pre-occupation, always already occupied by that complicated business and bartering of attraction, aversion, indifference. Mind’s figurings are chaotic—sense field and sense object meet in fretful concern. Odds are figured, interest calculated. There is a strange forgetting within our desiring. But, also, an odd remembrance, a longing. In the Himalayan mountains there is a mythical great white swan who, when a bowl of milk and water mixed is placed before her, can drink the milk and leave the water. Our forgetting and remembrance are water and milk mixed. Forgetting and Remembrance are not ideas but alive entities. Desire and Innocence too. These are living forces. And, it’s not so much that you are living them as they are living you. But you have a secret power—you decide who gets fed. Longing’s prayer is the invitation of Innocence. Desire’s demand closes doors. Desire claims that if you feed it, it will give you the keys to the kingdom of pleasure and glory. Innocence is shy and makes no claims—it perceives in tender silence. Mind’s chaos accustoms itself to the noise of ceaseless conflicting desires, but it can also be trained. Wants to be. Mind’s blah blah blah is a dog looking for a leash. Everything Desire claims is delivered by Innocence. The Great Work is a training in Innocence.
    Ascoltato 36 min. 10 sec.
  • Xuan Xue: The Dark Unlearning, 31

    2 OTT 2023 · In this first episode, t.k. graces us with a talk on the meaning and references included in the sublime poem “31” from his book of poetry entitled Xuan Xue: The Dark Unlearning. 31. There is a body of sudden openness. It has no feet, no hand, no face, no form. And it has no alienation of labor and the product of labor. Awareness’ work is appearance. Management, that old fraud, the word “I,” has been sacked. In its mysterious absence it is wholeness, and, when we come to rest therein—to find our own unutterable non-being—then everything we speak becomes love. Tomorrow it is labor negotiations. Good faith bargaining between the obscurity of no-thing-ness and some-thing-ness. But tonight the subject is Love. Tomorrow will be all headaches and hangovers. But tonight it’s all drunken staggering. The divine neither is nor is not, just like you —its AppearingEmptiness is far more subtle, more full of jest and humor, than that n c a a r n r y o o w n — the verb To Be. t.k.’s books on - Outro music: “Sam’s Kiss” by Just a Tourist -
    Ascoltato 52 min. 47 sec.

Welcome to The Wisdom Verses Podcast with t.k.! Who is t.k.? A living myth interrupting ordinariness. Those are perhaps the best words to describe t.k.—the mystic, poet, father, spiritual master,...

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Welcome to The Wisdom Verses Podcast with t.k.!

Who is t.k.? A living myth interrupting ordinariness. Those are perhaps the best words to describe t.k.—the mystic, poet, father, spiritual master, and farmer. Repository of ancient secrets, worker of arcane magics, sage who has gone beyond the touch of birth and death. Those would also be accurate words. In his poems (and in these recordings), t.k. talks to us about the enlightened one’s love affair with appearance. He invites, cajoles, seduces us into a participatory encounter with wisdom bliss.
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