Love and Fear

The nice samatha jhana sits continue, although I missed last night because it was my birthday and I was dealing with some hard situations [with Daniel] (which became harder this morning):

Lately I’m noticing this weird thing with seventh—basically, I start noticing that I feel smothered, like I can’t get enough air (air hunger). I’m not sure what this is about or what to do about it.

Seventh and eighth continue to be hard to hold for long, but I trust that I will improve at stabilization.

Fifth and sixth are quite hard now, stable. Sixth feels clean and even rather than wobbly and fluxing. When it had more of the burden of presence, it was somehow harder to hold.

I prefer using a candle as object up through fourth, mainly for the way that this object (flame) allows me to understand third better.

I had a hard time getting to any raptures at second, probably because I was sad, let down by someone today. However, by fourth I was totally in the groove. Had a fruition out of fourth with a pretty intense wave of bliss (yea, for bliss finally!). Oddly, I felt like I had another fruition out of the bloom stage of sixth. But is that possible?

Pure Land 1 is easier to stabilize and stay in than seventh and eighth. I just read that this is attainable only by anagamis. I thought that was true only for NS. If so, I guess that is another sign that I really do have third path. Interesting.

I’m with Kenneth Folk, though: If made to choose, then I would much rather everyone be kind than everyone be enlightened. I mean that.

Thank you, Dream Walker for your friendship: your kindness, conversation, humor, and even some kicks in the ass. I take bliss where I find it.


I got so I could take his name—

Without—Tremendous gain—

That Stop-sensation—on my Soul—

And Thunder—in the Room—


I got so I could walk across

That Angle in the floor,

Where he turned so, and I turned—how—

And all our Sinew tore—


I got so I could stir the Box—

In which his letters grew

Without that forcing, in my breath—

As Staples—driven through—


Could dimly recollect a Grace—

I think, they call it “God”—

Renowned to ease Extremity—

When Formula, had failed—


And shape my Hands—

Petition’s way,Tho’ ignorant of a word

That Ordination—utters—

My Business, with the Cloud,


If any Power behind it, be,

Not subject to Despair—

It care, in some remoter way,

For so minute affair

As Misery—

Itself, too vast, for interrupting—more—


Emily Dickinson

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