|Issue 1 - December 1971|
|The Sun And The Shocking Blue Horizon|
and beauty lie nowhere if not in yourself. The most magnificent of landscapes,
the most delicate tongue of a withered leaf, are gross and unhappy unless
the beholder will open to their beauty, and let their being merge with
his. And all things could be beautiful, if you would let them be.
In meditation, passing through thoughts, through the mask of constructed personality, through desires that collide and jam within the head, you come to a stillness and fullness that grows outwards, over-riding and encompassing All in a fullness that is pure You.
And You can transcend yourself and join the Universe.
In pure Nothingness that is full and beautiful "Identity" can become awareness, that flows unrestricted, transcending conditioning and culture, to become pure receptivity.
If you hold yourself to be a fixed identity, and your mind to be a fixed and static world, this is Revolution.
Let the Rain fall where the Weeds will grow. The Path is beautiful.
Beauty must be convulsive or not at all - and acid is not the revolution.
If existing is to Be your own thoughts, if existing is to Be your own opinions, if existence is to Be what your eyes and ears perceive, and fingers feel, then acid will be the first encounter.
When colours dance and singing tables bend sounds will echo out of sleeping houses in the misty pulsing night.
But that is not you.
Living in the base of Nothingness that is Everything, knowing from meditation the stillness that is myself, acid has changed by perceptions, but I remain the stillness in the centre. Trees in new strangeness shine in myriad crystals - and all in flux. But if your tree is not always a thing of all possibilities, you have arrived nowhere. Joy-ride or hell-ride you may have, but it is not the revolution.
Let your eyes always see.
As myself I did not change. My thoughts from myself did not change, because I knew myself as not changed. I was the stillness in the centre receiving pretty and novel messages. But novelty is not beauty. Each moment is different and the eternal present always new and vital. The tree will always smile back.
The world always sleeps in stardust, Sophie.
The sky is a hurricane in stillness, whose vastness is intimate. Shine on brother, but the revolution is you, and not your chewed up senses.
You are the centre of your world. Make yourself the centre of a hundred.
And each raindrop is a drop of Love. Behind the coldness in a soldiers eye is Love nailed in an iron box. Love him for being a man. Cry with the Universe that his eyes are closed. Act from Understanding.