The path through the
heavy pine and white fog
will become the destination
you choose.

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On our daily walk,
we follow the same worn trails,

make the same turns,
and pass the same trees.

That pond is empty,
covered with algae.

That one is home to
busy and noisy muskrats.

So many times we have
have come this way

that I follow the dogs
as they know where to go

which trail to take
which hill to climb.

Yet this is a new day
filled with nature

and there are infinite mysteries
in each leaf and grain of sand.

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When the nearest stars are observed
and the furthest ancient light is discovered
we see what became the past far removed
from the beginning.

If we remove ourselves from physical bonds
and trivial thoughts, what used to be feeling
transforms into knowing that what is felt and tasted
is no different than the first particle sent into the void.

If we allow the light and dark matter
to return back to us, to remind us
of our own beginning we see and
hear the music of energy and motion.

If we extend our imagination
and slow the waves of energy
we see infinite colors and
and the building blocks

of a concept still mystifying
the child standing in awe in the empty fields.

Observing-the-Universe
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This was written by Hanakia Zedek, a great friend, brother, and being with no place.

http://www.edgemagazine.net/2014/03/the-great-mystery/


The Great Mystery
The Great Mystery

To me, the idea of god is no mystery. We simply project our egocentric ideas of self onto a universal model and blam: you have gods relative to belief and culture. The real mystery is all of that space out there and in here — Outer and Inner Space — and us as space ships navigating it.

The problem is that we are trained to think from the perspective of existence, yet, most of this universe is non-existence. This fact riddles the mind and we simply can’t wrap it around the notion that we came out of Nothing.

To me, it makes perfect sense — from a microcosmic perspective relative to the relationship between the parts of an atom or from a macrocosmic perspective relative to the relationship between the parts of a system; in a word, functionality. If a system doesn’t have an inherent design of function, it simply doesn’t work. There is an unspoken universal awareness that is not mind or entity based.

Through training, a human is convinced that there is a supreme entity, yet, when we look at anything closely we see that there isn’t anything “in control” and that its functionality is inherent. Without the human consciousness and belief, the universe goes on its merry way — although we’d like to think that it was all about us. That is as silly as the belief that the Earth is the center of the Universe. Our self-importance is astounding.

The Great Mystery is not about how or why it is more of an experience that we are lucky enough to be having and aware of. Belief is cross-cultural misconception to personify something that is not just relative to us and the projections thereof. What we see in space — inner and outer — is expansion beyond human egocentric explanation.

Try this:

1. Take responsibility for your actions, feelings, thoughts, and experiences.

2. Do what you really want to do without adding anyone else to the equation.

3. Realize that you are either allowing or creating what you are going through.

4. Understand that your reality is governed by how you perceive things and the actions that you take relative to that perception.

You get what you believe, yet, this does not make it real or true — just part of your program. People run around believing that what they think is true, when what they see is only for them because they or someone else convinced them it was the truth; it’s in their heads, nowhere else.

Here is the Great Mystery of World Peace: Deal with yourself and stop worrying about everyone else. We make things more complicated than they need to be, based on what we believe. Release and let it go, like everything else does on this planet.

Things are mysterious when we lack the awareness to simply see and listen to them. Anything after that is the mere articulation of the experience we have had or the silence therein having the experience itself. What is ever really happening — other than our minds chattering? The unknown becomes known when we stop trying to rationalize it with our own puny, little minds.

As we access who we really are, we realize we are not what we can identify, so deeper down the Rabbit Hole we go into the unknown. Whatever we experience becomes part of us and us of it. Identification is a human character flaw at times, when it gets in the way of the experience that we are having called life. Even the idea of life gets in the way, because we exist beyond the illusions of both life and death — and yet, we fear them both. There isn’t any mystery beyond what we are not prepared to see.

What if this universe is self-organized, self-inspired, self-generated? And I am not talking from a perspective that we are all or it all is god. What if it simply is and there is no reason? From the smallest to the largest thing, everything functions and has an inherent knowledge or instinct of what is necessary — and so, too, do all of the parts thereof.

The mind wonders — the universe does not; it simply functions effectively. Not too mysterious, eh? “How” or “why” is a human thing. If we stop assigning meaning, purpose or cause, we can go deeper into the experiencing of things as they are.

Maybe that’s just it. Ask a tree or a bird or the sun how all of this has come and you won’t get an answer. Not one. We just make up some.

If there is something that you don’t understand, stand in awe and wonder and allow the experiential mysteries to unfold within and before you. See if this moves you towards or away, then go or stay.

Copyright © 2014 Hanakia Zedek. All Rights Reserved.

This short story is my first serious attempt at something other than poetry, and a desire to share with everyone. Since our visit to Iceland was in 2004, this story has been in the works for 8 years. It is based on people we met and cultural places that we visited.

Below is part 1 of this short story.  I have ideas for the rest, but have decided on its direction yet.  So, to be continued in another post.


The March sun rises steadily behind morning cloud cover and leftover moisture hanging in the cool salty air.

The silence here is unnerving. Well, maybe not what we usually think of silence, but rather, what is missing from sounds ushered into the open living room windows – car horns, jackhammers, sirens, or even crying children – instead replaced by ambient music from the corner cafe, that rises and falls like ocean waves lapping a distant beach. And Leroy’s bark breaks the moment.

Thoughts turn to the first cup of coffee and Joline’s homemade caramel rolls using a secret family recipe, that I have so far lacked enough guts to pry from her.

Leroy’s insistent barking hastens the need to dress and leave the house. Down the dark blue painted stairs creaking with each step, the white walls are bathed in an eerie orange glow – cold, yet soft. Stopping before closing the door behind me, I look down toward each end of the street, and take in what is Iceland. White breasted seagulls fly beneath the canvas of scattered grey and blue skies. Browning treetops hang on to the remaining scraggly leaves now encased and illuminated by the emerging orange and fierce yellow.

Automobiles line both sides of the narrow street that intersects with Main Street where the cafe is a cornerstone of this neighborhood. and a popular destination for both locals and the tourists passing by on their way to the Hallgrimskirkja Lutheran Church (the one with Lief Eriksson in the front).

Blocks before seeing the green neon coffee cup sign, I could have closed my eyes and followed the smell of fresh roasted beans and arrived there safely. Even Leroy sniffs the air and gains a bit of bounce in her step.

A few empty wrought iron tables are situated on the sidewalk in front of the cafe. I tie Leroy’s leash around a chair leg, near sparse day-old crumbs and purple tinged pigeons ambling about, peaking furiously at the thinly moistened cement, and head in for coffee.

As I had hoped with a somewhat child-like glee and anticipation at Christmas, Joline was working this morning and with body language that suggested she was waiting for me – this day has perked up. After ordering the usual of Sumatra, black, and a caramel roll, I grab a newspaper and head back outside. Before sitting down, Joline was kind enough to bring a bowl of water for Leroy.

What better way to start a Saturday than local gossip in the latest edition of the Reykjavik Grapevine. Amidst the celebrities, fishing reports detail the seasonal quotas for various species of fish and which canning operations are close to their limit. Also of note, the price of imports, including alcohol and, is increasing. It is getting more expensive each year to get a buzz in this country.

Looking up from the newspaper, I notice a bicyclist navigating carelessly or perhaps on purpose with a well executed slinking “S” across the cobblestone streets. Sitting atop the painted red frame with oversized rubber tires and white sidewalls, an old worn and weathered leather seat, basket in the rear, was a burly rider wearing pristine white gloves and shorts. He successfully made it to the next intersection and far from view without hitting one automobile. Impressive, I raise my cup to you.

My coffee mug says welcome to Iceland and I briefly remember I am a visitor of sorts here, as my residency has not yet been approved. In some respects I am a tourist experiencing this land from the outside, with a distant hand on the pulse of a culture so different and raw from the upper Midwest environment I arrived from. Most days I lose myself and blend with the people and activities that may seem mundane if recently arriving, but I am fascinated by their thoughts and approach to daily life. I soon forget the reasons for leaving home and seeking to be lost here.

Standing to get another cup of coffee, I stopped when Leroy barked at a distant squeaking noise. The air was calm and clear and whatever this was grabbed hold of my attention with curiosity as to its origin.

Waiting patiently for something to emerge, a minute or two later a large blue hat came over the hill, on top of a older woman, wrapped in a dark brown wool sweater, white scarf with one end at her knees, blue slacks, blue shoes. She appears to be pushing an off-white colored buggy with one squeaky wheel. She stops in front of the store on the corner. She takes out a pack of cigarettes and brandishes a lighter. Thick smoke disperses to wisps and fades into a birch tree.