Oh, we are taking a leap here. I just stumbled upon an imaginative “porn” site called Hysterical Literature where women sit at a table reading some literature while being given an orgasm under the table. Suddenly, right there as metaphor I saw the game of human consciousness that is caught in the sin (ignorance in Zen) of turning away from God or God as the Ground of our Being.

The conscious mind of the women were instructed to read the literature (our every day mind in world of time and purpose). But their Being could not be refused. They could no longer pretend that the orgasm was going on. And so we turn away from God as our Being, and pretend our True Nature is not there….but we cannot persist in our resistance and we cannot refuse the call of our Being. And so we answer the Call of Being in our own creative ways. Sports, sex, entertainment, games, whatever we can come up with because we are very inventive, but all the ways we answer the Call of Being Here.

All life has, says Buddha, original Buddha Nature, or JOY. And yet all life is suffering, says Buddha in his Four Noble Truths. What is this contradiction? Which is it? Is it reading the literature and obeying instructions, the world, or is it the orgasm, obeying the body and one’s being? Obviously either one, if locked into one without the other would be intolerable. Even an orgasm that continued forever would be hell.

The reading of the literature is like ignorance that pretends that the body (the orgasm) is not there. We pretend that Joy is not always always present. We pretend that God is not always present. We pretend, turn away from, our always already wholeness.

When we turn God into a thing among other things, a concept among concepts, a thought among thoughts, we turn ourselves into a thing among things, a thought among thoughts, and we suffer the separation from our own ground of being that is essentially joyous. Why is our Ground of Being, which is our true nature, joyous? It is joyous because it is creative. It is giving birth to itself every moment. Who doesn’t recognize and respond to the joy of a baby? That joy of the baby is not in the baby, that joy is us breaking through the crust of or worldly mind that is locked in time.

I have a mocking bird that lives by my front porch and in the morning when the sun warms my reading seat, he sings his little bird heart out, mocking the songs of other birds. Very creative is my mocking bird for his various interpretations of bird song go like the cars passing my front porch, each one different yet as a stream of cars all the same.

Life sings this way. Each of us with our own song, each different, yet all the same stream of bird song from the front porch of life in the eternal sun of God.