What is the word for something emerging from nothing?

Day 15:

Practice dying till it comes as natural as inhaling. Practice that or be lost in this cycle of endless suffering for all lifetimes. Amusement is the degree to which you have tricked yourself into believing anything here holds meaning. You can no more be in New Orleans than America than in some fixed notion of your own name. You can destroy a city or kill yourself, and all of consciousness will continue to self replicate. It’s not that you don’t matter, but it is exactly that there is no “you” that exists to matter. Doubt of that truth is the dream; it’s the fabric of this bardo to deceive us. 



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Process Notes: 

1) the art of visibility
2) the art of attention
3) the art of reciprocity
4) the art of response
5) the art of truth
6) the art of protection
7) the art of travel
8) the art of disclosure
9) the art of grief
10) the art of safety
11) the art of touch
12) the art of entry
13) the art of response
14) the art of intensity
15) the art of confusion
16) the art of moments
17) the art of impulse
18) the art of time
19) the art of shared space
20) the art of devotion
21) the art of admiration
22) the art of communication
23) the art of laughter
24) the art of creating
25) the art of critique
26) the art of design
27) the art of denial
28) the art of sacrifice
29) the art of acceptance
30) the art of gratitude
31) the art of joy
32) the art of relaxation
33) the art of nature
34) the art of beauty
35) the art of the unexpected
36) the art of release
37) the art of gratification
38) the art of memory
39) the art of trust
40) the art of recall
41) the art of codes
42) the art of magnification
43) the art of energy
44) the art of doubling
45) the art of closure
46) the art of beginnings
47) the art of numbness
48) the art of awakening
49) the art of sound
50) the art of vibration
51) the art of collective
52) the art of repetition
53) the art of bodies
54) the the art of no words
55) the art of restraint
56) the art of surrender
57) the art of excess
58) the art of unconditional love
59) the art of fear
60) the art of ecstasy
61) the art of union
62) the art of across time
63) the art of underneath
64) the art of nonduality

Photograph:

Tomb in Odd Fellow's Rest cemetery in Mid-City

Lat:   29.9817°   (29° 58' 54")

Lon:   -90.1106°   (-90° 6' 38")


The Odd Fellows Rest Cemetery in New Orleans, Louisiana was founded in 1849. It includes Renaissance architecture and Exotic Revival architecture. It was listed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1980, and the listing included one contributing building and one contributing site.
Source: Wikipedia



the first part of every ceremony is the banishing

the second part is the invoking

rest here, i hear joy is coming....

i know how to see far enough forward into time
to build a path to resistance
when i arrived at the crossroads
it was not what i carried but who i brought with me

that i had not counted on, but all of life will torque
on unexpected, so i need you to hold grief in an open palm facing the sky
not with your hand closed turned towards the ground
clutching the fear, if you relax, you will lose it
there is nothing to lose

i promise.



Resource:
Carville Morgue:
https://www.nytimes.com/2006/02/15/world/americas/15iht-orleans.html

DEDICATION

"see you had a lot of moments that didn't last forever"

-Lil Wayne

"Everyone wants a performance from the people they consider brilliant." 

-H. Abdurraqib

i tell her my heart has a hole bottomed, a rot larger than the mouth

a lipping i tongued so you try to outline, i reuse words so much i am

nothing outside repetition: tell me is that love

someone will love you then love nothing, i lay down 

to sleep, pray to take, down on my knees
pray to take, when i wake you are are gone 

my childhood bottled, my city smashed the globe of falling 

gently what is the debris of drowned bodies floating, what of bodies

in my city held suspended, your body lay me down on the porch

of abandoned houses, tell me is that love

can you hear me sobbing through sound, slipped

the anchor called "other people" onto your tongue 

is that love, i thought i could hold, hold the lens up 

what is the trespass, do you gamble with breaking

how netted to surfacing, draw me monstered
enough to terror part human, part dream

whisper, new orleans, do you know the cost 
of dancing in the streets while the dead unrest 
memory of bodies anonymous collect at my feet

you can wade into death so deep the smell
leaves, hard rock in the palm, so we tread miracle
i have seen what cannot be cloaked in this time

blocks of prayers fallen debris, a do not touch
me kind of song that starts: is there love

enough in the world to call me back home

its stain: she says, you have so much trauma 

you lifetime, hold the barrel of the gun up to your mouth

i microphone the harbor of desire where no one can reach 

tell me love, we are not the same. write my name on the bullet

pull it like a kiss, throw it against my body, throw it 

against the soft spaces i made syllabic as punch 

syllabic as what is beautiful will stay in a way you could 

not, tell me is that love: still frames amuse

i was never part of the view, this theater i constructed 

set design of artifacts writing out from under you

& then saw finally that none of it was true