Whirlpools of Moon

Looking for emptiness in the moonlight
You find only buckets of echoes
Under the cottonwoods
Wind rustles the shadows

In the darkest night your heart is pierced with brightness
Blood streams from that thorny kiss and you bleed into everywhere and no where

Release of what never was splashes like whiskered knives slashing your dreams of tomorrow
Deep down you've always known this
It has haunted you like a kiss in the night
As you stare into the fire of your own demise It pushes you
It is your own love calling you home

Time flows through you like an empty tide and leaves the memory of love dissipating into a sea of dreams.  All your beautiful footprints wash away in the waves... they were never going anywhere anyway.

Tongue lips teeth hearts gut
Mountain night
Crickets sing
Love sings
But only we know the words

We have never been anything other than these smiles these tears these thoughts of moonlight raining
Sending love letters to ourselves caught in whirlpools of moon
For a brief moment
We flow through each other




Shadows swirl from the tree tops
Spilling onto these pages
Saturating these words
That bleed onto the sidewalk
Pooling in echoes of their own reflection.

Love sings it’s bittersweet song
In waves of sorrow and joy
The loss of tomorrow
Catapulted you over the rainbow
Until all was treasure
Your beautiful shining tenderness

Whose words were pressed between the pages of your heart
Not yours or mine
When the binding of belief unraveled
Autumn leaves soaring
Clear blue sky
Self illumined wonder

I can hear you singing softly
In the morning birdsong
In the afternoon winds that caress my face
In the colors of the end of day
That no one won
In the midnight hush
That led nowhere 

Ancient patterns in a threadbare carpet
Echo and hum yet cannot be traced
Sunlight shifts across the fibers
Attention moves and rests
Inside and outside have merged
Plum blossoms pirouette down the street
Wind breathes me
Silence of unknowing
Sings throughout the day
A gentle wonder
Dances

Hope and fear 

The guard dogs of the heart

Rip you to shreds as you fall through 

The mirror of who you were crashes into its own reflection.

Leaves no one standing 

Blood pools in concert with its own redness

Astounded at the fluidity 

That has no direction 

Wet in wet in wet in wet 

This and that dancing 

Splashing in waves of pure iridescence.

Edges within edgelessness 

Form within formlessness 

Color and light illuminating a shadow that no one wore...

No ones hands were lost or found 

Yet they seem to play the game

Casting shadows 

Skipping stones 

Across the ripple-less sea

You may find that the love you longed for and yet feared has turned around and kissed you full on the mouth. Reached down into the deep dark secret corners of your being that you did not know existed and pierced you and burnt you and consumed you. All that you thought you knew of yourself and your world unravel into tattered clouds raining endless tears washing through your delicate wetness. You may spin for awhile looking for a familiar face, a loving embrace, but you cannot find anything or anyone who will stop this ravishing pain, no idea or hope or dream will fill this astounding utter blankness.

The searching for handholds may stop and you will recognize everyone as your familiar face, and all and everything is your infinite intimate embrace. There are no reference points and no place to land as everywhere is home, yet no one lives there. Such a marvelous unknowing when there is no one to know or not know, no one to be confused or non confused, no one to be free or bound, no one to awaken or stay fast asleep. Gazing out is gazing in when there is no need to grasp life as it swims through you as you. Such unspeakable beauty in simply life as it seems to appear. This seamless ease this sublime awe this marvelous bittersweet aloneness of no one to kiss.



you reach a point where you have read all you can read where every hand you've held starts to dissolve and every bright promise of a future starts to fade. you begin to fall into this sinking feeling that there's nothing else than this… ever gasping for breath you turn around thinking maybe you could go back to another time when you believed all the lies but there's nothing there you can't even find your shadow or your footsteps.


You are the looking for certitude, the fear of unknowing, the fear of disappearing in this love dance with which you long to merge. You cannot merge with it as you are it. You have never been separate from what’s going on, this beautiful flow of life, this fleeting wind ballet that seems to embrace you and push and pull you along.

You are the pushing and pulling, the trying to hold it to capture it to make permanent this magic that you sense lies behind your shadow. But there is nothing painting your shadow, no one fills your shoes and sweeps you across the dance floor. There is no floor to stand on to dance on to lie upon when you die.

You are the prism between the imaginary known and the unknowable pouring color and light into the dream. Flooding the pages of your story with love and beauty that disappear the moment these words paint you. Just like this, as it has always been yet never was nor ever will be, you are this ever emerging ever wilting blooming flower of life feeling it’s own tender vibrant aliveness through the symphony of perception and its inseparable recognition.

Painted with watercolor tears in the river of song, written with sky in sky, with your very breath and heartbeat life sings you as you sing these very words within which you emerge.




Death gives life its sparkle.  Concrete cracks and wood weathers and rots and flowers wilt,  even plastic flowers fade.  The ever blooming ever wilting edgeless momentary is all we can know and we are not separate from it.

There is no source nor anyone dancing.
This is a centerless side less seamless all encompassing dance.
Without beginning or ending yet always beginning and always ending. There are no things to be grasped and no one grasping.

This fluidity this impermanence may be frightening.  Yet you know deep down that this is so.  This has been following you around like a hungry dog since the day you learned to write your name, the day you learned that you would die.  You cannot turn around and face it as you are it.  it is truly your own love that will ravish you and eviscerate all ideas of permanence and certitude.

Beliefs are like life in a strongbox. No light can enter when they’ve painted the window of unknowing shut.
How long are you going to pretend that you will never die?
How long are you going to pretend that there is a God or consciousness or some loving force looking out for you?  
How long are you going to pretend that you are on a road to a place of perfect love and peace and bliss where no one is angry and everyone loves each other forever?

There is no place to rest there are no handholds you are falling and have been since the day you were born.  When the whoosh falls into and through the whoosh, when never and forever collide.  When you realize that this is it just as it seems to appear, that there is no other better for or next.  That there are no separate things or moments to be perfect or non-perfect.

Your heart drops and all that love that you were terrified to feel for fear that you might lose it floods your being.  This knowing feeling that you are not separate from life what ever it looks or feels like, there is a simple joy and ease and quiescence that is undeniably the peace the love you have always sought and you know that it has always been this way. You just never noticed.

Weaving echoes as they sing themselves and untie the sky, sky unweaves blue from blue from blue from blue...

It is only in this dance that leaves no footprints where words can soar through the shallows and dive into unfathomable depths.  They swallow the sun and submerge your heart in the wetness that leaves a landscape of tattered rainbows.  Scattered treasure flows into itself and recognizes its own magic. 

The timbre of life, the sweetness of sweet is this very aliveness... so utterly obvious but missed when imaginary separation is believed in.

Yet when were you ever separate from perception? From a tear sliding down your tender cheek or the feeling of the warm summer wind that dries it?

In the shade, in the shadows, love lies nestled underneath the fallen leaves.

In the garden midnight dances and you follow your footsteps into the fecundity of life.  

Such brilliance cannot be missed 

Or kissed 

Light falls through light and explodes into this very love song.

Whirlpools of Moon

Looking for emptiness in the moonlight
You find only buckets of echoes
Under the cottonwoods
Wind rustles the shadows

In the darkest night your heart is pierced with brightness
Blood streams from that thorny kiss and you bleed into everywhere and no where

Release of what never was splashes like whiskered knives slashing your dreams of tomorrow
Deep down you've always known this
It has haunted you like a kiss in the night
As you stare into the fire of your own demise It pushes you
It is your own love calling you home

Time flows through you like an empty tide and leaves the memory of love dissipating into a sea of dreams.  All your beautiful footprints wash away in the waves... they were never going anywhere anyway.

Tongue lips teeth hearts gut
Mountain night
Crickets sing
Love sings
But only we know the words

We have never been anything other than these smiles these tears these thoughts of moonlight raining
Sending love letters to ourselves caught in whirlpools of moon
For a brief moment
We flow through each other




Shadows swirl from the tree tops
Spilling onto these pages
Saturating these words
That bleed onto the sidewalk
Pooling in echoes of their own reflection.

Love sings it’s bittersweet song
In waves of sorrow and joy
The loss of tomorrow
Catapulted you over the rainbow
Until all was treasure
Your beautiful shining tenderness

Whose words were pressed between the pages of your heart
Not yours or mine
When the binding of belief unraveled
Autumn leaves soaring
Clear blue sky
Self illumined wonder

I can hear you singing softly
In the morning birdsong
In the afternoon winds that caress my face
In the colors of the end of day
That no one won
In the midnight hush
That led nowhere 

Ancient patterns in a threadbare carpet
Echo and hum yet cannot be traced
Sunlight shifts across the fibers
Attention moves and rests
Inside and outside have merged
Plum blossoms pirouette down the street
Wind breathes me
Silence of unknowing
Sings throughout the day
A gentle wonder
Dances

Hope and fear 

The guard dogs of the heart

Rip you to shreds as you fall through 

The mirror of who you were crashes into its own reflection.

Leaves no one standing 

Blood pools in concert with its own redness

Astounded at the fluidity 

That has no direction 

Wet in wet in wet in wet 

This and that dancing 

Splashing in waves of pure iridescence.

Edges within edgelessness 

Form within formlessness 

Color and light illuminating a shadow that no one wore...

No ones hands were lost or found 

Yet they seem to play the game

Casting shadows 

Skipping stones 

Across the ripple-less sea

You may find that the love you longed for and yet feared has turned around and kissed you full on the mouth. Reached down into the deep dark secret corners of your being that you did not know existed and pierced you and burnt you and consumed you. All that you thought you knew of yourself and your world unravel into tattered clouds raining endless tears washing through your delicate wetness. You may spin for awhile looking for a familiar face, a loving embrace, but you cannot find anything or anyone who will stop this ravishing pain, no idea or hope or dream will fill this astounding utter blankness.

The searching for handholds may stop and you will recognize everyone as your familiar face, and all and everything is your infinite intimate embrace. There are no reference points and no place to land as everywhere is home, yet no one lives there. Such a marvelous unknowing when there is no one to know or not know, no one to be confused or non confused, no one to be free or bound, no one to awaken or stay fast asleep. Gazing out is gazing in when there is no need to grasp life as it swims through you as you. Such unspeakable beauty in simply life as it seems to appear. This seamless ease this sublime awe this marvelous bittersweet aloneness of no one to kiss.



you reach a point where you have read all you can read where every hand you've held starts to dissolve and every bright promise of a future starts to fade. you begin to fall into this sinking feeling that there's nothing else than this… ever gasping for breath you turn around thinking maybe you could go back to another time when you believed all the lies but there's nothing there you can't even find your shadow or your footsteps.


You are the looking for certitude, the fear of unknowing, the fear of disappearing in this love dance with which you long to merge. You cannot merge with it as you are it. You have never been separate from what’s going on, this beautiful flow of life, this fleeting wind ballet that seems to embrace you and push and pull you along.

You are the pushing and pulling, the trying to hold it to capture it to make permanent this magic that you sense lies behind your shadow. But there is nothing painting your shadow, no one fills your shoes and sweeps you across the dance floor. There is no floor to stand on to dance on to lie upon when you die.

You are the prism between the imaginary known and the unknowable pouring color and light into the dream. Flooding the pages of your story with love and beauty that disappear the moment these words paint you. Just like this, as it has always been yet never was nor ever will be, you are this ever emerging ever wilting blooming flower of life feeling it’s own tender vibrant aliveness through the symphony of perception and its inseparable recognition.

Painted with watercolor tears in the river of song, written with sky in sky, with your very breath and heartbeat life sings you as you sing these very words within which you emerge.




Death gives life its sparkle.  Concrete cracks and wood weathers and rots and flowers wilt,  even plastic flowers fade.  The ever blooming ever wilting edgeless momentary is all we can know and we are not separate from it.

There is no source nor anyone dancing.
This is a centerless side less seamless all encompassing dance.
Without beginning or ending yet always beginning and always ending. There are no things to be grasped and no one grasping.

This fluidity this impermanence may be frightening.  Yet you know deep down that this is so.  This has been following you around like a hungry dog since the day you learned to write your name, the day you learned that you would die.  You cannot turn around and face it as you are it.  it is truly your own love that will ravish you and eviscerate all ideas of permanence and certitude.

Beliefs are like life in a strongbox. No light can enter when they’ve painted the window of unknowing shut.
How long are you going to pretend that you will never die?
How long are you going to pretend that there is a God or consciousness or some loving force looking out for you?  
How long are you going to pretend that you are on a road to a place of perfect love and peace and bliss where no one is angry and everyone loves each other forever?

There is no place to rest there are no handholds you are falling and have been since the day you were born.  When the whoosh falls into and through the whoosh, when never and forever collide.  When you realize that this is it just as it seems to appear, that there is no other better for or next.  That there are no separate things or moments to be perfect or non-perfect.

Your heart drops and all that love that you were terrified to feel for fear that you might lose it floods your being.  This knowing feeling that you are not separate from life what ever it looks or feels like, there is a simple joy and ease and quiescence that is undeniably the peace the love you have always sought and you know that it has always been this way. You just never noticed.

Weaving echoes as they sing themselves and untie the sky, sky unweaves blue from blue from blue from blue...

It is only in this dance that leaves no footprints where words can soar through the shallows and dive into unfathomable depths.  They swallow the sun and submerge your heart in the wetness that leaves a landscape of tattered rainbows.  Scattered treasure flows into itself and recognizes its own magic. 

The timbre of life, the sweetness of sweet is this very aliveness... so utterly obvious but missed when imaginary separation is believed in.

Yet when were you ever separate from perception? From a tear sliding down your tender cheek or the feeling of the warm summer wind that dries it?

In the shade, in the shadows, love lies nestled underneath the fallen leaves.

In the garden midnight dances and you follow your footsteps into the fecundity of life.  

Such brilliance cannot be missed 

Or kissed 

Light falls through light and explodes into this very love song.

Shipwreck of Ancient Songs

Shadows soar over carpet of moon 

Wind scatters thought streams 

Rippling into this sea of dreams 

Sinking into unfathomable depths 

Swallows the known world 

Weaving and unraveling the edge of time 

This sublime melancholia pirouettes into its own reflection and mirrors your nakedness, it is this empty breath that sings you.  Not needing a doorway you dance on the threshold between what never was nor will ever be.  Light echoes from the stars and your eyes and the welcome lamp that was never lit nor was never blown out.  

Love unfolds into itself, echoing a photoshopped copy of an old rerun that dances to the tune of numberless voices and melts in its own searing heat.  Searching the map for a new horizon you find everyone’s deep untold stories aching for release.  They gather here before the morning breathes.  

Like this, the same dance-step that no one ever took, flowering and wilting between the hush and the day that sings you. 

How many decades did I try to peer beneath the words... I was the belief that someone knew the answer to my unasked questions.  Realizing that no one knows more about things imaginary is a great relief 

Knowing that nothing can be known or grasped erases the lines around an imaginary grasper 

I love watching the thought stream create all this flowing surging painting color and light and shadow in the Grand Canyon of love.  And I Laugh and Weep at the majesty of life painting itself.  

There never was a mountain she whispered...

Can’t say here that it’s ever become one again...

Infinite shades of not even nothing 

Breathing, still, ...it seems 

Yet breath a song that sings itself 

Irreplaceable, this suspension of space in space 

This flow of light in light 

Where no ones feet have ever danced 

And no ones lips have ever uttered a word

Or kissed the starlight in your eyes 

Here, yet not 

Come closer 

I cannot find my tears without your beautiful beautiful eyes 

Same sun same moon 

Same breath same heartache 

Under this smile these tears these teeth this skin this mouth this emptiness that so hungered for love 

There was not even nakedness to be clothed 

I am but a shadow of tears 

streaming across illumined dust motes

Dancing in the stern 

Of a ship that never sailed 

No echoes lost or gained 

Under my footfalls 

In the hush 

Of ancient songs 

No longer looking for the treasure 

Is the treasure.

The shipwreck of ancient songs pierced my heart.  There was no one at the helm, no sails, no one catching the wind, and no one wearing this nakedness, no one wearing the crown.  It tumbled into its own bejeweled iridescence splashing songs into its own wake where even love died.  

Everyone including myself seem like echoes of people I once knew.  The river leaves no fingerprints on its own sublime wetness, sad and beautiful these tears that are my very substance. 

What is sorrow 

What is joy 

What is the sound of a plum blossom 

Falling

What is the distance between the death of tomorrow? 

Why is the song of midnight so beautiful?

Infinite hues of shadow echo and soar 

Surge and subside simultaneously 

Paint the night time streets with footsteps 

Plum blossoms swirl around my feet and 

Dress the winds of memory 

Nothing was caught or lost 

No one wore this dress 

This web of sorrow and joy is empty yet 

Shimmers in the streetlights 

As it self releases 

The taste of my own lips 

Fills a paper cup of moon 

Drinking deeply 

Life swallows itself 

 Ok

Here’s what it’s like:

You’ve heard of the third eye opening, yes?

When this shift happens it’s like there is s realization that it was never shut. The physical eyes continue to see in binocular Vision, yet the third unseen intuited eye knows and feels that there is no division. This feeling of edgeless seamlessness permeates the dream of objectified separation.

Combing the clouds for teardrops she found only empty sky

She tried to pour the ocean into a paper cup so she could taste the vastness

Folding it into an origami heart

It sailed into itself

Leaving only a wakeless wake of unspeakable beauty

The wind left the sails that now caught her reflection

Merging with the colors of sunset

Memories of smiles and tears dissolved into the trackless ocean

That no one crossed

This salty sweetness that

No one swallowed

This ravishingly stunning emptiness

That no one

No thing

filled

It seems that spiritual is the feeling that there is something more better other than this what seems to appear.

And as enlightenment is knowing there is not, it has nothing to do with spirituality

If I call your name do you not answer?

I am as real as you. As real as tomorrow as real as yesterday. We exist only as these imaginary characters. It isn’t oneness or emptiness pretending to be someone. It is all pretense and there is no one or thing pretending. There is no other better more or next. This dream of objectified separation is the only place we exist. This is it coyote, your one and only life except it’s not yours.

This precious immediacy is all we can know. Rich and lush, vast beyond measure, we can not know it in the conventional sense as it is edgeless, all encompassing, and has no outside to it where we can go to capture it or accept or allow it or reject or manipulate it or add something to it or take something away. There is no outside or inside, as all qualities and characteristics, all time all measurement, the worded world of this and that is created by the thought stream.

There is no other better more or next yet thoughts of these, thoughts of past, are included, in this uninterrupted indivisible symphony of perception and the simultaneous inseparable recognition of it. Neither awareness nor perception are things nor are they one big thing. All ‘thingness’ is seemingly created by shared learned words and concepts. This imaginary thingness paints the known virtual conceptual world, the dream of objectified separation.

This conceptual world is the only world where we exist. This virtual reality is the only reality we can know, yet it can be intuitively known and felt that all separation, all thingness, this world of you and me and mountains and valleys is made up. A mentally fabricated wondrous world where love and beauty and wonder exist.

Deep down this is felt, that there is no solidity, that life is fluid and edgeless, but this can be very scary. What if you have no permanency, what if there is no permanency, what if nothing can be known, what if there is no other, no better, no next?

This intuited knowing of edgelessness creates a dissonance with the belief in thingness, the belief in solidity, the belief in next. Belief is thought that seems and feels real and solid. This dissonance hurts. For some it is exceedingly painful and they are usually the ones who become seekers. Looking for truth and meaning... not realizing that truth and meaning are yet more concepts like them. Often they try to escape not realizing that their imaginary lines are formed by this effort.

There are no edges to what is going on, are there? Can you find an outside to what is going on? Can you find the beginning and end to a thought or feeling or moment? Are there separate thoughts feelings or moments? If you cannot capture them it is because you are not separate from this stream of perception and it’s recognition.

This magnificent ever emerging ever dissolving momentary happens quite spontaneously all by itself. There is no one or thing making it happen. It does not happen as it’s supposed to or as its meant to happen. It simply happens. It is neither right or wrong, yet feeling that it is wrong or right may occur.

All perception arises equally and evenly without anything needing to be done, and it is simultaneously recognized without any effort or non effort. The feeling of effort and the feeling of ease both arise effortlessly.

There is nothing the seeker can or cannot do to recognize that this is it, that they and all thingness is made up. As all trying or trying to not try perpetuates the painful illusion of separation, of a try-er, of an imaginary next when this will happen. There is no next and no one to get this or arrive at this imaginary special place of enlightenment.

This profound shift in perspective can occur but it is not an understanding or belief or a slipping into a state of constant meditation of bliss or peace. There must be a ripping apart of all ideas of what you believe to be true about yourself and the world including all ideas of truth and meaning and that there is anyone to have a world. As you are those beliefs how can you erase them?

This is truly an empty prize for no one.

No one knows what’s going on. All we can know is ideas concepts descriptions of what’s going on that seem to capture part of it, and are a part of it. All description seems to create solid stable things, like lassoing the wind or throwing a net into a river, or pining a butterfly to a board, they cannot capture this wondrous fluid aliveness that is so obvious.

Even calling it unknowable or a mystery seems to tag it and make it into a thing. Most mistake description for understanding.

The knowing feeling that what is going on IS unknowable and uncaptureable and fluid can leave most scrambling up the banks with their net of words trying again and again to stop that feeling of falling.

Knowing without a doubt that you are not separate from this flow of thought feeling and perception there is no longer any hope or fear or need of a never arising next. Knowing that this is indeed it, there is no attempt to escape the only world you can know. There is utter rest and a sublime okness with whatever seems to appear.

What you had feared becomes most wondrous.

The precious gem of impermanence, of unknowing is the beauty of life itself.

Emptiness so vast it has no vastness rushes in and plunges it’s heart into yours and it’s a perfect fit. Bereft of purpose or time the dagger that pierced love itself eviscerates you and scatters your shadow in the wind. You had no solidity at all, you were simply memories that left no footprints, that had no pull nor push nor tides that sang a sea shanty of joy and sorrow and of vast edgeless moonscapes that drifted across an empty silhouette. Etched with sky in sky no lines could could be traced, yet you discovered your reflection weeping at the enormity of this unknowing, at the magnificence of this timeless dreamscape where no one was lost and no one was found.

This vastness pulls you right back out of the bottomless depths where your echo fell into the sea and drowned in the fiery promenade of the setting sun. The oceans sing your nameless name with the tides that lost their momentum as they slammed into the rocks below the weight of this darkness that pours into itself through your heart. There were no hands to hold it, to measure its lonesome tracks in the sands that were always falling through an hourglass that lost its reflection when you fell through.

This rich unnamable vastness of utter unknowing sings a symphony of light that dances through its own light. It has no name, not even beauty nor love, yet everyone knows it. It is always on the tip of your tongue and yet the words evade even the most fluid poetry. It cannot be sung nor heard, but it’s in the wind caressing your softness and the tree tops dancing, the long grasses waving hello goodbye hello. It is obvious always this magnificent aliveness that sings itself and has no need to borrow words to pinpoint itself on a map where there are no paths nor signs as everywhere and no where is always here. There is no there and no one to leave or arrive, you have always known this, this embrace of life that has no beginning nor end yet is always blooming and wilting. Without time or measure the blossoms are the color in your smile and the wetness of your tears.

What you feared is true, you are simply a flowing lovers kiss of thought feeling and sensation. You have no solidity at all, but you never did so you cannot stop the falling into the falling that has always been on since the day you learned your name and that you will die. There are no handholds no places to land and there is no one to land only the whoosh falling through the whoosh. Light falls into light, space falls through space and yet you turn when I call your name.

There is no one to be a no one or a someone, you are pretense yet no one is pretending. You are utterly naked yet there is no one underneath your nakedness, no one wearing a smile, no one weeping.

footsteps in the dark

footsteps in the light

morning sings

nothing was left

nothing was gained

not even sorrow

or delight in the wind

playing in sunlight

beauty bathes melancholy

bathes joy

bathes your empty footfalls

as they crumble

bathes your appearance

and disappearance

child like wonder

recognizes itself

reflections dance across the canyon of empty shadows

pools of echoes

shimmer

singing day and night

and infinite colors

piercing me as it sings me

this wonder

my very breath

my very heartbeat

my very song

is not mine

nor yours

is it ours

we walk nakedly

together we find our hands

our hears

our breath

our song

this love

this life

this unknowable

fleeting

magnificent

aliveness

Awareness is not a thing, perception is not a thing.  There are no things nor non things, not even one really big thing.  No selves or bodies nor anyone or thing to know this. There is no true self that is programmed or learns ideas. There is no one or thing that has beliefs or thoughts or feelings, no one who is hypnotized, no one who is asleep and no one who awakens.  

There is only this dream of separation, this virtual conceptual reality that no one has written or created, which can include the knowing that the self and all things are made up.  That this is indeed a virtual reality is part of the movie.  All description of this is it, including this. 

There can be a knowing that this, just as it seems to appear is it, that there is no other better more or next.  There is a seamless ease that permeates the movie when separation is not believed or felt. This all encompassing edgeless wholeness is recognized to be the story, this recognition that there is no outside to the fiction destroys all hope and fear and need of next. 

There arises an ever present awe knowing that there are no things nor non things yet things and selves seem to appear.  The awe at this obvious unexplainable aliveness that arises all by itself, looking and feeling like anything at all.  

Ladders to the Sky

Trying to rearrange the sparkles in the sand to form a perfect reflection
Of what, you never knew.

Looking for a song
You never forgot
Or heard
You are the longing to remember
What has never not been.  
Nor will ever be.

Shadows float across the moon of desire
Can’t you see your name
Casting shadows that midnight left
On your beautiful face
On your beautiful tears
Weeping for nothing
Weeping for everything.
The death of tomorrow
Shines

How many ladders did I think I needed to touch the sky

When sky was all around me 

I am a story written in time 

knowing there is none 

Knowing I am a thought dream 

Is my story

Knowing you are a flowing thought dream does not stop it.  It’s like watching a movie knowing it is one and being in it at the same time.  Laughing weeping feeling deeply... yet it never feels like the whole shaboogie is happening to someone or that someone is doing it.  We exist only as these mental fabrications.  There is no outside to this dream of separation, this virtual reality of this and that.  All things are made up.  Some imaginary things refer to the physical world like rocks and bodies 

Some are purely imaginary like selves and next.  

As there is no longer the filter of belief that there is a wrong or right way to feel or think or act or live or love or die, there is an intensity of life that’s incredible.

A raw nakedness that no one wears... we are it...

It’s gonna hurt until it doesn’t 

And that’s when the tears start 

I walk and fall in love all day

No one is a stranger

I passed a toddler yesterday and he looked up at me and smiled 

The utter wonder I recognized 

I wept all the way home

How is it that there is no one here and no one there, yet I drown in your shadow and bathe in your light? 

How is it that you will never read these words of this storybook that fills and empties me, flows through me and forms me?  I am this heart song that pierced my reflection a long time ago, and left only a two step of echoes ricocheting across the canyon.  There is weeping at this sublime empty vastness that overflows, a love dream of footfalls at midnight gathering and separating, love and love lost such a beautiful dance.  

I see you, heart in your hand, terrified to lose all that love you long to feel, as you read and practice how to be an unchanging rock that is not effected by feeling.  How afraid you are to feel the utter sadness of your loved ones death, tears are your enemy, yet this sublime wetness is the very substance of who I am.  

How deep the summer shadows that slide across the sidewalk to greet you?  It is merely the tree tops laughing in the wind that falls through sunlight to kiss your face.  You cannot step outside the day or the feeling of wind on your cheek.  You are inseparable from this wondrous ballet that leaves no handprint.  It is fluid and has no edges as it seems to melt into itself.  This ever blooming ever wilting immediacy cannot be caught and it’s magic held, as you are not separate from it.  There is no outside to this all encompassing day time dream where you can take refuge somewhere and manipulate the wind.  Is there an inside and outside to a song or a rainbow or a kiss?  

You cannot awaken from it as there has never been anyone sleeping.  Your ideas of shelter and escape are simply the dream of objectified separation painting more and more lines that seem to define the illusion of a you who longs to flee.  There is no outside to the dream as inside and outside are thought created.  As you are a flowing mentally fabricated thought dream you can only know this worded world, this virtual conceptual reality, this magicians tale.  

Most people stack all known things into a pile and call it ‘oneness’, when there are no things, including oneness.

It’s not that you and I are one, it’s that there is no you nor me. 

There is no one nor two nor many nor one.

No this nor that nor both nor neither.  

We are flowing conceptual beings and can only know concepts, yet there can be a shift in the brain that creates these bits or bites of the symphony of perception when it somehow disassociates with its own thought dream.  This mentally fabricated worded world is the only reality we can know, this virtual objectified reality is the only place we exist.  

We are flowing thought dreams, made of memories and thoughts of future...

How wondrous is it to know you are dreamt?

Sky surfs into its own reflection 

Fringes of sunset melt in your eyes

Words echo into this dreamscape of memory and time 

Words form and break a heart 

inside an empty treasure chest 

Where you waited 

Late one night 

You cast your reflection into the sky

But no answer was revealed 

Only the wind dancing in the trees 

Waving the long summer grasses 

Rippling the waters 

Sun dancing 

So indescribably beautiful 

You began to cry 

And have never stopped 

There was no wind 

There was no soft cheek 

There were no tears 

That never dried 

There never was a someone 

Or a no one 

To cry 

Or listen to your tears

Trying to peer underneath the words 

He discovered that underneath was a word

Trying to discover what was before thought 

He found that before and after are thought

It’s like it’s truer than true when this hits you deeply 

More intimate than your heartbeat or breath, deeper than thought or feeling

Deeper than deep... like a song you sang long ago but have never really heard yet it’s always been playing... 

capsizing all ideas of truth or meaning or anyone to have them... 

And you can’t go back to the belief in separation 

As you realize it was never really believed 

There was no one to believe it.

There was never anyone under that beautiful rainbow dress of joy and sorrow swirling in the hot afternoon sun who was eviscerated by her own love.

No one wearing the clothes of desire who was ravished by her own desire...

Not even nothing was left in this conflagration 

Yet there was not even nothing there to burn in its own pyre... 

It’s stunningly beautiful to know you are a flowing thought dream... that you have no actual existence at all 

That you seem to appear only as reflections in another’s eyes, knowing that they are imagined as well. 

Someone says 

You’re beautiful 

And there is simply nothing here 

Vacant empty spaciousness 

Yet in their eyes I see unfathomable beauty

When I say ‘you were never born and you will never die’, some people think I am saying that they are a something separate and eternal.  I am not.  I am saying that you have no actual existence at all.

Thought seems to create this conceptual worded virtual world where there are dogs and humans and trees and you and me.  Some imaginary things refer to the physical world like rocks and trees, and others are purely imaginary like selves and tomorrow.

The physical world exists yet it has no qualities or characteristics or time or dimension or measurement until the human brain using shared learned words seems to lasso a part of the symphony of perception and create thingness.  

Bark of a dog, you, inside and outside are all thought created. More and less

Greater and less than 

Better and worse

Before and after 

All imaginary 

Like you 

As you are a flowing thought dream, when the body dies the brain dies and thoughts end.  

Enlightenment is the end of hope and fear and need of a never arising next.  The end of terror of your own death.  

The self and all apparent thingness does not disappear after the brain no longer believes in the thought dream it is painting.  Knowing you are made up, still you are here.  There never was a mountain nor a you to climb it, yet you may go hiking in the forests and reach the summit of a peak, all the while never feeling like there is a you doing anything or nothing. 

Life FEELS seamless.  It’s not like I reach out my arm and point to the sky 

It feels like a three dimensional flowing light fabric.  There is a seamless ease a sublime quiescence that permeates the dream of objectified separation, the only world we, as conceptual beings, can know. 

It’s beyond comprehension or belief, yet this intuited unicity can become obvious always.  It is a huge shift in perspective and there is a palpable psychological and physical sense of release.  

Life has always done itself, yet the belief in separation creates the feeling that there is someone doing it, or that life is happening to a someone, and it hurts. There is a huge tension with the feeling that life is fluid and impermanent versus the belief that there is a solid unchanging separate you.  Many who seem to see through the illusion of self don new clothes called a true self or awareness or consciousness, as the belief in separation remains.  

Anything said about the dream is the dream 

Including this

Wandering the desert dream alone she slipped silently between the folds of nothing and collided with her own reflection.  There was no path to nowhere as all signs led back into the dream.  Finding there was no outside and no inside, there was a beautiful death of hope and fear and need of a never arising next.