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.