Love Burns Itself

shimmering rainbows of light and water

surf the waves

dissolve into their own reflection

elegant mists rise

greet the morning sun

pirouette with their own echoes

all afterimages

burn

there was nothing to see and no one looking

as I peered into the mirror

looking for a true image

for some solidity

something to grasp 

someone to kiss

someone to love

the looking glass exploded into smithereens

every shard a piece of what I thought I was

and was not

pierced me deeply

until there was nothing left to dance

freely

on the waves

or rise up into the morning sun

and dissolve into the great dream of love

all echoes of ancient shores dissolved 

there was no safety 

no one to sail the great ocean

no one to seek a harbor 

there were no waves

or seas

or suns

or space

less substantial than these castles made of clouds

there are no castles

or clouds

or sky

or tears

who weeps at the beauty of this imaginary world

of love's splendor and our broken hearted beauty?

is it the world weeping? 

is it you?

is it me?

these tears form our inlines

and outlines 

as blood runs through our arteries and veins

love flows like this

we are the heat and light of a thousand suns

pouring into itself


someone says, 'you're beautiful'
'I love you'
and there is simply nothing here
there is no here
nor there

echoes stream across the vastness
wide eyed vacant streets of midnight moonlight sun
have no source or singer
no mouths to hold the vowels
or let them lose

ripples of overtones fall through their own waves
sliding over and under and through these sounds
that have no meaning
nor non meaning
nothing does
there are no things

that this is unknowable is undeniable
that selves are the illusion of knowing is clear
so what am I after the shift
but an imaginary dancer of wind?
what is there to love but the wind that caresses you, flows though you and is you?
a ballet of wind in wind
of sky in sky
of light in light
of space in space

what is it that dances with itself
in this love ballet?
all words seem to capture what is as illusive as yesterday
or tomorrow
morning mists dissolve and leave no trace
were they ever caught in the first rays
pouring over the canyon walls
rainbows shimmering...

this ache that has no name
for what is
and what is not
is the rhythm of our existence
without it
there is not even nothing
this love that is not a thing

echoes pour through deep deep hollows
whoosh across the canyon
spiral into sky
explode into songs
reverberate in our hearts
oh yes, we say, this is it

this is a love that cannot be filled or emptied
it cannot be held or refused
there are no hands to hold it
no heart to treasure it
no one can truly know this
yet it seems that without it
I am not

The belief in imaginary separation
Makes it feel like there are separate things moments and events
So if there is thought
Well
There must be a thinker
And if there is feeling
There must be someone who feels
It really FEELS like that doesn’t it?
And if there is ‘all this’, then there must be a cause of source or creator
The description of intelligence is a shared learned concept
Like all words it seems to be, and feels like it a thing.

Seekers are the looking for and the longing to find this apparently unchanging thing
God or source or awareness...
The seeking makes them feel solid... they are the grasping which seems to create things to grasp and someone to hold them or let go of them

There are no selves
Neither higher or lower
There is no god or source or higher intelligence creating the universe or trying to learn from it

Seekers are defined by the belief that there is such a thing as enlightenment, some one to get it and a path by which it can be attained.  

Everyone truly knows or Intuits no thing ness

Or unicity 

Yet that deep feeling which may gnaw on you can be quite uncomfortable

For if there are no things, that would mean that there is no you, that there is no love, that there are no mountains, that there are no valleys, or deep deep oceans sparkling in the summer sun....

And this intuited feeling can create a very painful dissonance with the belief in separation which the self is...

Some may try to return to that feeling of wholeness or oneness, yet it has never disappeared.  It cannot be, and need not be created or contrived...

And no one knows what puts a chink in that tall strong wall of assumed knowing, and creates a tumbling apart of this house of cards....

All I know is that all effort or trying to not effort substantiates the painful feeling that there is a you separate from this idea of enlightenment, or this feeling that you suspect might be true, of this huge huge void ....which you fear and long for

No one gets this, as there is nothing to get.... no one becomes enlightened as you are a fictional character  ...but it might get you! enlightenment is truly an empty prize for no one. 

trying to peer behind a rainbow

the colors disappear

under these words

there is not even nothing

consonants and vowels seem to weave this song

of things

of everything and nothing

of light and dark

and secret places that seem to be just around the corner

just outside your vision

just outside this song

outside is a word

like inside

like rainbows and colors

and flowers gently dancing in the morning breeze...

emptiness a word

dusting the worded world with a promise of no tomorrow 

a forest of moonbeams

waits for your eyes to paint the beauty

as you wait for the night to envelope your tears

you can hear the mountains weeping

a coyote waits for the moon to rise

echoes reverberate from everywhere and no where 

your ears your eyes caress the dusk

envelope the falling away of any hope of another day

and the fear of night

enlightenment is an idea 

like you

Where did you get all those ideas

What would you be without them

So what IS going on?

Can you find an edge or outside to it?

If it’s all encompassing, it can’t be an it, can it?

You could say that there are colors and shapes and sounds...  but this is like throwing a net across a rushing river, the description composed of shared learned words has only seemed to capture it. You can’t even say it’s flowing without seeming to catch it...

It’s truly unknowable isn’t it?

All description seems to create separate things and events and time... but this is just a conceptual overlay that seems to create a known world, and a knower.

thought spins lighter and lighter traces of shine and shadow

weaving an imaginary web

that cannot catch light

but seems to kiss it into being

what cannot be kissed

is this magnificent unknowing

knowing that there are no things

and no one to know them

she waltzes in a dream time of love

in love with itself

spinning ancient shadows

into filaments of light

burning themselves

in their own flame

their own desire

their own love

you are an idea of love

like a moth drawn to a flame

trying to see itself

trying to kiss itself...

illusion cannot kiss or erase itself

if it is seen that you are the effort-ing

burning may happen

but it is not pleasant 

it is hell

in the end there are not even ashes

or wind to blow them away

and I find myself again

every morning

oh yes, 

says this song

here I am

loving you

this is a love dance in love with itself, loving everyone as no separation is felt, yet those who's stories have become mine, all my lovers, there is a swirling of embrace of fire in fire, heat in heat, wind in wind, sky embracing and falling into sky, space falling through itself, In love as love through love.... without other's stories I have none. I do not live alone, no one exists alone. Without others I simply am not

it doesn’t feel like there are separate instruments or voices or hands or feet singing or playing or dancing me or you or this  

Just a streaming love song appearing and disappearing into itself

neither moving nor non moving 

love slumbers and sings

a silent kiss

of wind folding into wind

awakening is not a belief or philosophy or understanding, it does not help, or happen to the imaginary persona. 

the seeker is the belief that enlightenment is a goal they can reach by going down a path, and that this can be taught or leaned or given away (transmitted). 

many pay a lot of money to go to satsangs and they feel they are getting somewhere.... when actually these teachers keep the seeker feeling safe

there is nothing wrong or right with that... 

no one can be prepared or even imagine having all beliefs ripped apart, including all beliefs about enlightenment... as you ARE belief, it feels like having your skin ripped off and being eviscerated.

it hurts like hell and it is known at the end that it is an empty prize for no one.

You are the heart of the flame

The marrow of desire 

All encompassing 

Love burns itself

thought paints this lovers dance 

Of colors rushing into the morning 

Birdsong filling the sky 

My entire world is made up

Nothing is knowable 

All things are made up

Including this unfindable imaginary center

Its not like 

"Its all me!"

or 

"I am that"

this feels like utter sublime emptiness

without even emptiness 

spaciousness without space

love without love

no you nor me nor we

yet eyes seem to appear...

no one looking out

no one looking in

reflections of reflections of reflections

mirrors without edges

or sides

or middle

echoes of echoes of echoes reverberating

boundless

seamless

dream within a dream within a dream

flowing into and through itself

without time 

or non time

without movement

or non movement 

without place

or place-less-ness

there is no here nor there nor in-between 

there is not even nothing

not even this

or that

or both 

or neither

a love dream pouring through itself 

color and shape seem to swirl 

three d flowing images almost arise

from a boiling vat of photographic solution

and dissolve simultaneously

memory is like steam curling

recognizing itself as it clings to the mirror

a burning film

that never was

nor was not

a pause in a melody 

that has no notes

nor sound

nor tempo

a space between the words

when there is no space

without words

nor words

without words

a moment between thoughts

when there are no moments

without thought

nor thoughts

without the word thought

trickling flowing streaming rushing roaring 

flowing pouring into and through itself

wind sings of wind

dances with itself

dissolves into a pirouette of wind

wind caresses me

blows through me

I am the wind dancing

I weep at your beauty

breathless, I sing <3