Full moon rain

Night bird soars
Through moon embraced sky
Silent mirror of lake

Empty skies
Leave no reflection

Why this beauty
Why these tears
Why this love
What is the meaning of sky?

Where does a rainbow go
When you disappear? 

Giant pine falls 

Dissolves into earth

Big mountains crumble

Wash into the sea

No one dissolves 

Into unspeakable beauty 

It was always this way

And never was

Nor will ever be

Full moon rain
Empty pools of mirrored sky
Breathes star shadows
In your eyes

This and that
Inside and out
Before and after
Light and dark
Weave the fabric of our existence
Unspeakable beauty pulls you in
Never not separate from you
Wind breathes in breathes out
All is wind
Light swirls in light
Shadows fall through their reflections
Pulsating dancing breathing
Life dances
It’s rhythm is these very words
Playing in the dream of mind

Transparent layers of flowing images

Slide up and down and into and through each other

Blue iridescent dragonflies hover over their shimmering reflections 

Dart away into the sparkling 

Silence pours through words 

Words like stillness 

Dance with their echoes 

They are but blooming reflections 

Mirrors of their own shadows

Painting the world with their spinning tales

Stories of love bloom and wilt 

Cascade through oceans of luminescent shadows

Nothing is hidden 

Nothing is revealed 

There are no things 

Simply splendorous reflections

Of not even nothing

Bathed in morning sun

Combing my long hair

Gentle wind sweeps the lake

Winged shimmering flows across still waters 

But there is no one standing 

No one gazing at her hair 

Feeling the softness of morning...

No sun streaming through the grasses 

Or tall white aspens mirrored in the lake 

...Heron at the water’s edge

Waiting...

Without these very words

This song that sings a me into a morning...

When my world collapsed 

There was no one to have one

All words a scrumptious love ballet

No longer believed 

Yet there are fairytale tears 

Flowing through these pages

Dissolving in their own wetness 

It appears that there is a songster 

But the song sings itself 

Edgeless Singular beauty melting into infinite singular beauty

Where does the song appear?

Space less space has no location 

When does it sing?

Atemporal timelessness has no before or after or now

Why does it seem to appear?

Measureless dimensionless...

Life has no reason or rhyme except in the song... 

all this and that 

The heartbeat of existence 

Is in the words

These very words 

This very song

That creates light and shadow dancing

Flowing through our mind stream

A chorus of one of two of many of none

Can you hear your voice?

Is it your voice?

Your breath?

Your heartbeat?

Your joy 

Your sorrow

Your tears 

Your smiles 

Your love...

Your life? 

Morning dream erases the dream of slumber

Slip stream of wonder paints my eyes 

Small purple flower hides in the grasses 

Morning birds sing

Of the stillness of night

Sky blue kayak skims across the sky blue lake

Where is the sky? 

Where is the blue?

Where is the middle of no place

Or time?

Where is the breath of yesterday’s song...

Where is the song of tomorrow?

Where is the sound of heron’s cry

Echoing across the lake

Where is the wind as it kisses your cheek

And as it dances with sunlight in the shimmering leaves?

Where does the universe appear?

Not outside your window...

Or on the other side of the looking glass...

There is no one watching this self arising 

Self erasing 

Splendor 

No one can step outside of this show.

There is no inside...

This dance requires imaginary sides

There is no one half of a kiss...

Yet it felt that way most of my life

As long as it felt that there was a someone 

To have a life

Like I was waiting at the alter

As the mountains were crumbling

And the sky was falling 

And constantly needed to be held up...

But earth and sky won

And a lifetime of affliction crushed me

Erased all light 

And dark

And spit me out 

Weeping at the beauty 

Of an unowned life

Of the wonder

Of wondrousness

The delight 

Of delight 

The love

Of love

Night time winds softly swirl and ebb

Weaving a familiar and indecipherable beauty

Chorus of crickets 

My husband’s soft breath

Refrigerator hum...

Transparency of darkness

Song of night sings itself 

Distant dog barks

There is no moon 

Only a memory of reflected light... 

Where is the morning but in the very word?

self as a prison is a common idea and feeling... I would say that when it felt like there was a someone unchanging inside a self, and the corresponding longing to escape, self did indeed feel like a prison... 

however knowing and feeling that there is no inside or outside, no one to have or wear a self, that there are no selves, nor others, no separate things or moments or events... that there never was a mountain nor anyone to climb it... nor love... seamless ease and awe permeate the dream of separation... 

it is known that this objectified dream of separation, this 'known' world of concepts is the only world we can know... this mentally fabricated universe of this and that, of place and time, and selves and others... 

how wondrous that we exist only in each others minds... that I find myself only in your eyes... that only through us do love and beauty enter the universe!

there is no outside to this 'prison' of ideas... as outside and inside, like all this and that are made up... 

well, it feels like love to me... this seamless edgeless scintillating light and sound show... it never feels like life is happening to a someone or that there is a someone doing life... how unimaginably wondrous, this love dream of you and me and we...

 The self is the most beautiful jewel in the universe

It is the portal through which love and beauty enter ... imaginary separation is hell when believed in 

And stunning beautiful when not

Many teachers insist that they don’t exist 

Seekers love that shit

They want to cease to exist also 

But they don’t kill themselves do they?

They want to live and talk about their own non existence! 

I heard one say that he would never go back to being a self! 

Who or what would never go back?

There is no one or thing who has a self or non self 

The preference of that speaker is a self 

We exist only as imaginary selves 

There is no existence as a non self, simply the self is no longer believed by the brain that paints the dream of objectified separation.