In love with the love of it all

and who is this ancient traveler
moving your weary bones?
wandering has become your song
but you did not choose it
your heart seems to know the words...
they breathe you

what is it that moves your heart
clothed in shimmering tears
was there something lost
that you are seeking?

you are one half of kiss
a circle trying to draw itself
what will be captured in the middle of the embrace
of never and forever?

morning comes dressed in clouds
yellow finches emerge from the roses
calling and answering
whistling love songs
I do not know their language
there is no need
without a listener there is no song
without songs there is no morning

cold spring rain turns to hail
rhythm of life dances on the metal roof
skeletons bedecked with long shell necklaces
learning how to dance
again




Lone crow sings in the canyon
Without even his own echo
For comfort




we are memories blooming and receding
without beginning or end
unspeakable beauty sings itself without words
yet is all words
love sings itself
and requires no translation

sensuous liquidity of space-less space
utterly empty
sublimely full

thought cannot trace its own hand
arabesque of wind flows into itself
finding nothing
not even a tattoo of time
unravelling
colors slip through the mind stream
and paint your face on the river
overflowing into this ocean of love

your beautiful face dissolves
into your reflection
empty breath
empty eyes
empty
love




it is the mind, or thought stream, itself that seems to create its imaginary edges by calling itself a thing, as well as creating a persona who feels trapped inside it





love needs no wings to fly
no sky in which to soar
nor hour glass to fall through...
daylight sands flow into your footsteps
erasing all ideas of where you were
and where you might go

your feet dissolve into the flowing
as you hear love sing her ocean song
she does not sing of sorrow or joy or love...
her words are all words
her stories are all stories
this love has no other
nor is she anything other than this thought dream
dreaming itself

wind songs from the other side of wind
turn all and everything into a wind song
whirlpools of light and shadow
pour through this looking glass
made of liquid sand

you find yourself footless
dancing
between never and forever
between the middle that lost its sides
when no one fell through
finding not even nothing as she peered into her own reflection
she disappeared
and emerged soaring
skinless
wingless
nothing more
nothing less
than this heartbreakingly beautiful
love song



All I can say is that it is utterly obvious that there are no separate things or events
All thingness is story made up
Illusion.
In the story we are the story
There is no outside to the story
Or inside
the story of physical objects has cause and effect like the cup falls and breaks on the floor
What caused it?
My hand pushing it off as I reached for the computer?
Was it the slippery table?
How about the material of the cup
If it was plastic it wouldn’t have broken
Or was it the floor?
If it were carpet the cup wouldn’t have broken?
Maybe it was the time of day
It was evening and I was tired
Maybe it was my Dad
I was thinking of him
Maybe it was my parents
They had me!
Or the gleam in my great grandfathers eye?
Maybe it was the trees that were made into the table
Or the rain that made the trees grow
Maybe it was when I started drinking coffee
Or the guys who imported the coffee
Or the workers who picked the coffee



last night's stars
buried in the garden
breath of memory
burns your lips
urges your heart
to capture forgotten starlight

sound of moon cannot be gathered
or spilled
hands reach out to touch the beauty
and cannot see their own

love is simply a word to hold the universe
in your heart
but your heart has no inline
or outline
it is a word like any other
seemingly holding a bit of what cannot be known
or touched
without words

we are spinning galaxies of memory
that have no center
where do you end
and love begin?



echoes weave sound shadows
blooming in the mind stream
marigolds grow along the garden path
petals rain
tears

looking for your reflection in everyone's eyes
falling through your own tears
no one wears the mask you see
how beautiful your smile





endless echoes stream across this page
painting a scintillating dream
points of light seem to appear
they dance apart and coalesce
turning twisting flowing soaring streaming rushing roaring
sunset
beckons
thin wisps of cloud begin to form
as sky dissolves into sky

love is its own embrace
she hovers in her own light
exploding the noose of shine and shadow

we are echoes of love strewn across the worded world
long tailed butterflies
wind flowers dancing
wind soars through wind
your breath
your lips
your heart
your song
are no longer yours
this song was never about you

you were love letters written with wind
you fell through your own syllables
collapsing all vowels and consonants
all sound
and
silence
there is not even nothing
suspended in mirror moon

wondrous beyond measure this passion play...
this sensuous liquid love dance flowing into and through itself...
like this...
like this...
like this...
....love sings like this





morning sleeps through the first robin song
pale light paints in spaces the moon abandoned hours ago
peering through my reflection in the window
young leaves begin to tremble in the canyon wind
morning looks like morning
whatever it looks or feels like
there is no other morning
than this

the dream looks like the dream
there is no other dream
the dream of awakening
the dream of sleeping
the dream of dreaming...
it all dreams itself
just like this

flowers wilt
butterflies live a short time
without you a waterfall is simply
water
falling
where is beauty
but in your eyes?

you know this magic
you feel the wondrousness of aliveness
and the terrifying preciousness of impermanency...
you want to capture it
to hold it
so that you may never lose
what you can never have
this life
this life
this tender scintillating jewel called life
cannot be looked at from afar
or captured or held
as you are not separate from it

perhaps you are terrified to love so deeply
that your heart bleeds into everything...
but there were never any walls around your heart
around this love
around this life
blooming
and wilting
simultaneously

we are the thought stream that paints all distance
...eternity
and emptiness...
words create all lines between this and that
and you and me
and colors
streaming
this is the dream of I love you
....what could be more wondrous than love?

without this water color thought dream
everything
and nothing
disappears



and are we not love's reflection
swept away in a river of tears


sleeping under the cold moon
spring yawns in the swelling buds
does darkness yearn for light?

chasing its tale
thought spins this enchantment
circling around an empty center

galaxy of memory spirals
into and through itself
there is no outside
of this fantasy
this passion play
painting you

night is caught in threads of wind
unravelling dawn
from the darkened sky

love rests
in the arms of her own reflection
inseparable from the pale winter moon
as it fades into summer skies

adrift in a sea of stars
there is no light that is separate from you
no love
separate from your reflection

there is nothing underneath the words
nothing underneath love's echo
water-less
the river flows



it is very painful and exhausting to constantly create maintain and defend an illusion...
but it is all illusion...
even seeing through the illusion
is illusion




we are the longing to touch...
knowing we never can...
....and the beauty that hovers in between




midnight clouds stream through my window
love blossoms and swirls in this paper cup
that used to hold the moon

my heart could never hold this love
this wordless call beckoning
fear and longing dancing these feet
to the edge of what I knew not

I was a river of love's magic
overflowing its imaginary sides
drowning in ocean

all that I was terrified to feel
the losing of my lines...
the forgetting
the remembering
the unknowing

I am all words said
and not said...
no one moves these lips
this heart song sings itself

I am a poem of colors in a waterfall of rainbows



tomorrow is yesterday's echo
bathing in abandoned dreams
flowering on my skirt
of iridescent rainbows
sliding into the dance
that time forgot
lost in her own back beat
of remembering

we are the enchantment
of yesterday's skies
falling into our own wonder
a river overflowing
with no where to wander
or gather
whirlpools of awe
eddies in space
without space
no one is lost in dreams
of no tomorrow
we are love's echo
singing
and listening
to our own song



and I cannot find anything that I am
or am not
nor any things at all...

I was the looking for certitude
for an all encompassing love
that would glue all things together
into an unsung kiss
of knowing...

a magical essence
that would inhale me
and breathe life and love into a bottle
so that I could drink it
and be forever warmed and comforted
and never die...

now I am the intoxication
of love falling in love with itself
...in love
with the love of it all

golden finches drink from the fountains
morning sighs into day
sparrow collides with the window
leaves her feathery silhouette
words cannot capture this beauty
of life and death and love
yet they paint this magical enchantment
...in love
with the love of it all



I think the feeling that there must be something more or other than this dream of separation is a vague suspicion that separation is not real, that it is mentally fabricated, and this intuition can be frightening, as if there are no separate things nor separate moments there is no you... nor others... and this would be the end of all you have loved...

all you will ever love...

Yet somehow this utter emptiness beckons... and when glimpses of it happen it is labeled as oneness or god... and when the belief in thing-ness returns you may look for god again... and it makes sense that there was a something that somehow 'glued' all things together into this wondrous seamless beauty... but this shift in perspective is knowing that there are no separate things that can be or need be glued together... and no one big thing that can or cannot be divided...

this perspective is the dream of separation as well... there is no outside to the dream, as inside and outside, like all this and that are made up, concepts, like tree and you and me....

some concepts refer to the physical world which cannot be known without concepts

some are purely imaginary like you and me and love....

I am as real as you and tomorrow...

thought is like a net of razors that seemingly slice up the unknowable sensorial input into separate things, into this known worded world, this amazing dream of separation...

this unutterably wondrous world of trees and sunsets and falling in love... as love... through love....




deep moon
shallow sky
blanket of earth
sleeps

wind falls through its own breath
beyond sound or silence
love sings

slippers by the bed
dawn sighs in the naked trees
light yawns
embraced in its own hush
memory writes the known across the vast unknowable
they are not two
nor one
nor none

adorned in echoes the world begins
petals and droplets of rain carpet the ground
what broke open my naked heart
and spilled me through my empty dress
as all dissolved in seamless beauty

colors
flowing
though a waterfall of tears

and seeing perfection reflected in your eyes I tried to drink you...
I tried to write of this perfect love and my pen could not touch the paper.....
and when I fell into them
I fell into myself...
worlds lost their meaning....
pages dissolving
the very ground of being fell through itself

water dissolving in water
space into space
nothingness into nothingness
this into that with no other

in love as love through love
this dream of love sings itself
looking and feeling like anything at all




I think the feeling that there must be something more or other than this dream of separation is a vague suspicion that separation is not real, that it is mentally fabricated, and this intuition can be frightening, as if there are no separate things nor separate moments there is no you... nor others... and this would be the end of all you have loved...

all you will ever love...

Yet somehow this utter emptiness beckons... and when glimpses of it happen it is labeled as oneness or god... and when the belief in thing-ness returns you may look for god again... and it makes sense that there was a something that somehow 'glued' all things together into this wondrous seamless beauty... but this shift in perspective is knowing that there are no separate things that can be or need be glued together... and no one big thing that can or cannot be divided...

this perspective is the dream of separation as well... there is no outside to the dream, as inside and outside, like all this and that are made up, concepts, like tree and you and me....

some concepts refer to the physical world which cannot be known without concepts

some are purely imaginary like you and me and love....

I am as real as you and tomorrow...

thought is like a net of razors that seemingly slice up the unknowable sensorial input into separate things, into this known worded world, this amazing dream of separation...

this unutterably wondrous world of trees and sunsets and falling in love... as love... through love....



it is beautiful knowing that
I am a flowing tapestry of memory
Somehow it makes all this
Perpetually new

Deep rain

Deep earth 

Deep night 

Anointed with sparrow song

Sky grows

Pushes itself from earth

But never leaves the horizon’s kiss

In the year before the shift

Deep deep sorrow fell into 

Overarching joy

And joy fell into sorrow

All merged into this seamless ache of beauty

That seems to sing me

Hell fell into heaven 

Heaven into hell

Sea into sky

Sky into sea

Me into you

You into me

We are imaginary membranes

Separating light from

Light