Tuesday, May 26, 2020

Dream of infinite wonder dreaming itself

first birds
long before light
steam rises and curls
catching the light from my computer
reflected in the window
they slide through an echo of a face
that no one wears

this love has no opposite
there is nothing on the other side of the looking glass
it is a boundless waltz of reflections without sides
a pirouette of light
in light
a waterfall of color
pouring through rainbows

and these words that are written by your heart
cannot be read
we are love letters
falling into indecipherable lines and squiggles
a music that no one can hear
but everyone can feel

and when all lines have vanished
it is the end of your world
the end of belief in anyone who would have one
the end of all beginnings
and endings

all understanding was merely castles made of sky
all knowing was the illusion of someone living there
but it was all sky
unknowable
unfathomable
without direction
or place
or time

still the story spins itself
a phonograph of snapshots
and unbearably beautiful music
a dance of no one
of everyone
a ballet of love
twirling without a stage

the curtains close
there was never anything happening
a flowing thought dream
a dream of love
dreaming itself




it is your own light 

your own beauty

your own love you recognize 

If it wasn’t, how could you recognize it





All of life happens by itself 
Thought and feeling as naturally beautiful and perfect as the sun rise
No right or wrong way to see it.... you can hate the rain... but know it’s happening all by itself... somehow it makes it seem impersonal...
And somehow beautiful
That it is happening all by itself

Stories of love and anger and deep deep sorrow write themselves
Thought simply happens.... magically writing the story of a girl who feels 
Deeply 
And yet the sun shines 
And rain falls 
And how marvelous this obvious aliveness....

Somehow when the story is no longer believed it all becomes impossibly beautiful... it feels like love has saturated the dream 
Erasing all lines between joy and sorrow 
Seemingly it is love writing our lines... 
love singing itself 
Through our lips
Our hearts
This love that no one owns 
As it is really not a thing

Not bad or good
No right or wrong
Labels are just happening all by themselves
It seems that the knowing feeling that it’s all story 
Including this 
And that it happens all by itself 
This echo land ballet of thought...
Makes it seem more wondrous than I could have ever believed before the shift 
It is the beauty and love and wonder that we become 
The beauty where we live ♥️


We are this thought dream
Or mind 
Without it there is not even nothing
Not even a thing called thought


....you become the story of unconditional love... you are written in as wondrously as the sun 
rising...
and waves
crashing....
and babies
crying...
and lovers
loving...
fighting...
weeping....
laughing......

and wind
blowing
through wind




and where do the ripples go
when the moon has plummeted over the mountain's edge
does the water wait for morning?
does stillness wait for movement
and silence for song?

night dances through day
hides in the shadows
punctuates the light
like stars strewn across the darkness
randomly singing the stories of the ancients
in new and wondrous tongues

words are notes
pinpricks of light
in the dark of unknowing
seemingly weaving a song of meaning
and truth
and a singer...

without words not even darkness exists
beyond words is a most marvelous idea
grasping for a knowing
that can never be held
what dances beyond the heart
beyond this song
beyond these words
calling it a most delicious unknowing
makes it a thing
and there are none
it feels like love
but to whom?

no one can say or sing of what cannot be kissed with words
yet we all know of this magic
most fear it
and long for it
but it is not an it
for this unknowing exists only as a known thing
a mental fabrication

words are slippery shadows
without a source
we are words
tumbling through each others echoes
simply dreams of reflections
shimmering on a moonlit pond




poems are plum blossoms falling
wind
and a dusty street
the last bird after sunset
and the growing night
the silence of empty shadows
and the rustling of shallow winds in the dark

the first bird song before dawn
shoes by the side of an empty bed
a teacup on the windowsill
tendrils of steam rising
through the reflection of my face

dew on delicate velvet petals
reflecting the rising sun
memories of tears
and laughing
memories of love
that great emptiness I tried to run away from
and discovered that I was

longing for love
longing...
clouds forming
wind in the treetops
waves of flowing grasses
clouds dissolving
the growing chill of winter's breath
and golden leaves falling

every hello
and goodbye
every kiss
and every kiss missed

poems have empty spaces between the words
between the letters
that allow the lines and squiggles to dance
stretching out into a love song
that will never capture love



ahhhhhhhhh
the fleetingness of life
appearing and disappearing
without time
leaving no wake
or shadow
to twirl on empty beaches

wind
erases all footprints
such immeasurable beauty
the dance of wind
in wind

falling though a photograph of yourself
all edges disappear
there is only the softness
of the beauty
that you are
but can never find

it was only an illusion that there was a you
walking
tip toeing along a timeline
between birth and death
afraid to fall off
terrified to reach the end...
life a series of snapshots
in a book of poems
every page dissolves as soon as it is read

beauty is this impermanence
that death sings

we are dream dancers
as the dream dances us
a ballet of illusions flowing across an imaginary screen of time and place
we are transparent reflections
echoes of silhouettes dissolving into echoes
never lost
never found

there is no hand
no heart
to hold this beauty
this love
that seems to erase my imaginary lines
and writes me into this very song




seaside
broken bits of shells and 
sand
blowing
erasing all footsteps
directionless
there is no one to wander
or to be lost
or found
home is a dream of joy and sorrow
where no one leaves
or returns

time is an echo of all the stories you never heard
reverberating in a nautilus shell
spinning day dreams into a fabric of sound
the roar of the ocean calls your name
there is no one to answer
it is your own love
your own beauty
echoing
a soundless repetition
moving your lips
your heart
to sing

lyrical dreams of light and wonder
shimmering reflections of unspeakable beauty
and dreams of dark deep canyons where the sun rarely shines
two are never separate
nor joined
the dream is as real as it seems

golden finch slides through the morning
her shadow slides through my fingers
this song slides through our minds
we are the stories we share
sharing is the beauty
this is the love we live in
we can never see it
we are it


last finches gather at the feeders
trees dance in the swell and ebb of canyon winds
breath of evening
the pause before dark
day into night
night into day
thought spins the dream
into threads of moonlight
weaving a garden
of echoes

can you catch wind with a lasso of thought
there is no you or wind or thought under these words
as soon as I sing
a singer seems to appear
and a someone who listens
a space between us forms
the words disappear 
and we dissolve
into wind
dancing





it seems that I arise in the longing to share this, knowing this perspective can never be shared.... knowing there are no others and no one to sing or hear her echo across the great divide... and yet...

we seem to arise in the empty space in-between us...

reflections ...dancing in love as love through love....

this dance of soundless echoes in the vastness of light without light... space without space.. emptiness without emptiness....

we are these stories of deep deep sorrow and overarching joy...

of a little girl who wept at the beauty and awe of being and who believed she had lost it and wept for forty years... and realized one day that love was never hers to give or lose... love had always sung her lines as it erased them....

and calling it love is the dream

as it all is... yet love is the closest of kisses... but it cannot kiss itself....

all words paint a kaleidoscope of colors... and shapes... a moving swirling dream ballet falling through echos of watercolors... this twirling reflection falls through its own pirouette and leaves no wake or shadow....

the letters from seekers who are the belief that there is a self that can be or should be erased reminds me of the pain... yet it grows more distant with each passing year... and I weep that they feel that there is something wrong, that they are wrong and lacking, and that I have something that they do not...  I see everyone including this imaginary dancer as most beautifully innocent...

as no one is wearing the clothes of belief... no one lies under this gorgeous nakedness which so many fear... no one chooses their beautiful colors... as there is no one wearing a self... no one has a self... there is only this dream dancing.... this dream of infinite wonder dreaming itself....





shadows of liquid lace flow in the morning sun
floating mirage of light
and dark
and colors....
love is not just one color
or separate colors
not just one note
or separate notes

we are the chorus of all voices
all hearts
all songs
lost and found in infinite echoes
touching in the intervals between notes
between words
where there is no between
or words
or music
or you
or me
or love

the dream crochets me
as I crochet the dream
amazed at my hands and the soft yarn and the hard crochet hook 
gliding... 
how the fingers apply just the right pressure... and my fingerprints swirl with the breezes in the garden
I fall into flowers
blooming
and the scent of distant rainbows
soaring over the desert
echos of forgotten love songs
stream through the morning
slide through my fingers onto the screen
softly
softly
love sings her silent song
you cannot hear your beauty
gently singing rainbows



wings of morning
dissolve into feathers of light
painting the magic of shine and shadow
colors flowing through this mind stream

softly thought sings
echos of echoes bloom
into a flowing dream scape
of canyons and mountains and the rising sun

wind paints a flowing carpet of flowers
thought paints the wind
and sun
and my morning song

all is reflected light
there is no source
no place from which you came
nor tomorrow to where you will go
no one to walk along these empty beaches
combing the sands for sea songs

words filter out things like waves
and water
and vast vast oceans
from not even nothing
lassos of thought seem to capture things...
you
and me
and we

thought dances to its own melody
there are no notes
there is no music
there is no thing called thought
without thought
and yet
here we are
echoes
dancing
a ballet of light and shadow
reflections of reflections of reflections
arising only in each other's love light




such infinite beauty of this imaginary
touch
...our eyes
and the world
...our hearts
and this love

this constant kiss
of what was never apart
nor can ever be joined
love's beautiful wings
soar through love

this seamless beauty
of sound
and silence
light
and shadow
never separate
never joined
never together
never alone

we are not broken shadows
longing for the light
in the marrow of your heart
there is a seamless love
melting all imaginary division
living and breathing in the spaces in between
where light dances
and love sings

you can hear her song always
but her words cannot be found
it is in the morning streaming through my window
the last cherry blossoms falling
the fist finches gathering at the feeders
the hush before the world begins
and the traffic pouring down the streets
in your very own heartbeat
wings of love soar
she has no time or place
when she is
or when she is not

there are no words for this seamless beauty
this love that has no words
yet is a word...
it arises in the sharing of it
yet it can never be shared
for it cannot be held
love seems to hold you
hold me
...hold all and everything
in her tender embrace
playing laughing weeping
in this dream of infinite wonder dreaming itself








Sunday, May 17, 2020

Love is enough

feeling is an imaginary thing painted by thought
are there different emotions without the story,
the thought dream that you are?
is there emotion without the name?
what is going on is unknowable without thought
without these shared learned words that paint light
and dark
and colors...
without thought there is no thing called thought
...the dream paints itself

after this profound shift in perspective called enlightenment
there is no feeling that there is a someone or thing having emotion or thought, and there is no trying to pinpoint what feeling seems to occur... joy and sorrow and love and awe merge into a deep current of un-named un-owned emotion,
it is like an all encompassing love has subsumed the dream of separation
and is unlike any ideas of love

there is no trying to change thought or feeling
no feeling that there is a someone or thing doing life
or that there is a someone to whom life is happening
it feels like a seamless flow
that is neither moving nor non moving
as there are no reference points
no sides
no center
in the dream of awakening
that is inseparable from the dream of separation



what is the sound of colors blooming
as morning slides across the horizon
where is the breath of night
as it hides underneath the tangling roses
deep in the garden
waiting to sing

what are the colors of wind
as it pours down the canyon
dancing in the treetops
waltzing with the shadows
twirling into this song
these very words
that paint all thingness and the spaces in between
that paints this thing called the thought stream
and a seeming someone or thing that thinks
thought paints color and time and dimension and movement
it dances itself into this dream
this worded world
this conceptual dream of imaginary separation
that we are

this symphony of perception is utterly obvious
it has no edges
no outside
no inside
it is not a thing
yet the naming of it seems to create it
the inseparable recognition of this sensorial display
is not a thing until named
this very description seems to create
a thing called perception
and a thing called awareness
thought even seems to create a thing called thought

the dream of separation paints itself
just like this
love
there it is!
a thing called love

the recognition that there are no things or non things
nor moments nor events
is the dream of not believing in the dream
there is no outside to the dream
as outside and inside
like all this and that
is mentally fabricated

believing in the dream
....not believing in the dream
is the dream
anything said about the dream
paints the dream
including this




words twist and twine around themselves
vines of thought grow into flowers
blooming
roses red and pink and drifting trails of yellow
golden finches flitting through the tangles
thousand petaled wonderment dancing
wind soaring
all is drenched in morning
all is words
dancing

where is the line between you and morning
where is the space between you and sky?
between you and love?
it is only thought that seems to create these lines
songs written with wind
in wind

how thick how deep is thought
how near or far away is thought
how close is infinity?
closer than the tongue in your mouth
closer than this song
more intimate than your heart song
swooning in love with love

this love in your heart
written with moonlight
shimmering on an empty sea
filling you
emptying you
of all ideas of emptiness
of all notion that there is an ocean
or waves
or water
or love

knowing there are no others
nor you
to fall in love
is the greatest love



Wind dances through me
I am wind
dancing



only through each other’s eyes can we see our own beauty
We are these beautiful shimmering reflections dancing... a ricochet of love falling in love with itself




no one walks this lonely road
waltzing with the echo of her footfalls
no one wanders
in love with the love of it all
there is no beginning
nor end
to this dream scape of infinite reflections

wind blows through wind
leaving no trace
nor shadow
memory is echoes blooming
and wilting
leaving no trail
nor path
to a yesteryear that never happened
there is no road
to a non existent future

this is the autumn of memory
the winter of tears
it is the spring of joy
the summer of sorrows...
there is no tomorrow
when
we
will
dance...
this turning world of unutterable beauty
spins into itself
galaxies of wonder explode
and implode
there is no center
nor edge
nor hands nor heart
nor words
to grasp
this love

I am a story of a girl a woman
a poet a wife
a dancer of wind
and the wind
dancing
I am the sweep of love
of this sublime unknowing
and the sweep of love
erasing
and writing
my lines

I am a dream
a poem
a song
a tale of enchantment
and I seem to arise in the longing
to sing of this
knowing I never can
to share this love
knowing it cannot be shared
to touch you
knowing we can never
touch

how beautifully the trees dance in the summer winds
I am a pirouette of light and shadow
I am this wind ballet
of love falling in love
with love




I am an imaginary persona in love with the love of it all




it feels like light flowing into light
without light
space flowing into space
without space
love flowing into love
without any ideas of love
love flows into itself
edgeless seamless unfathomable beauty....




I am an echo land ballet
a flowing gown of reflections
a spinning thought dream without a center
or edge...

I am the song of wind flowing through wind
of sky falling through sky
of emptiness falling through itself
erasing all knowing
erasing all falling
erasing all words that have ever been written
all songs that have ever been sung
erasing all ideas of a world
or a someone to have one

after the rains the evening birds begin to settle down
sparrows gather in the plum tree
infinite spaciousness has filled my heart
and emptied it
all that is left is this love
that has no words
yet is every word

and we dance and we dance
and dance
and in the dancing we seem to appear
it is in the loving of each other
that we find our imaginary lines
and an imaginary space between us
that can never be crossed
we are
written
and erased
by love





The realization of no separation does not apply to the imaginary character... there is no self no things no separation 
there is an imaginary persona in the shared dream of separation
Utterly alone  
But there is love 






moonlight hovers in this vast stillness
the hush before dawn
cannot be lost
or remembered
yet I am the remembering of it

drifting clouds
bathed in shimmering
soar through moon
a flowing sensuous ballet
of liquid light and shadow
where love cannot hide

I am a gown of reflections
echoes of moon song
streaming through the garden
painting fallen petals
with seamless beauty

words weave love’s enchantment 
tenderly holding all and everything in her seamless embrace
erasing all lines
kissing you
kissing me
we are love falling in love with itself




clear moon
exposing and dissolving infinite photographs
rippling through our fingers
extending outward
and inward
time and the hands...
love and the hearts
that would hold it
dissolve into ocean song

poems are snapshots of an imaginary line
between you and me
light and shadow stream through the garden
where love and love lost sleep
last years flowers are buried deep within us
painting the colors of today

we are forgotten dreams
watercolor memories
surfacing in the dark
exploding rainbows
shimmering in each other's love light






what beautiful stories we are

spinning galaxies of wonderment...

arms reaching out to touch

caught in each other’s whirlpools for just a brief moment we become each other’s beauty as we disappear and slip through each other

no longer separate

nor one

nor not even nothing....

yet it feels like love

falling in love

with itself

we are this dance of you and me and we....

I appear to emerge as the longing to touch... knowing we never can...

and that is the sublime longing that seems to define me.... but imaginary lines are no longer believed or felt...

I love you...

I am you...

and it feels like love.... falling in love with love.... through our eyes our lips our hearts... that were never ours....





solitude dives deep
and cannot see itself
submerged within its own beauty

ocean of love cannot see itself
wind cannot feel its own touch
sky cannot marvel at its own blueness

this deep deep current of undertones and overtones
cannot hear its own water music
or feel the warmth
of its own love

ocean of love pours through itself
wind dances with wind
sky soars through its own blue
this song sings itself
less substantial than wind
without anything to flow through
or any skin to touch

our eyes meet
we are a river of stars
streaming through each others love light
we emerge only in the touching
here
in the singing
a singer emerges
only when her song is heard


voices from no where
voices from everywhere
there is no light or shadow in this placeless-ness

lit from within
lit from without
where is the space between echoes?

where is the dance when the floor has dropped away?
what is left when the ground of being has slipped away?
what remains when even love has burnt her shadow?

we are galaxies of swirling reflections
pouring constellations of starlight
into each others eyes
swooning through all ideas of love
and anyone to have them

it is here where lovers meet
in this very song where we seem to appear
magically
dancing
in love as love through love

there is no magic key to unlock the door to love
love sings in every key
love will not walk through the door someday
she has been dancing in your shoes
ever since you learned to walk





There is no self to be perfect 
There is no perfection nor imperfection 
Enlightenment is not about becoming a better or more perfect self 





morning sleeps under a blanket of dreams
river of bird song slides through the darkness
breath of night in my chest
softly
softly
wind
swirls down the canyon
dancing in the tree tops
sweeping through the fallen leaves
caressing the promise of dawn

thought paints the day dream
and a someone to awaken into the day

light begins to caress this wind ballet
night pours itself into shadows
cool and deep beneath the cottonwoods
the night time dream sleeps
waiting to sing again

light and dark weave themselves into a song of infinite echoes
light into light
dark into dark
emptiness into emptiness
nothing into nothing at all
just a flowing web of description
a transparent flowing lace of voices
painting the dream of you and me
and we

we are a ballet of reflections
a sea of light and shadow
rising
and falling
a song of tides
and vast vast oceans
with no shore
nor bottom
nor surface
 
love soars through love
and leaves the taste of taste on your lips
in your heart
lost and found in the imaginary space in between us

what is this you long for
a whisper of a love song you might have heard
before the world wore her gown of time
and place
before your lines were spoken
before there was anyone to listen
or long

before is a beautiful dream
like you
poems never begin or end
they have no middle
no place to rest
or hide
nothing is hidden
nothing is revealed
you are a love song
singing itself
your mouth your tongue your heart knows these words
you are them




A sage shares what it’s like 
Knowing this can never be kissed with words 
Knowing this can never be shared...
Yet singing seems to happen 
And we meet in the sharing 
Spinning galaxies....
Stories of light
and shadow 
Seem to merge and dance together as they fall into each other’s reflections.... 
but it is the very words that define us 
These very lines 
That keep us apart 
And seekers will try to gather every song as it seems to pull them... 
The songs merely reflect the seekers love and beauty and 
Emptiness 
But the seeker sees them as prescriptions 
Not descriptions
As a knowing... 
and that there is a someone who knows... 
and it’s all beautiful description
With not even nothing underneath....
These love songs sing themselves

I seem to emerge in the loving of you
And love...
Love is enough 




this is the rain in the rocky peaks
and cold fresh waters rushing from the springs
trickling streams meandering through high meadows
soft breezes dancing through tender grasses
delicate mountain flowers
petals suspended on impossibly long stalks

rivers of memory
flowing 
over remote cliffs
only birds and sweeping winds know
cascading through waterfalls of rainbows
rushing down deep deep canyons
joyfully greeting side streams
and soft eddies under the bushes

pools of echoes call each other in the canyon
songs are sung of the high places
and the sky and earth and the lightening
late last night
spider webs suspended between the banks
heavy with the kiss of your songs
where all songs lead
it is the ocean
that knows your name

you are the longing
the movement of life
to drown in your own wetness
your own love

this love is the end of all concepts of love
all you have learned of love
what it should or could be like...
what you or me or the world should or could be like...
it is the end of the feeling that there is a someone who could gather or hold love
or that love has conditions
or edges
or a center

it is not necessary to be open to life or love
love is always open
there is no one to receive it
it is not a goal or gift
there is no one separate from life
no one separate from love

all of life sings it
and you are love's song