kaleidoscopic dream scape of sound and light spins into its own colors
pours through its own spinning
where time has no purchase
nor space can be found
golden finches glide through the garden and gather at the feeders
coffee maker burbles
water sounds of early morning traffic float . . .
no one is suspended as timelessness
this is atemporal thing-less seamless edgeless
...there is no this...
who is longing to be free of herself?
where is the skin you wish to cast off?
where are the hands that would tear it off?
who would dance in this moonlight ballet
if there are no two
there is no wonder
there is no love
there is no recognition of seamless beauty
how can you hide from your nakedness
deny these tears
deny the beauty of your humanness?
...the longing to escape
the longing to hide
the longing... is love
is you you are
there is no division between you and me
all lines are as thick as thought
yet they define us
when we meet
and try to touch
we swoon into each other's beauty
each other's tears
each other's love
this love that no one has
falls through itself
and we disappear
the brain creates stories using shared learned words... for example, a story like the brain creates stories using shared learned words... and all stories have separate things and events and time... and cause and effect... and a hero... and a beginning and an ending, and there is no way for the brain using this very tool of imaginary separation to recognize that there is none... yet this is the only tool, thought, that it has...
awakening is like all of life... it is utterly spontaneous... it is like a million suns exploding in your brain your heart... in the clouds the sky the sea the earth, burning melting all imaginary edges between this and that, between a you and your world, between now and then, here and there.... and yet it is a story like all others... the story of enlightenment being the story of no longer believing in the dream of separation, yet these dreams are not separate, they do not cease, I am simply another imaginary persona like you, nothing special, yet... all are special... all are wondrous... all is perfection as all ideas and parameters of what perfection is have vanished...
I have not gone anywhere, there is no where and no one to go or return... it is not an attainment, it is utterly empty... beyond understanding or belief... yet simultaneously it is wondrous beyond measure....
such utter ease ...such unutterable softness... weightless... all burdens of meaning of purpose of past and future dissolve... simply this flow.... of no more parameters of what life or you or others or perfection should be... the knowing feeling that life does itself... no more trying to push or pull it... to try to move the planets into alignment.... life has no edges... no time.... no center.... all questions are gone...
questioners don't want an answer... they want to keep questioning.... and as they are that, and what if the questions cease....
seekers are the fear of that deep deep fathomless emptiness that they feel inside... and it must be filled!
or it will swallow them...
looking for love or happiness or enlightenment or travel or food or sex or drugs... distraction ... television, more YouTube videos on awakening... more books... more music... more walking in nature... more trying to be with what is... more mediation... more exercise... more trying to cram your beautiful uniqueness into an idea of perfection...
and no matter how hard I tried to fill that hunger it could never be filled.... that emptiness was me.... that utterly devastating aloneness was true.... and somehow there was a giving up... a letting go... but it was not of my doing.... and that was when the dark began to consume me.... to devour all ideas of what I was, what I should be like... what the world was... what it should be like... all ideas of light and dark... all measurement, division, time... all lines all distinction... all hope and fear and need of a never arising next... all this and that and here and there and you and me and we.... love and sorrow and joy and deep deep grief...
emptiness pours through you and erases you and erases itself...
and you re-emerge on the other side of the darkness
on the other side of love
and you are eyes of love
all you see is painted with these eyes that no one has
all is embraced in luminous light
an unparalleled brillance
this vibrant aliveness
this love
singing itself
dancing itself
falling in love with itself
like this
like this
like this
after the night
it never was
nor was the moon
separate from her shadow
oceans of tears
rivers of song
rivulets of wetness slide down your cheeks
these very words breathe the morning
sing sky and sea and earth into being
sky has no pieces
songs have no words
sea has no wetness
earth has no solidity
wind has no breath
nor footprints to erase
no tears to dry
nor day to unfold
this magical enchantment of song of thought of words spins and twists and weaves the dream of love and love lost
it cannot look beyond itself
it has no before or after
all edges are words
thought cannot escape itself
it is thought
love cannot escape itself
it is love
...and I stood on the edge of sorrow
casting daydreams into an endless sea
looking for ripples that would reflect my face
and melt me into sky
sorrow swallowed me
the ground gave way
there was no earth nor sea nor sky
I was simply a story of echoes
liquid transparency flowing into and through its reflection
a mirage of utter brilliance
longing to drink its own light
the self is not a virus or a contagion it is the most beatififul jewel in the universe
love has no lines to read
her eyes burn all pages
consume all the books of knowing
all the love songs
all the fairy tales of love that enchanted you
birthed you into the enchantment that you are
you are a flowing reflection that has no source
a dream of flowering and wilting
infinite beauty melting into beauty
petals
falling through their own colors
softly
softy
songs fall through their own words
love soars through the dream of love
there is no hush that precedes love's song
nor is there any sound
it does not arise out of anything or nothing
and has no road to travel
it cannot be captured or known
yet you can hear it in the rhythm of day and night
love and love lost
birth and death
this searing brilliant aliveness is apparent always
without time or non time
this love light that seems to be outside of you
is you
Maybe your life up until now has been an elaborate dream? Maybe this is still the dream... maybe it is a dream that you are the dreamer... maybe it is a dream that you are being dreamt... how would you know?
when the entire known world is known to be imaginary ...love a dream... tears, rainbows, the morning birds in the plum tree just emerging from the dark...
my beautiful husband reading by a salt lamp and me at my computer singing ... real and unreal, true and false, here and there... known and un-known...
what can be said about what is not a what?
is this love is this wonder is this beauty is this heart breaking? there is no longer trying to find what this is... simply a delicious unknowing... no trying to capture what is felt... as there is no one separate from feeling... yet the words flow the song sings itself and I am these wide eyes watching these letters pour onto the screen and certain feelings are named.. and I cannot find a place where I am or where I am not...
and I remember when every word seemed solid and real and a tree was a thing separate from me and when love seemed like a thing I could have... and tears flow and tears flow and tears flow....
no one is playing a role... we are these imaginary personas, choice-less holograms dancing in a mirage, a stupendous enchantment where there is love and love lost... and beauty and tears and sunrises and sunsets....
... birth and death...
life as a human being is full of great joy and great sorrow
we are this humanness we share...
there is no one under the flowing persona, this thought dream ...no one choosing or having belief or thought or feeling...
...and it all feels like love...
love has no boundaries it cannot be contained...
it cannot be held in your heart, you know that...
life cannot be captured... you cannot step outside of all this....
this symphony of perception has no parts and is not a thing until named... attention seems to move and rest, yet it is thought which is creating and distinguishing this from that...
love and love lost simply a love story that no one writes... no hands type the words no mouth holds the vowels for just a bit longer to feel the roundness and fullness of words...
word is a word...
and thought spins and spins and it may feel like there is a center to the dream it weaves... and it may not... and it may feel like there are separate things and moments and events... and it may not... there is no right or wrong way to feel...
no right or wrong way to live or love or die...
life sings itself
just like this
and looks and feels like anything at all
there are no answers to your questions other than
You are the seeking
and there is nothing to find
Men, like women, are center-less jewels
spinning...
Infinite rays of reflected light...
echoes of bedtime stories and soap operas and terrifying and laughter filled movies ...joyful and heart breakingly beautiful fluid memories... liquid portraits flowing through a water color dream scape of passion and darkness and long easeful evenings when the sun slides across the horizon just so...
there is nothing to capture or pinpoint in an edgeless circle... no one can hide their beauty completely as the longing to hide is part of it...
the brain acts and reacts according to its programming... there is no one programmed or conditioned... nothing under or having this thought dream...
I never wanted to be a man or a woman when I was a kid and it has never felt like I was a woman...
girl? maybe...
young or old?... not really...
finding nothing here, not even a here... and no one there
No other...
tears
and we seem to arise and disappear in the flash of no tomorrow...
achingly beautiful that I can seem to dance in this love light
share this thing called a story...
which is all the stories ever heard... blended into a fleeting dream character who sits on the couch in the middle of the night
wind softly brushing through the trees
her thumb tapping a lit glass screen
....love letters to no one magically appearing and dissolving through the window into wind...
and it is wonder it is love it is nothing at all...
we exist only in the touching, yet we can never touch...
the lines that define us are as thick as thought
and as we are thought, we cannot erase ourselves...
when thought ceases it is the end of us and our world
we appear to emerge as this imaginary love light
spinning between two reflections
in sharing our stories we seem to merge, as we are these stories...
of longing for love
and longing to love so deeply we disappear...
in this sharing we recognize our humanness....
and there is no wondering whose words
whose tears
whose joy and sorrow…
this deep love that we feel
is the love that we are
we remain, sublimely bittersweetly alone
spinning in our own dream
there is no center
nor edge
yet... across the vast emptiness
I hear the echo of my own tears
when our cherished teachers are criticized our beliefs are challenged and as we are beliefs our very existence is challenged!
Everyone seems beautiful to me!
I see no person under thought belief feeling or action, just a flow of beauty... choice-less holograms dancing in a dream ballet of wonder.
early light pours into the garden hush
first breath of morning rustles unseen leaves
no one dances in this ballet of light in light
we are echoes of love songs
of cricket songs in the dark
calling out for love
we hear our own voice as it is carried in the wind
there is no one to answer
no one who waited a lifetime to hear the resonance of her own tears
falling
into a chorus
and found only an embrace of empty winds
reflections soaring through utter darkness
never finding a source to this all encompassing light
I danced with my reflection on the smooth canyon walls
light and shadow began to blur
time and distance lost their bearing
was I the dancer or was I being danced?
the background music swelled and the wave caught me as I caught the wave
ocean fell through its own wetness
pirouette of wind dances in the tree tops
soars through me
I am the wind dancing
sun falls through moon
day falls through night
time slides through its own echo
heaven and hell fall though each other
there was no gate to freedom
no door to love
no arms to embrace the light
no words to capture words
no thought to circle thought
no ideas to erase ideas
no love to find or lose
the circle surrounds itself
loses itself in the spinning
the spinning erases itself
along with the imaginary center
all sound
all silence
all movement
and all stillness
simply empty dreams
soaring across the wilderness
the vast
unknowable
unknown
an assumption, like all other things
a dream of nothing
soaring through the dream of everything
of love of sorrow of your great aloneness
drifting without sails or wind or ocean
weeping laughing bleeding
singing
itself
reaching to embrace yourself
you fall through your own arms
and there is only this infinite embrace
utterly intimate
there is no center
nor boundary
to love
all memory is felt as fluid....
liquid portraits painting an imaginary dancer of wind
there is no one underneath thought who has memory,
no story teller no pen no hand to hold the pages as they dissolve into wind
no heart to hold this love as it soars
free of all stories of love
twisting and twirling and loving every love story ever written or told
softly
gently
songs sing themselves and disappear as afterimages seem to weave this thought dream, this sky ballet
delicate fluted wings elegantly almost slice the sky
but the blue never parts
the edgeless-ness is never ripped into mirrored shards of ownership...
but reflections seem to form and slide through each other...
infinite echoes painting this fairy tale of wonder
of love and love lost and ballerinas spinning on a jewelry box
...a little girl watching
dreaming of dissolving into an endless pirouette of wind
I am a river of clouds pouring through a cloud canyon... rainbows and shapes seem to appear and dissolve... but it is all clouds...
there is no river
there are no clouds
naked light
sears your skin
penetrates you deeply
burns places inside you never knew existed
melts the looking glass you thought you were
the world of all and everything is consumed in this conflagration
and the illusion of an inside and an outside fades into the song of a mourning dove on a telephone wire
her softness cannot be seen
but it is felt
backbeat of memory paints in the blank spaces
the blind spot in between forever and never...
the silence in between the notes...
you are the music of all things bursting into your world
rainbow light...
gently sifting through the forest of words
illuminating a softness that is the end of belief in the dream
this dream of unparalleled wonder
that you are
