Shipwreck of Ancient Songs

Shadows soar over carpet of moon 

Wind scatters thought streams 

Rippling into this sea of dreams 

Sinking into unfathomable depths 

Swallows the known world 

Weaving and unraveling the edge of time 

This sublime melancholia pirouettes into its own reflection and mirrors your nakedness, it is this empty breath that sings you.  Not needing a doorway you dance on the threshold between what never was nor will ever be.  Light echoes from the stars and your eyes and the welcome lamp that was never lit nor was never blown out.  

Love unfolds into itself, echoing a photoshopped copy of an old rerun that dances to the tune of numberless voices and melts in its own searing heat.  Searching the map for a new horizon you find everyone’s deep untold stories aching for release.  They gather here before the morning breathes.  

Like this, the same dance-step that no one ever took, flowering and wilting between the hush and the day that sings you. 

How many decades did I try to peer beneath the words... I was the belief that someone knew the answer to my unasked questions.  Realizing that no one knows more about things imaginary is a great relief 

Knowing that nothing can be known or grasped erases the lines around an imaginary grasper 

I love watching the thought stream create all this flowing surging painting color and light and shadow in the Grand Canyon of love.  And I Laugh and Weep at the majesty of life painting itself.  

There never was a mountain she whispered...

Can’t say here that it’s ever become one again...

Infinite shades of not even nothing 

Breathing, still, ...it seems 

Yet breath a song that sings itself 

Irreplaceable, this suspension of space in space 

This flow of light in light 

Where no ones feet have ever danced 

And no ones lips have ever uttered a word

Or kissed the starlight in your eyes 

Here, yet not 

Come closer 

I cannot find my tears without your beautiful beautiful eyes 

Same sun same moon 

Same breath same heartache 

Under this smile these tears these teeth this skin this mouth this emptiness that so hungered for love 

There was not even nakedness to be clothed 

I am but a shadow of tears 

streaming across illumined dust motes

Dancing in the stern 

Of a ship that never sailed 

No echoes lost or gained 

Under my footfalls 

In the hush 

Of ancient songs 

No longer looking for the treasure 

Is the treasure.

The shipwreck of ancient songs pierced my heart.  There was no one at the helm, no sails, no one catching the wind, and no one wearing this nakedness, no one wearing the crown.  It tumbled into its own bejeweled iridescence splashing songs into its own wake where even love died.  

Everyone including myself seem like echoes of people I once knew.  The river leaves no fingerprints on its own sublime wetness, sad and beautiful these tears that are my very substance. 

What is sorrow 

What is joy 

What is the sound of a plum blossom 

Falling

What is the distance between the death of tomorrow? 

Why is the song of midnight so beautiful?

Infinite hues of shadow echo and soar 

Surge and subside simultaneously 

Paint the night time streets with footsteps 

Plum blossoms swirl around my feet and 

Dress the winds of memory 

Nothing was caught or lost 

No one wore this dress 

This web of sorrow and joy is empty yet 

Shimmers in the streetlights 

As it self releases 

The taste of my own lips 

Fills a paper cup of moon 

Drinking deeply 

Life swallows itself 

 Ok

Here’s what it’s like:

You’ve heard of the third eye opening, yes?

When this shift happens it’s like there is s realization that it was never shut. The physical eyes continue to see in binocular Vision, yet the third unseen intuited eye knows and feels that there is no division. This feeling of edgeless seamlessness permeates the dream of objectified separation.

Combing the clouds for teardrops she found only empty sky

She tried to pour the ocean into a paper cup so she could taste the vastness

Folding it into an origami heart

It sailed into itself

Leaving only a wakeless wake of unspeakable beauty

The wind left the sails that now caught her reflection

Merging with the colors of sunset

Memories of smiles and tears dissolved into the trackless ocean

That no one crossed

This salty sweetness that

No one swallowed

This ravishingly stunning emptiness

That no one

No thing

filled

It seems that spiritual is the feeling that there is something more better other than this what seems to appear.

And as enlightenment is knowing there is not, it has nothing to do with spirituality

If I call your name do you not answer?

I am as real as you. As real as tomorrow as real as yesterday. We exist only as these imaginary characters. It isn’t oneness or emptiness pretending to be someone. It is all pretense and there is no one or thing pretending. There is no other better more or next. This dream of objectified separation is the only place we exist. This is it coyote, your one and only life except it’s not yours.

This precious immediacy is all we can know. Rich and lush, vast beyond measure, we can not know it in the conventional sense as it is edgeless, all encompassing, and has no outside to it where we can go to capture it or accept or allow it or reject or manipulate it or add something to it or take something away. There is no outside or inside, as all qualities and characteristics, all time all measurement, the worded world of this and that is created by the thought stream.

There is no other better more or next yet thoughts of these, thoughts of past, are included, in this uninterrupted indivisible symphony of perception and the simultaneous inseparable recognition of it. Neither awareness nor perception are things nor are they one big thing. All ‘thingness’ is seemingly created by shared learned words and concepts. This imaginary thingness paints the known virtual conceptual world, the dream of objectified separation.

This conceptual world is the only world where we exist. This virtual reality is the only reality we can know, yet it can be intuitively known and felt that all separation, all thingness, this world of you and me and mountains and valleys is made up. A mentally fabricated wondrous world where love and beauty and wonder exist.

Deep down this is felt, that there is no solidity, that life is fluid and edgeless, but this can be very scary. What if you have no permanency, what if there is no permanency, what if nothing can be known, what if there is no other, no better, no next?

This intuited knowing of edgelessness creates a dissonance with the belief in thingness, the belief in solidity, the belief in next. Belief is thought that seems and feels real and solid. This dissonance hurts. For some it is exceedingly painful and they are usually the ones who become seekers. Looking for truth and meaning... not realizing that truth and meaning are yet more concepts like them. Often they try to escape not realizing that their imaginary lines are formed by this effort.

There are no edges to what is going on, are there? Can you find an outside to what is going on? Can you find the beginning and end to a thought or feeling or moment? Are there separate thoughts feelings or moments? If you cannot capture them it is because you are not separate from this stream of perception and it’s recognition.

This magnificent ever emerging ever dissolving momentary happens quite spontaneously all by itself. There is no one or thing making it happen. It does not happen as it’s supposed to or as its meant to happen. It simply happens. It is neither right or wrong, yet feeling that it is wrong or right may occur.

All perception arises equally and evenly without anything needing to be done, and it is simultaneously recognized without any effort or non effort. The feeling of effort and the feeling of ease both arise effortlessly.

There is nothing the seeker can or cannot do to recognize that this is it, that they and all thingness is made up. As all trying or trying to not try perpetuates the painful illusion of separation, of a try-er, of an imaginary next when this will happen. There is no next and no one to get this or arrive at this imaginary special place of enlightenment.

This profound shift in perspective can occur but it is not an understanding or belief or a slipping into a state of constant meditation of bliss or peace. There must be a ripping apart of all ideas of what you believe to be true about yourself and the world including all ideas of truth and meaning and that there is anyone to have a world. As you are those beliefs how can you erase them?

This is truly an empty prize for no one.

No one knows what’s going on. All we can know is ideas concepts descriptions of what’s going on that seem to capture part of it, and are a part of it. All description seems to create solid stable things, like lassoing the wind or throwing a net into a river, or pining a butterfly to a board, they cannot capture this wondrous fluid aliveness that is so obvious.

Even calling it unknowable or a mystery seems to tag it and make it into a thing. Most mistake description for understanding.

The knowing feeling that what is going on IS unknowable and uncaptureable and fluid can leave most scrambling up the banks with their net of words trying again and again to stop that feeling of falling.

Knowing without a doubt that you are not separate from this flow of thought feeling and perception there is no longer any hope or fear or need of a never arising next. Knowing that this is indeed it, there is no attempt to escape the only world you can know. There is utter rest and a sublime okness with whatever seems to appear.

What you had feared becomes most wondrous.

The precious gem of impermanence, of unknowing is the beauty of life itself.

Emptiness so vast it has no vastness rushes in and plunges it’s heart into yours and it’s a perfect fit. Bereft of purpose or time the dagger that pierced love itself eviscerates you and scatters your shadow in the wind. You had no solidity at all, you were simply memories that left no footprints, that had no pull nor push nor tides that sang a sea shanty of joy and sorrow and of vast edgeless moonscapes that drifted across an empty silhouette. Etched with sky in sky no lines could could be traced, yet you discovered your reflection weeping at the enormity of this unknowing, at the magnificence of this timeless dreamscape where no one was lost and no one was found.

This vastness pulls you right back out of the bottomless depths where your echo fell into the sea and drowned in the fiery promenade of the setting sun. The oceans sing your nameless name with the tides that lost their momentum as they slammed into the rocks below the weight of this darkness that pours into itself through your heart. There were no hands to hold it, to measure its lonesome tracks in the sands that were always falling through an hourglass that lost its reflection when you fell through.

This rich unnamable vastness of utter unknowing sings a symphony of light that dances through its own light. It has no name, not even beauty nor love, yet everyone knows it. It is always on the tip of your tongue and yet the words evade even the most fluid poetry. It cannot be sung nor heard, but it’s in the wind caressing your softness and the tree tops dancing, the long grasses waving hello goodbye hello. It is obvious always this magnificent aliveness that sings itself and has no need to borrow words to pinpoint itself on a map where there are no paths nor signs as everywhere and no where is always here. There is no there and no one to leave or arrive, you have always known this, this embrace of life that has no beginning nor end yet is always blooming and wilting. Without time or measure the blossoms are the color in your smile and the wetness of your tears.

What you feared is true, you are simply a flowing lovers kiss of thought feeling and sensation. You have no solidity at all, but you never did so you cannot stop the falling into the falling that has always been on since the day you learned your name and that you will die. There are no handholds no places to land and there is no one to land only the whoosh falling through the whoosh. Light falls into light, space falls through space and yet you turn when I call your name.

There is no one to be a no one or a someone, you are pretense yet no one is pretending. You are utterly naked yet there is no one underneath your nakedness, no one wearing a smile, no one weeping.

footsteps in the dark

footsteps in the light

morning sings

nothing was left

nothing was gained

not even sorrow

or delight in the wind

playing in sunlight

beauty bathes melancholy

bathes joy

bathes your empty footfalls

as they crumble

bathes your appearance

and disappearance

child like wonder

recognizes itself

reflections dance across the canyon of empty shadows

pools of echoes

shimmer

singing day and night

and infinite colors

piercing me as it sings me

this wonder

my very breath

my very heartbeat

my very song

is not mine

nor yours

is it ours

we walk nakedly

together we find our hands

our hears

our breath

our song

this love

this life

this unknowable

fleeting

magnificent

aliveness

Awareness is not a thing, perception is not a thing.  There are no things nor non things, not even one really big thing.  No selves or bodies nor anyone or thing to know this. There is no true self that is programmed or learns ideas. There is no one or thing that has beliefs or thoughts or feelings, no one who is hypnotized, no one who is asleep and no one who awakens.  

There is only this dream of separation, this virtual conceptual reality that no one has written or created, which can include the knowing that the self and all things are made up.  That this is indeed a virtual reality is part of the movie.  All description of this is it, including this. 

There can be a knowing that this, just as it seems to appear is it, that there is no other better more or next.  There is a seamless ease that permeates the movie when separation is not believed or felt. This all encompassing edgeless wholeness is recognized to be the story, this recognition that there is no outside to the fiction destroys all hope and fear and need of next. 

There arises an ever present awe knowing that there are no things nor non things yet things and selves seem to appear.  The awe at this obvious unexplainable aliveness that arises all by itself, looking and feeling like anything at all.