It seems that most spiritual seekers and teachers are the assumption that there is something to find. Some goal or place to arrive, like finding a true self or timeless awareness or pure consciousness, or god. There is a mostly universal belief that there is something solid and unchanging.

This path to god or wholeness or enlightenment is described, and often prescribed as giving up or letting go or accepting what is going on. Or surrendering...

Often when the self is seen to be a made up story, the stark blankness of no self is filled in with a true unchanging self. Awareness or consciousness or love are comforting concepts to fill in that terrifying emptiness.

It seems it is rarely recognized that there are no things whatsoever.

I cannot say how this recognition arises. Certainly I never did anything or nothing to make this happen! It obviously did not happen to me! This ultimate collapse of everything and nothing is not an achievement and cannot be made anew, as there never have been separate things or moments or events. This is merely seeing what has always been. Life doing itself, looking and feeling like anything at all. An unbelievable seamless flow, without edges, nothing confined, nothing to be fettered or set free.

Although it felt like dying, it was realized that there was never anyone to die. Time is felt to be illusion. It is always the first and last kiss.

Such seamless beauty of no thingness and all and everything spontaneously arising! Continually blooming and wilting without space or time. Naturally perfect without perfection or imperfection, life and love flow through me as me, in this love ballet without a center or edges, or place to reach, neither moving or non moving without direction or non direction, without place or placeless-ness, no words can grasp or kiss this knowing feeling that has no words, as all words seem to divide what cannot be split and has no edges, no time nor timelessness, no space nor dimension nor measurement.

Enlightenment cannot be achieved by any method or path as it does not happen to the imaginary persona. It cannot be learned or taught as it is not a belief or understanding. It cannot be transmitted as it is not a thing.

It is not about letting thought and feeling flow, or going with the flow as there is no one to let thought and emotion flow. There is only the flow, neither moving nor stable. There are no things to be permanent or flowing. All effort-ing or trying to not effort perpetuate the painful illusion of separation.

Yet the beautiful illusion of self and thingness, of love and lover and beloved remain, as no one can exist as a non self! Simply the belief and feeling of separation has vanished. This is more wondrous than any dream come true. I could never have wished for or imagined this, as it is quite simply unimaginable.

I see seekers trying to get a goal that they imagine enlightenment to be, like realizing it is all a dream, not realizing that that would include them. Or trying to let thought and feeling flow, not realizing that thought and feeling and indeed life itself simply flows as it does, including trying to let it flow. I see seekers trying to accept what is going on, not realizing that this perpetuates the painful illusion of separation, not realizing that trying to accept it is not accepting it.

Mostly I see seekers trying to get rid of themselves, and I weep, as the self is the most wondrous gem in the universe.

Just as you are, right now, without any effort or non effort, you are beautiful beyond compare. I love you.

the greatest desire is to end desire…

but desire is what you are…

enlightenment is not the end of desire…

it is the end of the belief and feeling that there is someone to desire, and separate things to desire…

joy and sorrow and love and awe merge into simply this beautiful ache of everything being a love dream

falling in love, swooning into itself…

this no thing ness includes all and everything…

existing as an imaginary persona, no one wearing the face of love…

you find you are it...

I stood on the edge of the known world

wishing to drown in the sea of love

and fell

into the deep darkness of earth

 tangled roots of earth and sky

 pierced my heart

 I drowned in my own longing

 lost in a place where even darkness could not reach 

this utter emptiness 

held no lostness

 nor could it be found

 wrenched out every tear 

shattered all dreams

 every hope of light

and love

 everything was gone

 burnt on the pyre of love 

the scent of ashes blew away

 my hands my heart my life...

there were no things to hold

 no one with empty hands

 no one with an empty heart

 no one

 no things 

no nothing

 no everything

nothing to remember

nothing to forget

no one to listen to the song of winds

nothing to hold

no one to hold

no empty shoes to fill

no one to walk along the path

as the ground had collapsed

was this the goal?

it was the end...

there was no place to arrive

there was never anyone traveling

there was no prize at the end of the rainbow

the colors were the gem

this empty jewel

spinning

this clear prism

these empty eyes

weep

What I love is the wind dancing in the treetops and the shadows swirling pirouetting cartwheeling waltzing across the grasses, the trail and our flowered carpet

Shadows and light flowing in and through my hands as I watch them crochet...

There is a beautiful ache for all of this

for the feel of the yarn, the sensuousness of the softness of the yarn, it’s tension and release as it’s stretches and relaxes. and I love the light and flash of the steel hook smoothly going through the yarn and creating beautiful patterns...

And I love being at the supermarket and seeing all those beautiful beautiful people and I love watching my hands pick up the things I’m going to buy and put them in the cart and I love waiting in line and watching people take things out of the cart and watching the checker pick everything up and scan it and put everything so beautifully into bags.

And I love walking and feeling my feet on the ground and the rhythm of life swirling through me as me...

It’s like there is a beautiful ache for all of this

a longing for it, even as it happens.

I am never bored...

the weight of light

fluid languorous lilting weaving tapestries of color

the weight of words

rippling off the tongue, the page, gathering in waves to sing a story

your story more intimate than these words yet these very words

tattered filaments of sun

stretching inside these words

reaching to kiss the sound of soundless-ness

dropping your heart into the sea

watching it boil

feeling the heat

of sun

where was the wind

as you watched it toss the water

tear your reflection

off your face

was love in your heart

is it in these words?

what has no words

but is all words

what has no light

but is all light

what is the sound

of your heart weeping

where is the space

of emptiness

can words be just sound?

is sound a word?

is love a word?

are you?

first tires on the road

still, day sleeps

last shadows of evening

wait under the bushes

finches, silent in the plum tree

looking for silence

sings your name

far more intimate

than this very breath

these words as you read them

this song of your aliveness

breathes you

this hush super saturates

the day

it cannot be lost

or found

spills everywhere

and nowhere

there are no directions

to open the morning

the flower blooms

and wilts

shadow of moon

hides in the day

faint glow of morning

finches sing

All separation is made up

Knowing and feeling that is love

moon weaves its shadow

into and through the silent garden

tree tops lace the sky

face of reflected light

flows through me

leaves not a sign

or shadow

or footprint on my doorstep

deep kiss of darkness

of shadows receding into shadows

of hidden treasures

no longer needing to be found

of light swooning through light

of secrets

that were never forgotten

it was in the trying to whisper their name

that seemed to hide the moon from its shadow

that seemed to create a feeling of brokenness

that something was missing

that seemed to obscure this searing brilliance

of sublime unknowing

no one can see their own beauty

simply because there’s nothing there

we exist only as reflections in each others eyes

leftover stars

I soar through a carpet of sky

the pale dawn reflects these eyes

prisms of infinite mirrors

shatter the sun into color and warmth

fathomless pools of dark

and acres of light

echoes of memories
a lifetime of tears
run into this river of song

one single tear

one word

one syllable without its skin

sounds like this morning

sliding through the canyon

one day

one hour

one minute

one breath

just this very breath

always my first

always my last

no one rode the stars into moonlight

or ricocheted off the sun

this very kiss of daybreak

will break you

when tomorrow dies

there will be no doubt

no one mourns

this death

the winds of no tomorrow

sing

like this

Nancy's posts and poems

Saturday, October 20, 2018

Leftover Stars

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