what is the sound of the morning wind
as love burns like mist in the searing light
exquisite this pain of gold melting
light into light
love into love
crickets hidden deep in the garden
continue to sing
gathering blossoms of darkness
ringing through the night
the last bell in the empty hall
lingering is the sweetness of day
the taste of light pouring though you
dark swooning through itself
there is no one waiting
for the night hawk
clothed in the hush
of midnight
simply echoes of moon and sun
revealing their faces on the pond
fallen leaf ripples
through your reflection
who weaves the heaviness of night
folding and unfolding cloud shadows into moon
tattered prayer flags sing of wind
unravel the day dream
untie the dark
shadows emerge and disappear into themselves
moon dances with her reflection across the shimmering waters
echos pool and gather in the eddies
their silence sings
your rippling raiment
a mirrored glance
of love's reflection
you are the river catching a glimpse
of its own beauty
and weeping
wet in wet in wet in wet
light and dark and space
ripped apart
with one kiss
one glimpse of this
and you never recover
balanced on the edge of everything
and not even nothing
love resides
waiting for your return
this flowing tapestry has no edges
yet it is in the fringes we live
between the breath and the song
we love
between the lips and the kiss
we sing
There are various stories the brain can write
one would be
I fell and now I hurt
it could be
the body falls and the sensations experienced are called pain
It could be
Help! aliens pushed me!!!
I would have to say that when the story is pain is happening to a me it is entirely different from just the sensation of pain
And we are these stories
Written by the brain using shared learned words
We assume there is a physical world but we cannot know it until the brain creates the story of a you and a world of things and events
This shared dream of objectified separation is a conceptual overlay
There is not even nothing outside of it
there is no outside, as outside and inside, like all this and that are mentally fabricated ideas.
There is no pre-verbal world
that is just another concept.
It’s all concepts
even saying this is it creates the idea that there is a that
but there is no this nor that nor both
Nor neither
The razor of thought of words simply cannot go there
this knowing of no thing-ness is intuited and can be felt always
This seamless ease that saturates the dream
This sublime OK-ness of edges and edgelessness.
And all trying to get this or trying to not try will perpetuate the illusion of a you separate from all that seems to appear.
I don’t know how the imaginary walls become transparent but they can.
They call it walking through walls....
I called it falling through the cage of words, but I realized later that I am this cage of words
it simply becomes transparent.
Wondrous beyond measure...
Beauty slides into and through beauty
Light flows through light
Space flows into and through space
And yet still I am here
No one can exist as a non-self
It’s simply always known and felt that all separation is made up
Beautiful beyond compare the mountains the sky the river the light pouring down
the Canyon
The great divide between us
which is imaginary
yet the only place we exist
What is looking is not separate from what is being seen. It is only words which make it seem like there is a thing called awareness and a thing called perception.
Ultimately it is all unknowable!
But, like mystery, unknowable can be another concept that might make people feel like they have a grasp on what is going on.
Either there is the feeling of separation,
of separate things, separate moments,
separate events, or there is not.
All conventional knowing is concepts... description... shared learned words...
Most mistake description for understanding. Rarely is it known and felt that there are no separate things that can be put together into some kind of place of rest or understanding and someone separate from the whole shaboogie to do so....
The uninterrupted symphony of perception and its inseparable recognition is the gem of aliveness...
somehow with imaginary separation there arises an awareness of being aware... it is most marvelous!!!! There can be a hyper awareness of that, permeating the dream.
This is the sparkling jewel that no one owns, that we are, this amazing awareness of being aware, and not separate from the flow of perception.
I am a girl a woman... a songster...
there has been a profound shift in perspective that occurred in my brain...
there is always a childlike wonder...
the big wow consumed me!
but the big wow had never left... it was merely not recognized...
I do not know any children, so have no preference to hang out with them!
I see everyone as unutterably beautiful and I weep that they cannot see their own beauty...
I am this flow of the brains reactions...
whether childlike or adult I have no clue and no longer think about such labels
she waits until she sees she is the waiting,,,, and falls through her own reflection ...seeing that there were never two sides to the mirror... nor a middle
the soft breath of a gentle ok-ness sings...
I am this beautiful longing...
this love of loving...
this primal ache of our aliveness sings these lines,
these imaginary lines that define me
there are no boundaries in love
love is knowing there is no separation
yet without the illusion of separateness
there is no love
a river needs its banks to flow
the moon needs the river
to see its own light
to kiss its own reflection
and drown in its own beauty
one tiny blossom
yellow among the fallen leaves
still water echos
the mountain's cry
your face is
rippling memory
the song of morning
of day sliding...
of your reflection in sunset
winter gathers in the shadows of moon
waits for
the last cricket
what is the mountains song
naked in the moonlight?
why did you hide your heart
in the valley
under the brambles
away from the searing light?
you were afraid of drowning in love...
yet in the losing of your heart
this love
that was never yours
you found all this
this primal hush
infinite and piercingly intimate
illuminating all and everything
with a love
unencumbered with fear
or need
or hope
of love
she huddled in her footsteps
wrapped in summers past
longing for the thunder
that would rip her world to shreds
she wove a garment
that kept unraveling
she searched for the missing thread
she felt she had forgotten
and tried to remember the colors
of memory
she wove clouds into sky
sun upon the meadow
and waves into the sea
and kept looking for the thread
that would hold it all together
tattered clouds race with the passing sound of rain
dance with their shadows across the meadow
shine and shadow ripple through the grasses
thunder and silence of waves
crash and recede
life streams
through her empty hands
as they dissolve into the flowing
How many see the self as the enemy? They feel that something is wrong and hear that there are some who live in apparent bliss, without attachment, and they long to get rid of that as well! They love so many things with an ache that they feel is wrong somehow.
They desire love and feel they cannot find it... yet they are looking at it always.... it is just the idea of love that seems to block this obvious recognition
I see you and I know you are love...
You are the jewel of the universe... through your eyes, love catches a glimpse of its own reflection...
and I weep and I weep and I weep...
in love as love through love
love in love with itself...
through your beautiful beautiful eyes
I wandered to the edge of all and everything...
The known world exploded and every shard pierced my heart and eviscerated me, love burned every secret place I thought I could hide in... found the deepest darkest places I never knew existed... acres of blood soaked meadows and ashes of bones blowing away...
....until there was not even nothing...
But no one fell off that cliff, as there is no where to fall and no one who could...
This unutterable vacancy swept through my brain like a great wind, blowing away all that I thought I knew... all ideas were seen to be false... including all ideas of truth...
and love...
I returned to the known world, knowing I was a flowing thought dream... that all things were mental fabrications...
Yet the infinite beauty of thingness, wondrous beyond compare...
The amazing beauty of all the stories ever written, the heartbeat of humanity... love and love lost, and longing for love... and the pain we get to feel so deeply... all of it feels like love...
the exquisite story of love sings me... sings these words these lines
...these tears
and every thought is love and love is a thought...
I simply can find no other word to sing of this seamless beauty...
it is belief in thought by the brain that emits thought that creates the dissonance, the feeling that something is horribly wrong...
as there is a deep intuited knowing feeling of slipperiness, of seamlessness...
that perhaps life is truly doing itself... and a fear of that...
for if there is no one or thing doing life... not even god....
then where does that leave me?
and you are a weary traveller...
smitten with the dawn
and a fresh trail
a tall summit in the clouds beckons
a bower of love
to shield you from your
ultimate aloneness
that has chased you as long as you remember
how many times have you howled at the moon
and waited for an answer
other than your own
empty
echo
how many days will you walk
until you reach the end of walking
what moves your feet
but your beautiful desire for other
for more
for next...
and you have never found anything other than this walking
this desire
this exquisite aloneness
you fear
may consume you
with your own teeth
your own love
for love
eviscerates you
yet leaves no mark
upon your brow
to show that no one has won
this empty prize
you find yourself loving
all and everything
knowing there are no things
and no one to love
makes love all the more beautiful
makes these tears
everyones tears
this was never about you
moon at dawn
slides over the canyon walls
running from the light
of my own reflection
terrified of looking in the mirror and seeing
nothing
love crashed into the mirror
a collision of time and timelessness
of emptiness and fullness
of tears and their shadow
wet and its wetness
there is no source to this flowing dreamscape
no outside
no inside
all is lost
nothing is lost
when you crash through your own reflection
every shard that paints your face
pierces you with an exquisite beauty
and unimaginable pain
until there is nothing in the dance
but the dance
nothing to love
but love
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