I Am A Daydream of Wind

Elegant fingers of moon
Reach through December trees
Pool in the silent garden
Song of night
Reflects your beauty
Hidden only
To you



This cannot be kissed
yet the kissing
is it


moon lit dreams slide into
long winter morning still
dark
my lamp hovers in the window
my face swims in
upside down shadows
fingertips find the keys
eyes find the lines and squiggles
songs pour from these lines
drenching main street
with reflections
no one drowns in this love
that has no place or time
or depth

my husband brings me hot tea
fingers know how hard to grasp
mouth knows how to sip
the warmth
lips know how to kiss

love knows how to love



I have had the privilege to talk and laugh and cry copiously with a few people from the day they are diagnosed until right before they die...
all virtually....

reflections slide through liquid mirrors
melodies of love without words
expressed in every word
we are this touching...
no one exists alone

life is this very intimacy
the first and last breath
wind inseparable from wind
without shape
or shadow
a ballet of sky
in sky
time collapses
when mirrors have no sides
falling into and through each other

lost and found
in
this
very
touch


we are these songs
from the first word
until the last
beginnings and endings
are words...
like life
...like love

this symphony of life
cannot find itself
it cannot separate itself
from the music
that it is

the very trying
is its apparent movement

only in the notes that seem separate
sung apart
and together
....infinite intervals
...infinite sounds
interspersed with silence
does the music appear
to hear itself

can you hear your beautiful voice
in this chorus of one?

I need your unique song
to ricochet rainbows
into your eyes
and see my colors
which are not mine
flow into this symphony
of one
of two
of many
of none



words dissolve into themselves
leave no shadows
nor echoes...
nor waves
in this ocean of love
that has no water
yet is wet
that has no love
yet is love

footprint of time
painted with dark in dark
water in water
wet in wet
I was the longing for rainbows
and a pocket to hold them

midnight blossoms
headlights streaming
cloud drenched hills


my heart wears a necklace of homeless songs
words are sparkling jewels
dancing reflections
constellations of memories
that paint the day
and a dark that can never be penetrated with shadows
but lives in its waltz with light

we are the songs of millions
of all the poets
that ever were
and will ever be
we are every broken heart
and every trembling hand
...reaching out
every smile
and every tear
every song that was heard by many
and every song that was heard by none

infinite permutations of lace wing-ed light
dissolve into their own flowing patterns
wordless love melts into its own embrace



what did I long for my entire life?
not knowing I was the longing... it was love pure and simple...
the end to the feeling of edges... of hardness... longing for softness of water flowing through water...
...currents of warmth flowing through an already sunny day... basking in colors... and light... and dark shadows hiding underneath the trees... with wisps of light caressing my face
....love caressing my face... life caressing me softly...
the knowing of this unfathomable beauty without needing to understand...
the knowing of this love which I knew just had to be here... looking for it under every rock, in every song, every word, searching the galaxy for the galaxy...
behind the mirror there were beautiful reflections that I could not see but felt...

this love has no words yet it is all words... for it is in the eyes that love resides
it is the wetness of our eyes that reflect love's beauty
...ya know when you have just that look with someone... stranger or lover....
they know...
just for a moment...
that life is precious and love is present and there is no separation...
and it is all
...beautiful...
even the sorrow...
the pain...
eternity collapses into itself...
one look...
one heart... one love...

it is a peace, neither happy nor sad, yet it is not nothing... the heartbeat of love ... thrump... thrump... thrump.... the imaginary separation of voices in this infinite chorus of love

It may feel that love can separate us... or join us... but there is no one to be separate or to feel this love
there is nothing in-between no sides...

I am the child the oldster the woman... like infinite photographs ... snapshots of timelessness.... shuffled into a deck with infinite hands... a player piano in an open field... wind dancing....
I am intoxicated gobsmacked with this unknowing... that feels like love... like, well, a sublime feeling of edgeless-ness.....

we have never been separate... it was in the looking for connections that formed our heart strings
I watch my fingers strum the strings of an instrument so vast that we are its song

we are trembling distant shores on an edgeless sea sending waves of joy and sorrow reverberating infinitely these messages of love

we are longing
clothed in memories

We are all basking in each other’s beautiful sunsets

when there is no one who flies
and no here nor there
There is simply soaring
Without the wings of time


memory slides through ancient dreams
of seafarers and oceanographers
who could never map this shoreless sea
...where stillness was a prize
found to be everywhere
and nowhere
calm are the waves
crashing into themselves
a constant kiss
of wet in wet
...where silence was heard
in the fathomless depths
and in the storms of forgotten shadows
rustling through diaries
where words fall through love letters
written as prayers
for tomorrows
that will never set sail



there are no separate moments...
no time...
and no things to be permanent or changing.
not one nor two nor many nor none...
not this nor that nor both nor neither...
there is no emptiness...
or fullness...

all separation, all edges, all lines, all parameters, are mentally fabricated.
some will say that all things or all thingness arises out of 'emptiness' or 'nothingness', but there is no source nor god.
life does itself,
of itself so

and it seems like there is a timeline upon which life dances, and it seems like there is an unchanging person or thing called awareness inside a constantly changing environment of separate things and events, but all that is a story written by the brain using shared learned words. (and that is a story as well)
ALL thought paints the story of this and that.
the story writes itself.
just like this


this is a sublime sadness...
maybe give it a French name like tristess...
melancholy without sadness
....joy without happiness

shhhhhhhhhhhh......
there is no enlightenment
or love
nor anyone to hold them
nor anyone to hold you
except in this song
a call and answer love song
where we seem to appear
reflections of reflections

starlight

dancing




wind tethered night
stretches into day
under the shadows
pools of midnight
rippling

where is my reflection
when there is no mirror?

how could I hide this love
when I have no nakedness
to clothe?

where does the song of wind go
when the sky has no end?

clouds gather
the sweep of day
sea reflects the dance
of wind

in-breath
out-breath
I am the day dream of wind



I was a lonely traveler
on a path
that had no direction
nor ground
nor goal

which footsteps were not my own
who could I follow
where were the feet
where were the bones
where did they go
from here?

was there a here
was there a there?
who was wandering
who was wondering
where was the dawn
in the dead of night?

the stars gave no handhold
the compass began to spin
I began to howl
longing for the clothes of moon
but only echoes bloomed
and sank
into the measureless horizon
where no one wandered
and no one wondered

skipping stones across the night
ripples never seen nor heard
lost in the beauty of unknowing

love is this blooming of shadows
exploding
into
light



morning waits
behind my face
floating in the window

steam rises
curling twisting arabesque of light
evaporates into its reflection
like time's forgotten shadow
space flows into itself
through an hourglass
made of tears

winter rains
murmur songs of yesterdays
that were never sung

syllables left their fingerprints
on the rim of the glass
when love poured her echo
into space

dawn unfolds her shadows
drops of morning slide down the glass
now empty
of reflections
now empty
of night


still
the morning echoes
marigolds in my tea


adrift in the daydream of night
neither coming nor going
whirlpool of space
dissolves into its own center less spin

light slides down the shores of memory
river of time
slides through the horizon
where never greets forever
ascending ancient tides
descending empty skies
crashing all epiphanies
into fathomless seas

clouds burst
ideas of love
of touching
of merging
melt into the sidewalk
echoes streaming
river of vacant footfalls
was there a woman
once
who longed for love

love is lost and found 

in this hush of words unsaid

we dance on a terrace of winds

between the arms of sorrow and joy

an embrace of all tomorrows that will never come

slide through the waters of memory

tears have no substance

in these words that are not wet

syllables slide into morning

staccato of consonants

overtones of vowels

held

gently in our mouths

breathing out we kiss rainbows

into this watercolor dream

is there another place or time

where shadows lose the light

and drift into the darkness

that they are

where light looses its shadow

and falls into its own shimmering...

where darkness and light

fall in love?

is this the only dance

we will ever know?

light blooming 

colors dancing

life wilting

without days

or hours

or seconds

or moments

to lose

or find?

love has no name

love has no words

it is not contained

in shadow and light

it slides through our fingers

pours through our hearts

kisses us deeply

into this day dream of love

Shape Of Wind

snow flowers linger
heavy in the morning sun
nothing in my pockets
nothing in my shoes
footsteps melt
winter melts
I melted into this love dream
...memory paints the day
when time died
but the hush was never entered
or left

first dove at the feeder
brushes away the snow
the ground is covered
with night time footprints
there is a small grey cat
who wanders in the garden
we watch him climb the old wooden ladder
and marvel at his trembling tenderness
and the soft warm feathers
he longs for

piercing cry
of the first crow
song of your aloneness
echoes in the canyon



what is the shape of wind
as it dries your tears
what is the shape of water
when the banks collapse
and your heart bleeds
echoes of love
into the ocean
of memory
where
time
stops
and
love
is the essence
of life drinking itself
through your lips



Water cannot understand water
Love is most beautiful as it requires no understanding



infinitely petaled softness
blooming
wilting
brushing light
and color
and sound
into this flowing dream scape
thought spins a lullaby
a web of words
a bower of clouds
where you sleep
and death lies
like a coiled snake
waiting...

time is made of letters
consonants and vowels
there seems to be a past...
but it is memory
is there any future
outside of thought?

you are a beautiful thought dream
spinning twirling dancing
in the heart of the dream
clutching your umbrella
when you are already underwater
tight rope walking along a timeline
the ends are blurry
there is a fear of the unknown
and excitement
for a tomorrow
that will never come

where is the heart of longing
where is the hush of summer
when the trees are naked?
what is in your pocket
when you die?



It is the seeking that defines you
What happens when the seeking stops
What would you be without the longing for other better more or next
What would you be without the belief in something more? What if this is indeed it
Life happening all by itself
No thinker no feel-er no actor no conductor no source or god making it happen...
it may be terrifying to consider that life as you have known it may come to an end... what would you be without hope and fear?

All separation is made up 

As well as the ‘whole’

Bits and pieces 

Flotsam and jetsam

Waves

Oceans

Water 

Tears 

death opens

a hole in your heart 

lined with soft mirrors

never filled

or emptied

the tears never really stop

they are the underground river

that never leaves the surface

haven't you noticed

that your beautiful delicate eyes

are always anointed

with love's wetness

gently gently 

rain

slowly slowly 

rain

softly softly

rain

single leaf held in the river's current

swirling cup of gold

hearts aching

colors bleeding

wetness

flows into wetness

love

into

love

Wet in wet in wet in wet 

Life is unknowable 

There is no man or god behind the curtain 

No one utters these words 

We exist as imaginary characters in a 3-D magic light show

Suns and moons soar across the heavens

Tears fall into the river 

Of love 

Pouring into love 

suspended in blue

December trees display

their long wild dance into sky

snapshot of wind

rips into infinite pieces

trying to hold life

fills your heart with concrete

with an imprint of wind

the sun cannot find its shadows

love looks for love

and weeps

life pours into itself

unceasingly

without stillness

or movement

is it the wind

or me

who dances down the leaf strewn street

bathed in golden shadows

You know I wonder about this stillness that everyone keeps talking about. It seems that people are looking for a special state or a special place where thought is slowed or becomes nonexistent.  

Some people talk about there being a still place in the middle of the conceptual storm or the dream, but of course that would be a dream center as well.  But the question arises, is there someone separate from thought who would be disturbed by it, or who could accept it? 

All thought simply happens by itself, there is no really true thought or untrue thought because true and false are thought created.  All imaginary separation is created by the thought stream made of learned shared words.  

You could say that it is a flowing thought stream, but actually the ideas of movement and non-movement are also made up.  So if and when thought ceases there really are no things... there is no imaginary thinker as well, it is only when thought returns that the first thought often is, “oh I wasn’t thinking”, and right away an imaginary thinker is created. This entire story of thought ceasing then is a thought created story!

I would say that the stillness that seekers long for is the end of belief in the dream. Yet this is also feared, because when the dream of this and that is seen to be made up, then it means also that they are made up! It would mean that everyone they have ever loved or known in their entire lives are also made up! 

It would mean that there has never been a past and there will never be a future.  A future where somehow stillness could be attained or lost.  

It would mean the end of all seeking, as the seeker has disappeared.  The end of all ideas of other better more or next.  It’s like the Zen guy sitting there in the cartoon and one guy says to another so this is it huh? And the other guy says Yep.

For this is indeed it isn’t it? 

It always is! 

It is unnameable and it’s not really an it or an non it ...no one can capture it or understand it as there’s no one separate to do so.  

So all trying to attain stillness or something other than this seems to push it away, like trying to capture a ripple in a bowl of water. 

Your hand just makes more ripples!

Yet it is a good cat and mouse game that keeps people going and keeps the seeker safe. The dream of hope and fear continues, as that is what they are 

...the seeking...

What would they be without it?

Thought has seemingly created a world and simultaneously broken this world into bits...

It tries to fit what was never apart into another imaginary bit called wholeness 

It creates an imaginary center to the swirling with an imaginary hand that tries to grasp what has no substance... 

the flowing dream scape that has no movement or non movement tries to catch the flowing... 

Love pours into love through our eyes... 

we recognize our shimmering beauty in everyone we meet 

We are ultimately Alone 

Together 

A marvelous ballet of shine and shadow falls through its reflection into whirlpools of echoes streaming through this river of words 

Love requires imaginary banks to flow 

We need our imaginary lines to touch...

And cannot escape them...

We are them...

morning flows through the sound of rain

thought paints the window

where color blooms

into reflections of a face

hovering among the doves

and golden finches

eternity is a moment

that passes through itself

and dies on the wet pavement

a trail of soft white dove feathers

and blobs of hawk shits

this life of love

and love lost

spirals into itself

we are

love letters

written on the window

rain

pouring

down

Slowly 

Slowly 

Slowly 

Without moving

Or standing still

Love opens its wings

And swallows you 

She is rough and tender

Her teeth are beautiful slender knives

Eviscerating all ideas of life 

Of love...

She sings 

Without words 

Or melody 

Or silence...

When you look in the mirror

You can see her empty eyes

When I look at you 

I recognize her beauty

Our eyes are filled with each other’s tears 

And we waltz her shinning shadow

Light into light 

Dark into dark

Moon

Is the ache of sound 

Cradled

In winter skies 

Songs 

Are the ache of moon

Blossoming 

In our hearts

Sliding 

Through wind swept branches

Shadows

Reach for light

River

Is the song of moon

Echoing

In the canyon

Of love’s great divide

Tall cold walls

Of rock and sound

Cannot

Split the sky 

Hands

Need a space to touch 

Lips need a space to kiss

Songs

Need canyons 

To echo

This

Naked

Intimacy

Requires

A me

And a you

To dance

And fall through the moon 

Bathing 

The silent garden

Love

Collapses

Time

Bits of tinsel soar in sky 

reflecting memories of night time dreams 

sailing through the day time dream... 

never caught...

Or reflecting anything clearly....

I am a Möbius strip of wind in wind

Self 

An imaginary lens 

Between the imagined past 

And an imaginary future

A twirling hologram 

Between the imaginary known world 

And the limitless timeless unknowable unknown

A lens that paints color

And light

And love...

It is not an enemy

I do not exist without you 

We are reflections in each other’s eyes

You are beautiful beyond measure 

I love you

Echo land ballet

and how to measure the distance between echoes when the canyon dissolves...



what syllables are the rocks
and bones
and which vowels the flesh
of this song
where moonlight floats
across the garden
where shadows bathe
and echos bloom
in the depths of midnight
where all is lost
even the looking
fades
into the dried roses
last petals fallen
long ago
carpet the forgotten path
memories trail across autumn skies
ignite the dream
with moonlight
falling
through
threads of empty silken light
tattered prayer flags
eaten by time
as she slipped into the mirror
and found no front or back
or middle ground on which to stand

simply this dancing
of wind
in wind
an echoland ballet
with no dancers
or audience
or stage 
no ticket required
no hand or heart
to hold
the wind



last golden leaves
caught in stalks of summer's flowers
there is no artist 
other than these eyes
that no one wears
that cannot be found
a looker seems to arise in the looking
for an observer
but there is no one to step outside a rainbow
or into the shadow of moon
echoes fill the canyon
and dissolve into their own silence
as the walls 
melt
into the shoreless ocean
they never left




in the cradle of canyon
pale moon hangs on the door of dawn
last stars fade into pinks and oranges
woven with tattered wind plough-ed clouds

last leaves falling now
words rush through the window of my heart
pouring mouthfuls of sky
in
to 
sky




the heart is a skylight
between sky
and sky
pierced from the sides
the middle explodes
into shattered diamonds
reflecting the colors of everyone's eyes 
echoing the song of everyone's
deepest
longing
and 
fear
to erase their imaginary lines
and melt into liquid love



you may wall yourself off with books
but the beast you fear has claws that will tear you
apart
rip out your heart
and teeth that will eat it
the thing you fear and long for has feathers that will caress you
and fold you into sunlight
tears that will melt your heart
and an unquenchable fire that will boil your blood
into a froth of unspeakable magnificence
a madness that has been hidden
so deeply
you cannot imagine 
its ferocity
your wildness dances just beyond your grasp

but you know 
how hard it is 
to hold this love
for all and everything
this sorrow that sings your name
this joy that floats through waves of despair
there is war
and peace
everywhere
no where is no where to live

love ignites itself
surely it is always alive
burning through shine
and
shadow
no one wears this naked love
there is no skin thick enough
that will not be pierced
if not now...
perhaps on your deathbed
it will consume you

you cannot look for it
or invite it in
as there is no separation
between you
and love




No longer looking for happiness
No longer afraid of sadness
There is no one separate to feel this or that
All emotion merges into a sublime love



pale flower of moon
petals falling
sweeps over the garden
the scent of yesterday's rain
gathered in the fingers of naked trees

memories are dreams
that no one dreams
that dream us
plant us in a garden of love
where suns and moons slide across the sky
where we bathe in starlight
and long for love
our tears water our roots
and cleanse our leaves
we are the flower of love itself

such beauty cannot see itself
we exist only as this tender dance
I bloom only in your eyes

petals
exploding
and
wilting
leaves
falling
falling 
naked we love
and
die




wandering through the desert of broken shadows
moonlight poured through my footsteps
this shimmering mirage
has no entrance
or exit
ballet of light in light
pirouette without beginning or end
suspended as this edgeless sea of dreams...
no desert
no light
no echo
no mirage
no one wanders
sky swallowed in love





How can you ever leave the garden of love? Every step is
Flowers 
Blooming


Thought is not true or false 
True and false are thought


softly 
softly
layers and
layers
of
transparent luminescence 
slip 
through echoes of yesterdays moon

memory soars on arpeggio-ed wings
paints the sky

colors
sparkle and
bloom
in the mind stream
where you float
between the banks
of this and
that

you can hear the reflection
of the shoreless ocean
with every breath
it is inside
it is outside
it is sideless
there is no middle
no direction
the banks slip into the wetness
as you dissolve
into the ocean of love

it pours through its own soundless echo
flows through its own fathomless depths 
reverberates endlessly into its own reflection
sees its beauty
and weeps
through the prism of mind


slowly 
slowly
outdoor light erases the mirror
of window
images inside and outside merge
through the lens of imaginary separation
there appears to be a dance
between you and me
where hands
touch
where hearts
blossom and soar
into a pirouette of unfathomable wonder

where love
appears
is a fairytale world
of flowing color
the punctuation of words
paints yellows and reds
and deep deep blues
slices the dream into sides
so that we may hold hands
look deeply into each other's eyes
recognize the impossible mystery of beauty
and fall in love






wind
its own breath
slides rippling shadows 
across the sidewalk and into a deep deep river of light
pouring into light

autumn does not hold its breath
waiting for spring
leaves fall
gather in the garden
moon swept echoes
sing

love is not hiding
under the bushes
among broken shadows
and stalks of summer flowers
heavy with afternoon rain

it is the falling of ancient moonlight
and the winter's breath approaching
love is your very breath
these very words
this kiss
of knowing life's preciousness

and what of the golden finches
asleep in the plum tree
as naked moon
sails


do the seasons orbit around the sun?
is there someone walking away from autumn?
where does winter hide in the spring?

frozen garden lies in darkness
no tires on the highway 
spoonfuls of hot tea
my reflection in the window
memories of moon hover
sliding through the seasons

what is light
but ancient shadows
leaning
into the wind
bursting into flames

what is love
but memories of light
leaning 
into this fiery kiss
burning all shadows
in this echo land dream

there is no place to hide
from this explosion of love
it is everywhere
and nowhere
it lies in your sickbed
and flows through your dreams
as you wander
looking for love


my heart is a river of echoes
memories reverberate
without a source
or place to land

the banks collapsed 
into the fathomless depths
sky
slipped into wetness
currents
warm and cool
pour through eddies
and whirlpools
in this ocean of love

I am all the voices
of all the songs
the singers
and the silent 
a billion stars exploding
suns melting into their own light
galaxies unfolding
and collapsing
waves of tears
folding into pools of starlight

wild and naked
life sings our names
a call and answer long song
we are echoes
of reflected light



River of moon 
Sinks into sky
Who wandered the empty shores of moonlight?
Who sailed among ancient shadows searching for love?
Leaving no wake
She found no harbor
Simply sky
Pouring into sky
Vast
Anchor-less
Dreams of clouds
Drifting...
No banks
No light
No shadow 
No love
Just this sensuous daydream 
Dreaming itself
A love ballet that has no horizon...
No vault of sky to fall
No dance floor to collapse

Oceans dissolving
Suns melting
Castles crumbling
Lovers loving
Falling through their own embrace



morning sleeps 
silent snow
dove at the feeder

wet
slides down the window
tears are prisms
colors blossom
petals fall
love blossoms
love falls
pools of memory
slide down the window
the heart is not a vessel
love slides into and through
love

you cannot hide in hymns and rosaries
cathedrals topple
secret pockets are emptied
there are no clothes
to hide the nakedness
that no one wears

summer flowers
bloom and
wilt
colors 
now
buried in snow
a dream of time
and love's embrace
painted by these very words