Love Burns Itself

shimmering rainbows of light and water

surf the waves

dissolve into their own reflection

elegant mists rise

greet the morning sun

pirouette with their own echoes

all afterimages

burn

there was nothing to see and no one looking

as I peered into the mirror

looking for a true image

for some solidity

something to grasp 

someone to kiss

someone to love

the looking glass exploded into smithereens

every shard a piece of what I thought I was

and was not

pierced me deeply

until there was nothing left to dance

freely

on the waves

or rise up into the morning sun

and dissolve into the great dream of love

all echoes of ancient shores dissolved 

there was no safety 

no one to sail the great ocean

no one to seek a harbor 

there were no waves

or seas

or suns

or space

less substantial than these castles made of clouds

there are no castles

or clouds

or sky

or tears

who weeps at the beauty of this imaginary world

of love's splendor and our broken hearted beauty?

is it the world weeping? 

is it you?

is it me?

these tears form our inlines

and outlines 

as blood runs through our arteries and veins

love flows like this

we are the heat and light of a thousand suns

pouring into itself


someone says, 'you're beautiful'
'I love you'
and there is simply nothing here
there is no here
nor there

echoes stream across the vastness
wide eyed vacant streets of midnight moonlight sun
have no source or singer
no mouths to hold the vowels
or let them lose

ripples of overtones fall through their own waves
sliding over and under and through these sounds
that have no meaning
nor non meaning
nothing does
there are no things

that this is unknowable is undeniable
that selves are the illusion of knowing is clear
so what am I after the shift
but an imaginary dancer of wind?
what is there to love but the wind that caresses you, flows though you and is you?
a ballet of wind in wind
of sky in sky
of light in light
of space in space

what is it that dances with itself
in this love ballet?
all words seem to capture what is as illusive as yesterday
or tomorrow
morning mists dissolve and leave no trace
were they ever caught in the first rays
pouring over the canyon walls
rainbows shimmering...

this ache that has no name
for what is
and what is not
is the rhythm of our existence
without it
there is not even nothing
this love that is not a thing

echoes pour through deep deep hollows
whoosh across the canyon
spiral into sky
explode into songs
reverberate in our hearts
oh yes, we say, this is it

this is a love that cannot be filled or emptied
it cannot be held or refused
there are no hands to hold it
no heart to treasure it
no one can truly know this
yet it seems that without it
I am not

The belief in imaginary separation
Makes it feel like there are separate things moments and events
So if there is thought
Well
There must be a thinker
And if there is feeling
There must be someone who feels
It really FEELS like that doesn’t it?
And if there is ‘all this’, then there must be a cause of source or creator
The description of intelligence is a shared learned concept
Like all words it seems to be, and feels like it a thing.

Seekers are the looking for and the longing to find this apparently unchanging thing
God or source or awareness...
The seeking makes them feel solid... they are the grasping which seems to create things to grasp and someone to hold them or let go of them

There are no selves
Neither higher or lower
There is no god or source or higher intelligence creating the universe or trying to learn from it

Seekers are defined by the belief that there is such a thing as enlightenment, some one to get it and a path by which it can be attained.  

Everyone truly knows or Intuits no thing ness

Or unicity 

Yet that deep feeling which may gnaw on you can be quite uncomfortable

For if there are no things, that would mean that there is no you, that there is no love, that there are no mountains, that there are no valleys, or deep deep oceans sparkling in the summer sun....

And this intuited feeling can create a very painful dissonance with the belief in separation which the self is...

Some may try to return to that feeling of wholeness or oneness, yet it has never disappeared.  It cannot be, and need not be created or contrived...

And no one knows what puts a chink in that tall strong wall of assumed knowing, and creates a tumbling apart of this house of cards....

All I know is that all effort or trying to not effort substantiates the painful feeling that there is a you separate from this idea of enlightenment, or this feeling that you suspect might be true, of this huge huge void ....which you fear and long for

No one gets this, as there is nothing to get.... no one becomes enlightened as you are a fictional character  ...but it might get you! enlightenment is truly an empty prize for no one. 

trying to peer behind a rainbow

the colors disappear

under these words

there is not even nothing

consonants and vowels seem to weave this song

of things

of everything and nothing

of light and dark

and secret places that seem to be just around the corner

just outside your vision

just outside this song

outside is a word

like inside

like rainbows and colors

and flowers gently dancing in the morning breeze...

emptiness a word

dusting the worded world with a promise of no tomorrow 

a forest of moonbeams

waits for your eyes to paint the beauty

as you wait for the night to envelope your tears

you can hear the mountains weeping

a coyote waits for the moon to rise

echoes reverberate from everywhere and no where 

your ears your eyes caress the dusk

envelope the falling away of any hope of another day

and the fear of night

enlightenment is an idea 

like you

Where did you get all those ideas

What would you be without them

So what IS going on?

Can you find an edge or outside to it?

If it’s all encompassing, it can’t be an it, can it?

You could say that there are colors and shapes and sounds...  but this is like throwing a net across a rushing river, the description composed of shared learned words has only seemed to capture it. You can’t even say it’s flowing without seeming to catch it...

It’s truly unknowable isn’t it?

All description seems to create separate things and events and time... but this is just a conceptual overlay that seems to create a known world, and a knower.

thought spins lighter and lighter traces of shine and shadow

weaving an imaginary web

that cannot catch light

but seems to kiss it into being

what cannot be kissed

is this magnificent unknowing

knowing that there are no things

and no one to know them

she waltzes in a dream time of love

in love with itself

spinning ancient shadows

into filaments of light

burning themselves

in their own flame

their own desire

their own love

you are an idea of love

like a moth drawn to a flame

trying to see itself

trying to kiss itself...

illusion cannot kiss or erase itself

if it is seen that you are the effort-ing

burning may happen

but it is not pleasant 

it is hell

in the end there are not even ashes

or wind to blow them away

and I find myself again

every morning

oh yes, 

says this song

here I am

loving you

this is a love dance in love with itself, loving everyone as no separation is felt, yet those who's stories have become mine, all my lovers, there is a swirling of embrace of fire in fire, heat in heat, wind in wind, sky embracing and falling into sky, space falling through itself, In love as love through love.... without other's stories I have none. I do not live alone, no one exists alone. Without others I simply am not

it doesn’t feel like there are separate instruments or voices or hands or feet singing or playing or dancing me or you or this  

Just a streaming love song appearing and disappearing into itself

neither moving nor non moving 

love slumbers and sings

a silent kiss

of wind folding into wind

awakening is not a belief or philosophy or understanding, it does not help, or happen to the imaginary persona. 

the seeker is the belief that enlightenment is a goal they can reach by going down a path, and that this can be taught or leaned or given away (transmitted). 

many pay a lot of money to go to satsangs and they feel they are getting somewhere.... when actually these teachers keep the seeker feeling safe

there is nothing wrong or right with that... 

no one can be prepared or even imagine having all beliefs ripped apart, including all beliefs about enlightenment... as you ARE belief, it feels like having your skin ripped off and being eviscerated.

it hurts like hell and it is known at the end that it is an empty prize for no one.

You are the heart of the flame

The marrow of desire 

All encompassing 

Love burns itself

thought paints this lovers dance 

Of colors rushing into the morning 

Birdsong filling the sky 

My entire world is made up

Nothing is knowable 

All things are made up

Including this unfindable imaginary center

Its not like 

"Its all me!"

or 

"I am that"

this feels like utter sublime emptiness

without even emptiness 

spaciousness without space

love without love

no you nor me nor we

yet eyes seem to appear...

no one looking out

no one looking in

reflections of reflections of reflections

mirrors without edges

or sides

or middle

echoes of echoes of echoes reverberating

boundless

seamless

dream within a dream within a dream

flowing into and through itself

without time 

or non time

without movement

or non movement 

without place

or place-less-ness

there is no here nor there nor in-between 

there is not even nothing

not even this

or that

or both 

or neither

a love dream pouring through itself 

color and shape seem to swirl 

three d flowing images almost arise

from a boiling vat of photographic solution

and dissolve simultaneously

memory is like steam curling

recognizing itself as it clings to the mirror

a burning film

that never was

nor was not

a pause in a melody 

that has no notes

nor sound

nor tempo

a space between the words

when there is no space

without words

nor words

without words

a moment between thoughts

when there are no moments

without thought

nor thoughts

without the word thought

trickling flowing streaming rushing roaring 

flowing pouring into and through itself

wind sings of wind

dances with itself

dissolves into a pirouette of wind

wind caresses me

blows through me

I am the wind dancing

I weep at your beauty

breathless, I sing <3

You are Moon glow without a moon

You are moonglow without a moon
Shimmering on the empty streets
Ricocheting down the canyon
An echo without sound

A song without a singer
A story without a writer
Without a pen or mark
Wind sings wind into this song
And blows itself away

Not here nor there
Nor everywhere
Nor nowhere
There is no heart to hold you
Nor heart that cannot

What is in every word
Uttered by the clouds
As they dissolve into sky
Dream castles crumbling
Homes where no one lived

Written with sky in sky
Wind in wind
Light in light
Space in space

The story unwrites itself...
When all words vanish
So do you


Swallowed by the dream of endless sky
Of diamond oceans
Sparkling in your eyes...

no one can know what it is like for another
not even their closest lover
we can never actually touch another
we are confined to the imaginary walls that define us
we are them

morning stretched her thin fingers into the canyon
her gossamer touch embraced the shadows
held every tree and branch
and leaf trembling in unseen winds
illuminating the hanging cliffs and deep crevices with her song

walking in wordless wonder
I spiraled through myself
and fell into this swoosh
of light
these eyes pirouetted among the flowers
held every petal
with lanterned grace
I became the waves of grasses
flowing through me

I tumbled lightly
through the sky
as sky swallowed itself
and dissolved all lines
the majesty of light
and dark
dissolved

my heart sank
like an ocean vessel
into fathomless depths of wonder
sea of diamonds
above
sea of diamonds
below
collided
infinite unparalleled spaciousness
consumed all and everything

floating world of love
sea of dreams
sings

You enter the dimly lit great hall and there is a beautiful woman or a man sitting on the podium 

maybe she is surrounded by flowers 

There is a soft light on her face and she looks so exceedingly serene, you want some of that calmness ....a wonderful feeling of love pours through you

The hushed voices begin to settle down as people get into their chairs and wait for the great moment when she begins to talk...

She tells you things that you have always longed to hear, that you are not these thoughts and emotions, that you are not this puny character full of ideas and the doer of harmful action, and the things that you feel that make you afflicted or broken....

You just know this has to be true! You ARE something special, something divine, something that is not thought feeling action and belief...

You begin to look for this true self or this thing which is unchanging that you know must be there! 

All the others share this longing and belief, so this group solidifies all of these ideas... that there is something under the mask, that there’s someone or thing unchanging which pretends to be a self or seems to wear the persona....

You buy her books and watch her videos, you’re trying to hypnotize yourself into this belief so you can feel that calmness she radiates that sereneness, this beautiful love that you think she has....

But it is your love and beauty that you see in her eyes.... and your belief that she has something you do not makes you feel more broken....  

You believe that she is enlightened and can give this to you....

She never challenges you, she just draws you further and further in to this hypnotic idea of enlightenment which you buy, you have no choice, as there is no one who has belief or ideas, you are belief and ideas

Yes, self is a mask but there is no one or thing that wears it.

Self is pretense but there is no one or thing pretending. 

You exist only as this imaginary character in an objectified dream of separate things and events and moments and time... and dimension and causality, and inside and outside.... there is no outside to this dream, you are it.

You are these beliefs ideas and preferences,  you are this illusion that no one has or makes.

You feel safe in her warm embrace, reading her books, listening to her videos, going to her meetings.... I could say that that is her purpose, to keep you safe, but I do not believe in purpose or non purpose, or meaning or not meaning....

Enlightenment and not enlightenment are simply more ideas more labels... more imaginary lines

Drawing your silhouette in sky with sky....

How beautiful you are with your wide teary-eyes, you are the clothes of belief in other better more and next.... no one wears them....

rose blossoms fall
softly softly
doves bring the morning
on their wings
wind sings through the trees
and dancing shadows

lace of spring
crochets light and shadow
tears fall
wet into wet
liquid light streams through this dance
awe adorns this shimmering mirage
young sunflowers heavy with dew
I am after images of diamonds
exploding into light

morning moon falls
over the canyon
mirrored light
emptied my pockets of shadows
love turned inside out
and wept at its own demise

reflections of the breath of nowhere
spun into mirrors dancing
ripped away deep deep darkness of fear
and hope
erased an image in a daydream
who was tied to slender shadows
awaiting the night

who stands in the doorway
of this house of echoes
there is no singer
yet I am this song


eyes of mirror moon
who owns the light?
who dances in deep dark shadows
flirting with the day?
it is only the song of the wind dancing
invisible in dark
and light

I am the breath of sunflowers turning
slowly
awaiting the dawn
I am the night hawk swooning
and the fireflies bleeding
into the morning



winds of light of dark of memory swirl
illuminating tales of moonlight dancing
of secrets whispered and never heard
or forgotten
long lost treasures wrapped in moon glow
shimmering in day in night in the lonely places in-between
mirages fall through their reflection
again and again
and lose their fragrance of solidity

swimming through a rainbow
waltzing with the after images of time
a kiss that love forgot
a touch that only silence can sing
this all pervasive thunder
roars
through the sky the sea the depths of the earth
and reverberate in my blood my bones in the beat of my heart

it is the song that sings these lips this tongue this mouth...
these very words into a flowing tapestry
of a girl a woman a songster a poet
a lover...
as she falls through her own sky like reflection
words fall through words and not even nothing is left
just a wisp of memory
of a ripple of empty space swooning though itself

words are empty
yet sing this magnificent world into being
space is empty yet is part of the dance of empty-full
empty is empty
and we cannot conceive of that
which is not a that

it feels like loving someone and the missing of them is the same... 

my heart aches with the unutterable beauty of everyone I see... 

you move me twirl me into a love dance that cannot help but sing of the hugeness, the enormity, the explosion of light into light...

that forms me, dances me, this unbearable wondrousness that has no words, that is all words....

no one seeks, no one follows, no one leads

no one becomes enlightened 

no one is endarkened

no one dances with the wind

or sings these songs of freedom beyond freedom

of love beyond love

of a beyond which has no beyond

or before 

or after

we are all characters in a passion play that writes itself 

swirling collage of beliefs and preferences 

of memory and thoughts of a never arising next... 

no one has memory 

we are less substantial than the stories lovers tell

of stars strewn across the night time sky that seem to form creatures with arrows shooting the sun

of cloud castles shimmering on the beaches of endless tomorrows...

birds seem to sing,

but that is the story of us singing...

trees seem to dance in the wind,

but that is a beautiful love story of skies and seas and long rivers flowing into an edgeless sea...

I am a flowing thought dream

and that is yet another story painting the dream of I am

when nothing is believed, there is not even nothing left

just this love dance

of one of two of many of none

twirling echoing streaming down the canyon of winds

just like this it whispers our names and we appear

bedazzled by each others magic

without each other we have no imaginary lines

I am the loving of you

and I love you for that

Seekers are the belief and longing for other better more and next

 and there is none

Moon beckons as it fades in the dawn 

No path leads to night 

I lay in the long summer grasses 

They wave moon-song into day 

Intricate fluid transparency soars 

Light and shadow and infinite hue

Colors streaming swirling dancing 

Hovering between the dream and the real

This obvious seamless song is composed of echoes 

They sing your name and you remember 

This lostness 

That was never lost 

That no one forgot 

In this timeless heartbeat 

That has no pause 

Yet is the hush 

The silence 

The love 

You

maw of desire

gnawed the marrow of my heart

drank my blood

consumed with fire

every secret place

I tried to hide

and my naked bones cried out

as I lie awake all night

on a bed of nails

losing everything

finding it was nothing

that I was nothing

more or less than a flowing thought dream

less substantial than the colors in a rainbow fading into sky 

rivers sing of their own wetness

their rippling beauty weeps

like this I sing

where is the world you are losing?

was it ever?

were you ever?

whose hand holds the sunrise

as it slides into day

whose tears slide down these cheeks

whose words slide through these lips

whose lips kiss this song into a world?

not mine

nor yours

we are this dream singing itself

vowels reverberate in your heart

your mouth moves

I hear a love song

it is impossible to fall out of this love

this enchantment that you are

that we are

alone

together

thoughts are about things, and there are none.... thought even seems to create things called thoughts

I am tattooed with scars of love's beautiful arrows 

her blades ripped apart all ideas of love

shine and shadow and moonbeams 

like ancient mists 

burned in the penetrating brilliance of a thousand suns

the pain could not be hidden under a smile

or tears

or swept under the carpet

I wore it

until it was me

swirling cascades of swiftly moving daydreams

poured through this river of tears

of sorrow

of joy

of love

until the river flowed through itself

and all that was left was a memory of wetness

drying 

like waking up when I was small

my head on a tear stained pillow 

wondering why I had been crying

I woke up to this new dawn

the tears have never stopped

this imaginary world is a river of tears

of sorrow

of joy

of love

no one wears this heart of broken shadows

or dances in this love light

it is love itself

waltzing with itself

love a word

like you

like me

I am all words 

of ancient voices

and songs yet to come

the echo of primordial dreamscapes

dancing in their own light

we are but echoes

basking in each others reflections

there is no primal voice

or words

other than these words

sung by no one

sung by everyone

I love you

the most beautiful words

cannot capture this love

you know that

yet these words are all we have

we are them

Thought is a word that seems to create things called thoughts.

Word is a word that seems to create things called words.

Thing is a word that seems to create things.

What is not a what?

All separation, all imaginary lines, or seams between things, and the things themselves are seemed.

I could say that nothing is true, not even the idea of truth,

but that would be simply another idea of knowing, 

of imaginary solidity,

of a person with a ground to stand on.

Self is the assumption of knowing.

Here there is no feeling of knowing,

it's more like a delicious unknowing. 

The knowing that there are no things to know,

and no one to know, is sublime.

At first this felt like, 'I am all this!"

Then it felt like, 'All this!'

Later it was .... 'Not even nothing...'

And I awoke in the dawn of empty shadows dancing across the surface of the shimmering mirrored sea... always only in your eyes is there any inkling that there is someone here, and although this love story is never believed, it is loved always.

The thought stream composed of shared learned words and concepts paints a worded world of mountains and skies and deep deep valleys where the sun kisses the cold rocky bottom only in the long long days of summer, and lovers dancing on the canyon rim lost in sunset's dream...

...watch how the dream paints itself!  isn't it amazing? 

Every word as I type it, seems to create these things, and time, and well, a me typing the story and a you in the middle of it.

But it is only a dream time story flowing along. Like a net thrown across a raging river, it will never catch the entire symphony of perception, which is infinite and edgeless and seamless, and even this description is beyond imagination, yet seems to capture 'all this', and pin it down, when there are no actual things to capture, no one throwing the net and no one sitting on the edge of the river bank, watching the amazing display and holding your hand, and falling in love.

love softly folds itself into all the deepest places 

where I tried to hide,

and unfolded my dark

and light

into a ballet of spinning shine and shadow

consuming each other

this heartbreakingly beautiful dance

from everywhere and nowhere 

pierced me caressed me from the inside and out

my brilliance drank itself

extinguished

in love's pyre

not even ashes were left

for the wind to scatter

no hollow bones to hunger

no teeth to gnaw

no voice to howl at the night

no one to walk the deep dark places in between

where not even nothing is found

or lost

rainbows had washed through me

and I dissolved into sky

like clouds sailing over the canyon walls

until only seamless blue seems to be cradled in the cliffs...

then the canyon collapsed

the very ground fell through itself...

light spilled into light

and space poured into space

not even emptiness could fill

and a song was heard from across the distance less distance

it was an echo of a love song

my love song

my voice

my words

my tears 

yet never mine

it is the voices of everyone

the song of no-one 

reverberating in this choir of humanity 

weeping

laughing

wondering at the mystery and majesty of love

welcome home 

the voice said

I love you

and I wept

tears flowing freely 

for everyone 

for no one

for every reason

for no reason

I am the hush before morning

the song of the dark 

and the swoon of first light

the window reflecting the steam of my tea

rising twisting curling

disappearing in the dark

only a wallpaper face remains

there is no one to claim it

cloud scattered moonlight 

bathes the flowered carpet

roses cascading in the garden

hide

waterfall of words

paint the night with light and shadow

suggest deep dark secrets

pockets of unknown

unseen transparency 

a palpable flesh of mystery

longing to be discovered

where is the veil to look behind?

who would gaze though a mirror

with imaginary sides?

what penetrates the dark

when darkness is a dream?

Unbearably beautiful 

This light 

This all consuming light 

that poured through its reflection

Ripped apart time 

And space

Showering infinite shards with razor fine edges through the known universe 

and slashed through my skin 

Ripped out my heart

Pierced love’s magic

Revealed the marrow of loneliness

Fanned the flame of hope and fear

Joy and sorrow 

You and me

And burned all light and shadow in love’s beautiful pyre 

Until there were no bones or flesh to bleed

No world to dismantle

No wind to blow away 

The memory of my ashes

The last cinders dissolved

All illusion vanished 

The very vanishing erased itself

And what can one say about the emptiness of empty?

All words paint the dream of separation

It is these songs that sing me into this lover’s dream

We are merely streaming shadows dancing with ourselves across the canyon walls...

Like this she said 

like this

Here is your fullness

Here is your emptiness 

Here is your birth and death

Here is the love you longed for

Basking in the summer sun

I watch the rich evening color 

Caress your beautiful face

And shimmer in your sublime tears

Kissed by sunlight

Kissed by moonlight

We exist only in this love ballet 

We are it 

I am this loving of you

It forms my in lines and my outlines

All imaginary lines are drawn with love’s caress 

Like lines drawn in water

With water 

We are love’s shadows fading in the morning sun  

Never separate

Always separate 

Held in the all embracing light of day 

And night 

And hands 

That have never held a thing

Not even nothing

Just this evening

These finches 

This cascade of falling shadows 

Burnt in the setting sun

night enfolds its blackness

into the dearth of light

darkness presses its lips upon the ground

the heat of day

smolders still...

reaching up through tangled grasses

the earth waits

as I once did

for the kiss of magic

of love's fire

to engulf me in her light

I could never have imagined 

how it would feel

to be burnt 

alive

until even death sounded better

this mourning of a thousand suns

my world dying

and no one to walk among the blackened embers

or greet the new day

that is always dawning

and setting 

with no lips to kiss it

to sing of this marvelous iridescence

this penetrating searing light

there is no dark

or light

after love has consumed you

there is no going back

there is no back

only a dream of dancing shadows

burning

it neither feels like everything is me or not me

all I can know is what is going on in my skull, 

and our worlds can never touch, 

yet there is no one to identify with 'all this'...

a seamless flow that has no edges nor source...

mural of solitude

I am a mural of solitude painted on the wind

a breath of autumn sliding into summer

tree tops dance though my silhouette 

sun kisses an echo of my reflection

paint of memory 

clothes not even a shadow

runs down the landscape of dreams

pools in silent caverns

where death has never died

traces of ancient melodies

stir the darkness

and sing these lips

this tongue

this song

that sings of our sublime aloneness

and the lush wetness

of our tears


rain lingers into morning
first cars
long headlights
illuminate the stillness
staccato of sound and silence
punctuate the dark
I am this cry
of unbearable beauty
no one is weeping
it is the song of our aliveness
from within
from without
there is no middle
nor sides
echo has no sound
reflection has no light

wind chased itself across the pavement
covered me with ancient sighs
burned all my edges
swept away my ashes
blown away with the darkness
drowned in shadows
drowned in love
drowned in darkness
drowned in light

nothing was held in the pocket of empty secrets
there was no hand to hold the fire
it burned all and everything
even
itself

I am an empty kiss of echoes
sky written with sky
this vastness has no measurement
without your eyes

I was the clothes of longing
for that all encompassing kiss
now the kiss

is the longing

wind rips diamonds

off rain soaked leaves

colors flow 

flowers explode

in my eyes

this illusion 

a lovers dream

shimmers through me

paints my lines

with shine and shadow

and colors bursting

there is no one walking 

through this flowing dream

memories seem to appear 

and paint my story

but I cannot find 

a place where I am

or where I am not

there is no pure intelligence or god. there is no prior to thought as time is thought created... there is no container... there are no edges... god is another idea that seems to create a thing permeant and unchanging... god is another hand hold. another idea that seems to create an understanding... I see god as a pacifier a substitute to fill in the huge void you sense but cannot grasp, this amazing unknowing that you fear.

What if nothing can be known simply because there are no things?

What if there is no one who can step outside of what is going on, as there are no edges to what is going on, and truly see the whole picture?  

What if there is no whole picture? 

What if the only way to make the physical world knowable would be to divide it up into imaginary parts? 

What if one of those imaginary parts was you? 

What if you were the longing to understand, or know what’s going on, 

The Looking for meaning or purpose or your place in the world, when you are not separate from it?

What if all ‘its’ were made up? 

What if the feeling of lostness 

Of emptiness of unknowing 

Could never be filled with all your imagined ‘knowing’?

What if even this post was simply more words seemingly separating what cannot be split apart, has no edges and is not a thing? 

What if all explanations, all description, all words and concepts just point to more words and concepts, weaving an imaginary web of knowing?  

How can you know that all the seeking and meditating and reading books I did was more significant than all the cooking I did for my loved ones?

crumpled love letters strewn like wildflowers 

blooming 

wilting into autumn and

winters breath

scattering the words

is there a path to this love?

where is it not?

I find only echoes of tears

no one hovers in the shadows

longing for the light

it was only a dream

that there was a girl

a woman

a lover

waiting for the beloved 

it is only a dream

a painted pony

galloping 

across a painted landscape

colors running

through this dream scape of time

of memory 

flowing

down 

a path

to nowhere

near and far

balanced on the rim of the earth

sunrise streams across the sky

where is the distance between you and me

or sun and its light?

where does darkness hide during the day?

you cannot hide in your own shadow

there is no escape from your own light

tip the glass and drink deeply

this song that paints you 

swirls you in its empty glass

marvels at your scintillating colors

and drinks you

it is only words that create the feeling

that there is a you breathing

feeling

drinking...

who holds these vowels in her mouth

savoring the taste of day?

there is no one dancing on the edge of no tomorrow

or singing of life's unutterable majesty

no one is weeping at the beauty

that this is all 

love

What is is that defines you?

Where is the line between you and the wind?

Your skin?

Your thoughts?

Are they your thoughts?

Are these thoughts you?

Are there separate thoughts? 

Is there a little man in there 

That is looking for these answers?

Or are you the looking?

What kind of answers do you expect?

Where did you get gave the idea that there are any answers?

Looking for meaning, for life to make sense, for a purpose, through spirituality or philosophy or science is what defines you.

The believe that there is an understanding to reach is what defines you. 

What would you be without all of these ideas of something other or better or more or next? 

What would you be without all of your ideas about enlightenment or god or purpose or meaning?

What would happen if you realized that there is no understanding, no certainty at all? That no concept or philosophy you have ever read will ever capture this magic that you know is here, that you are a magical illusion that has no words or concepts that is unfathomable that has no solidity whatsoever?

Not even void or emptiness or infinity come close to this greatest intimacy that you have been fending off with words and ideas. 

For enlightenment is the greatest intimacy. 

There is no line between you and the wind.

There is no line between inside and outside.

There is no inside and outside.

It is only these very words, these thoughts that are like razors, which seem to slice up endless sky.

When there are no words left, when there are no concepts left, when there is no more longing to know, to capture the magic 

....it is all magic

and the magic is you

Drifting through the dream as the dream dreams you 

And mountains and clouds and endless sky....

And lovers dancing under a moon lit night...

When all and everything is gone, suddenly all and everything is here, and it all feels like love, a lovers dance of one of two of many of none....

yellow chin 

dandelion dreams

child lies in the grasses

flowing

watching faces in the clouds

form

dissolve

life

flows

imagines 

you

It’s a constant love at first sight

Scent of mountain rain pours down the canyon

Lace of wind and leaves dance through me 

Light and color swoon through me

I am this ballet of wind and leaf and light

Waking...

Bathed in wonder....

Ripped inside out there is no place I am not

Yet there is no place that I am...

I am smitten with this beauty

Watching this dream that I am unfold

Weeping 

I am nothing more than a memory of cloud shadows racing across the dunes

and its a constant

oh my!

I forgot how beautiful you are!

morning sleeps

breath dissolves

into breath

songs of ancient shadows

pool in deep places

echoes of yesteryear

dream this lovers dance

arising with the day 

you may think it is the sun

painting shine and shadow across the landscape

but it is your eyes

that sing this love

I see you dancing on the edge 

a breath of my reflection shimmers

sings of your unutterable beauty

weeping starlight into our eyes

I know this cannot be kissed with words

yet the songs spill out and onto these pages.... 

pieces of love letters broken into notes 

into melodies that seem to draw our lines

music, like love, needs imaginary spaces... 

this is where the dance is

this dance is what we are

we are a love song

echoes across the canyon

a call and answer day dream

drifting through its own shadows

basking in its own light

this dance needs no invitation

there is no one to accept

we are this shimmering water ballet

of you of me of we

this scintillating song of love

sings us onto pages

that were ripped out of the book of time

blown away by beauty 

scattering colors into the dream time waltz 

blooming and fading without pause

this heartbeat of love

closer than your very breath

or your lips or your tongue

closer than this song of sunlight

dancing on the canyon stream

pouring through us

filling me 

emptying me

I am this intoxication

alone

together

we are this dance

there is no other

there is no one dancing under the street light

on a naked evening 

waiting for a kiss

she is simply waltzing with her shadow

streaming across the canyon walls

night pours down the empty streets

erasing the paint of day

what swept through this heart

and took away the fingerprint of time

exploded this love

that had no hands

to hold it

no place 

where it was

or was not

I am starlight dancing 

Moon song as it fades into forest...

The shimmering river crochets me

Into an imaginary dancer of winds  

A singer of forgotten day dreams...

Wind slides through an echo of itself 

And without tender leaves 

There is no song to crash through the horizon

To mix earth and sea and sky...

Swirling reflections dance into 

A love song without beginning or end

Never heard 

Always sung 

Always heard 

Never sung 

how could anyone be broken? 

how could anyone not be beautiful?

What would I be without you? 

Not even this love

wind rips diamonds

off rain soaked leaves

colors flow 

flowers explode

in my eyes

this illusion 

a lovers dream

shimmers through me

paints my lines

with shine and shadow

and colors bursting

there is no one walking 

through this flowing dream

memories seem to appear 

and paint my story

but I cannot find 

a place where I am

or where I am not

There is a sublime sorrow and beauty in loving and missing someone we have never met.... yet have we ever really met another at all?

I am shadows burning at dawn 

The scent of morning mist streaming across the mountains...

Ashes long forgotten 

Empty footfalls that were never filled 

Echoes of echoes of echoes...

I am the imaginary canyon walls that sing my name 

Your name 

Our names 

With wind in wind 

A ballet of light in light 

Breathes the wind in my tears 

And I find myself as this very song 

That sings itself 

And me into the dream 

poems are a paradise 

of words

exploding into nothing

and everything

painting scintillating swirling light

and color

and mountains 

and sky

and love...

this rainbow of infinite things,

a layer of imaginary transparency, dances 

across the sensory field

creating an imaginary inside and outside

a flowing dreamscape 

that has no movement nor non movement 

I hover sweetly between the real and the imaginary

dancing footless on the edge of a feather

between love and nothing at all

The prevailing belief is that seekers think that enlightenment is going to happen to them
and that there is a path to get there
Or a method to attain it
And of course they find teachers who believe that enlightenment happened to them and that they did something to attain it....
Which is just about everyone
I just read something about Ramana  suggesting methods like inquiry
when obviously what happened was quite spontaneous

We are a flowing dictionary 

Endlessly defining itself

Movement of air is wind 

What is the distance between the breeze and my cheek 

Your cheek 

What is the distance between you and me 

And love 

We are this very thought dream 

Some say that they know that they are not the self they think they are 

They are the belief that they are something other better more...

But they are the self they think they are 

All thought is about things 

And there are none...

Just this fabricated world 

The only world we can know 

And the knowing feeling that the known world is illusion 

That beauty and love is illusion 

That illusion is illusion 

How beautiful is this

words are like a spring rain in the desert

softly softly 

kissing beauty into the world

when there is no song

the singer disappears

no one looks for words

poems slide through this heart

catch fire in our eyes

paint the worded world with beauty

there is no silence after the song

or before

stillness and quiet saturate the flow of songs

that does not move or swing without you

from my lips to yours

from my eyes to yours

from our lips and tongue and hearts

I hear only love songs