I Am Nothing But This Love

Everywhere I look 

Scintillating jewels 

Without their rainbow reflections 

I am not

I am nothing without this love

I am nothing but this love

Trying to grasp or understand emptiness solidifies the feeling that there is someone with an empty hand.

We are infinite reflections without a source 

Echoes spinning 

Fleeting images 

Flowing thought dreams 

Without sides or a middle

Dancing without movement or non movement 

without direction or non direction 

There are no colors or rainbows without us

Without an imaginary persona there is no imaginary heart 

Beating 

Loving all this 

That is not this 

Or that 

Or both 

Or neither 

There is no one to be free or bound 

Or gaze as infinite awe painting the dream scape with colors that cannot be seen

Only felt 

No one to fall into your unutterable beauty 

Or fall endlessly in love with you 

This dream of love that I am

Has no border 

No gate to this garden

Infinitely blooming 

And wilting 

There is door to the house of love 

Love has no home
You need not enter 

You cannot enter 

Or leave 

Love has no words 

Yet is every word

Heard in the depths of not knowing 

Love listens to your heart song 

And hears its own heart breathing 

Love is imaginary oneness 

Swallowing twoness

Swallowing oneness

Morning sleeps

This song paints the blooming colors 

And an ordinary woman 

Weeping 

this word ballet

creates light and shadow

paints the colors of the dream

caresses me from the inside and out

dances these feet, these hands, these fingers that touch

these lips that kiss

this heart that aches

with the indescribable majesty of love

and the knowing that it is beautiful 

twirls the mirror into itself

so that there is a knowing of knowing

sky writes our names with sky

no lines can ever be found

simply after images of thought

echoes of echoes

running through this mind stream

this dream of this and that

breathes me

here I am

as real as you

and tomorrow

love is the song of you and me and we

spinning empty shadows

into this ballet of words

I was trying to find a path through a starlit sea

The distant horizon beckoned 

Promises of safety hovered...

Although I could see no harbor 

I felt it had to be there 

Somewhere...

Reflections of reflections poured through me

Acres of starlight seared me

Erasing all ideas of direction 

Forward 

Backward 

Starboard...

Up fell through down 

Sea into sky

Sky into sea 

Never and forever collided 

All ideas of a goal crashed 

With all ideas of meaning

And truth 

Sinking with the horizon 

And my heart 

Waves of color washed through my eyes

Ripped away all notions of love 

All ideas of knowing 

Anything 

Or nothing 

There was no one left to know 

I had never been anything other than an assumption of solidity 

There was no hand to grasp the stars 

Nor any stars to hold 

Light swooned through its own reflection 

And left it’s breath in my mouth 

It’s song pours through these lips

No vowels are held 

As the consonants click down the skyway

Golden hues are golden only with the paintbrush of my eyes...

Love and beauty 

Dance through these words 

Our words 

That paint our world with beauty 

That sing this lovers song 

Just like this 

I whisper 

Life paints our stories

Sky written 

Love kissed 

We are a passion play 

Written with water 

On the sea

Falling into sky

It seems obvious when imaginary separation is believed in that there are separate things, even before they are named.  Like that hard thing on the end of your shoelace, just waiting to be named.  Yet the designation 'thing' is a name. 

Where does the mountain end and the valley begin?

How deep is the line between Utah and Nevada?

What time is it on the sun?

How far is up?

I have heard that Eskimos have fifty more words for precipitation than we do, so their conceptual world is different than ours.  

I am not trying to convince you that there are no things, as this is not a belief or an understanding. As unicity or 'unity consciousness' is already always the case, it cannot and need not be brought about anew.  It is merely recognized or not. When and if it is recognized you will say, 'oh yes!  It has always been like this!'

However, no thing ness and the resulting amazement at thingness is so astounding I love to sing of it knowing full well that all words, all thoughts are razors, seemingly dividing up what has no split or division or edge anywhere... or nowhere...

The conceptualization of the physical world into things is amazing!  Our objectifying brains create recognizable things like trees and rivers when all trees and rivers certainly don't look alike.  Then the brains can imagine all kinds of rearrangement of these things, like building boats out of trees to cross rivers.  

Yet, as thingness is learned, there seems to appear a thing that is not these things, that is in the center of the swirling world of things, called a you. So thingness can be most painful when believed.  As the feeling of separation just doesn't feel right!  When there is an intuition that all separation is made up, there is a dissonance with the belief in separation which, like all belief in things imaginary is accompanied by hope and fear. For some, like it was for me, it is exceedingly painful! We call these people, 'seekers'. 

They are the looking for something called wholeness or oneness or love... They are the grasping and cannot let go... as all grasping seems to create a someone who is grasping and things that can be grasped.  

There are no things nor non things yet everything is included... as the Dzogchen say, 'not this nor that nor both nor neither', and, 'not one nor two nor many nor none'... don't know who said that. 

So it can be poetry or other ambiguous words that may catapult the mind into a feeling of lostness, which some may like and others run away from.  Or perhaps there is a huge catastrophe like a death, that may turn your world upside down. 

It may seem obvious that there were atoms and quarks before they were named... or sunsets and oceans and a colors and time... Yet, it is our brains using shared learned words and concepts that creates this worded conceptual world, and results in our 'known' world, a worded world of this and that and you and me and we. 

Only the human brain creates things purely imaginary and a self who runs after them, like happiness and love and tomorrow, and oneness and wholeness and enlightenment. 

I am not denigrating science, it is a wonderful method of describing the physical world, and explaining how these various things act and react.  As the conceptual world is the only world we exist in, as conceptual beings, this is my world.  I am the dream of objectified separation. There is no outside to this world as inside and outside like all this and that is made up. 

This is it, coyote!

Listening again to our conversation I heard Rick ask, who made the brain? 

for me it is obvious that the physical world does it self 

and the dream of separation paints itself 

and they are not separate

There are not separate things or events that can be glued together into one big thing, nor is there one big thing that can be split apart.

However I might say that the bridge I am walking over was made by such and such a company with many people building it

then there are the welders and the people who made the steel 

people who cut the trees and made them into boards

People who came up with the idea of engines and cars 

and the trucks that transported the trees 

the people who drove the trucks 

the people who emptied the trucks that brought the boards to the park

sun and rain and earth and seed 

The nutrients in the soil created by other plants 

rocks dissolving into minerals

The evolution of life, of plants, of trees...

The forest fire that did not come...

the idea makers who came up with the idea of making this bridge 

all bridges in the past 

and all of these people’s parents 

and all of the conditions that lead to this bridge being made 

and me crossing it 

which are innumerable and endless....

So if it feels like there is a source or a maker of brains 

then who made God? 

I am ashes of lace
Of burning rainbows drowning
Of wind crocheted shadows
Flowing through my tears
My world on a pyre
Of love’s forgotten colors
Pieced back together
Into a tapestry of rhyme

Without number
Or place
Without wings or feathers
I am this soaring daydream
Of light and shadows blossoming
Castles crumble
Where no one lived
Memories paint my hand
On the window of time

shattered reflections fall 

through a sideways mirror

holding nothing 

not even itself 

dawn sleeps

confetti of dreams

slide through a rainbow

colors cannot stick

to water

what is wetness?

what is light?

where does night hide during the day?

what is left when there is no solidity 

nor anything to flow?

when there is nothing to grasp

your empty hands dissolve

your empty heart

explodes

all and everything seem to reappear

even love 

a shadow dancing

reminds you of your aliveness

a momentary echo

of light

whose song echoes in my heart

fragments of galaxies spin

pierce me

form me

under this skin

there is not even nakedness

under these words

there is no song

but I can hear it

can't you?

it has no name 

but is all names

it is not even nothing 

yet it is everything

not here nor there

not everywhere 

nor no where

without time

it is not atemporal

what is the rhythm of wind

what are its words

without your skin

your heart

your love?

what is it that paints this beauty?

what is it that loves this love?

what is this longing to share...

to touch to kiss to sing of that which has no words?

I am this desire

when I first entered the emptiness I wanted to run naked like a deer up the canyon and splash through streams and jump over bushes and laugh at clouds.... but the further I went I noticed there was no one to share the beauty with, and further up the canyon there was no song... and no singer

so I returned to the only world I know

the only world I exist in

the dream of you and me and we

and sunflowers blooming 

and wilting

I am the astonishment of this dance of love that we are

in love as love through love

I am these tears flowing

rainbows falling

wind flows through me

and I am the wind dancing

here are words 

closer than the tongue in your mouth

the greatest intimacy

and the greatest beauty 

is the unknowability 

of love

light spills over the canyon 

kisses its face in my window

slides through the glass

illuminates an echo of my reflection

dances through the curling steam from my tea

caresses these hands typing...

I sing the morning

morning sings me

darkness melts

no one wears the dawn

no one is clothed in memory 

no one wears this nakedness

or these spinning mirrored skirts

no one bathes in color

as color slides through her

no one sings

I am this song

these words

the heartbeat

of this and that

swirling light cascading through shadows blooming

everything and nothing

tumbling through each other

the dance floor fell away long ago

there is only this dance

for without you

I am not

weight of fullness

breathes

heart of beauty

is the heart of you

the heart of love

is sharing this love that was never mine

I find that some recognize the essential emptiness of self and then fill in this huge void with more concepts like emptiness or nothingness or true self or awareness or consciousness....

searching for something solid and stable and fixed is quite common,

and there are many religions and philosophies around to tell you that you are not the self but you are a soul or awareness or a true big self

Seekers long to hear the words 

“you are not these thoughts, you are not these emotions” 

you are something else ....and they ask a question 

who am I, 

longing to find something that they truly are 

but in reality that great emptiness you feel is true

A glimpse of your own essential emptiness can be quite terrifying and most run for cover

However here it was not only the realization that there was no self but that there were no things no separation at all 

and there was a year of terror preceding that sudden realization

self remains 

It has simply lost all relevance 

The story of this and that continues 

And it seems simultaneously dream like 

And realer than real 

Vibrantly Alive 

Dancing on the edge of a feather between 

Nothing 

And a fairytale of love

there is no knowing or feeling of solidity

No reference points whatsoever

I am this very thought stream

I have no independent existence

I exist only in relationship

Without you l don't exist

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

We exist in a mentally fabricated world of time and dimension or place.  A description of the physical world is still not an understanding of it.  The description creates concepts which can be known but the physical world cannot be truly known or understood 

What is a flower what is yellow you can go on about the chemistry and bio chemistry you can go on about our physiology and how we perceive it 

but all it is is layers and layers of description which create such a magnificent world don’t they? It’s mind boggling 

Lol

the knowing that it can’t be known as there are no things that can be put together or rearranged into some kind of understanding or place of rest is wondrous 

And knowing that there is no separate someone TO know is more wondrous still.  

This multilayered dream of objectified separation seems to extend infinitely 

But what if words like infinity are used to describe the edgelessness and it seems like a thing? Or mystery 

That’s another concept I hear people use, believing that they are understanding all this 

And that they are a separate person who understands... 

some say 

All is energy 

I ask 

What is energy 

And more description ensues... all painting the dream of separation

Some will say 

nothing can be known 

and I ask

 are there separate things that can be known?

is there someone separate who can know them?

we are stories

written with breath

written with wind

in wind

we are echoes of love songs

reverberating 

with each others stories  

words slide through words

sounds fall though sounds

echoes dance

we are afterimages of hands

touching

infinite parenthesis spiraling outward 

and inward

erase imaginary sides

there is no middle

there is nothing between us

only an imaginary space

where we dance

we are eyes

touching

shimmering light

sliding through light

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.

lace of tree tops seem to describe the sky

its vastness continues beyond our vision

sky cannot be held

words seem to capture a portion of the perceptual input

perception a word

awareness a word

you are a word

love is a word

nothing can be held

there are no things

not even nothing