Magnificently wondrously unknowable

What is going on is magnificently wondrously unknowable

It has no qualities or characteristics whatsoever

It is shared learned words which create a conceptual mentally fabricated world of separate things and events and time...

And this imaginary “known” world is not separate from the unknown because the ideas of “known” and “unknown” are also made up.

I could say that what is going on is fluid and ungraspable but actually it is neither moving nor nonmoving. As it has no dimension and it is not dimension less.

Has no time nor non time...

It has no things nor non-things...

It is not one big thing like wholeness or emptiness...

It has no space nor emptiness...

And it is not even an it.

This is it

And not even that....

When the story is no longer believed, that is also the story...

And the story takes on a somewhat surreal feeling... yet simultaneously real-er than real more vibrant more alive.... 

it’s as if the most delicious dream of unknowing has subsumed the dream of knowing...

It’s like an all encompassing love. 

threads of sky unravel the dark
illuminate elegant traceries
of my tea's curling steam
dawn erases my reflection in the window
the mirror dissolves into endless echoes
hovering on my tongue
sliding into ribbons of words
unravelling the dark
rivers of song bloom into light

silence dissolves into a word
all words are empty
emptiness is a word
shadows fall into their own darkness
light blooms into its own brilliance
night time dream falls into the day time dream
water sprinklers on the neighbors lawn
a deer wanders down the street
first cars
long long headlights
golden finches begin their song

breath of morning
flows down the canyon
never held
never gathered
clouds unfurl light
they never possessed
hearts unfurl love
as life flows through us
that ache was never yours
to hold
or give away
it is all our hearts
beating
you can hear the chorus
of one
of two
of many
of none


luminous hush
of no tomorrow
sings the morning
into day
there are no voices
singing
voices appear
only in the words

vast unfathomable oceans
reflecting endless skies
catch your breath
still your heart
with a delicious unknowing
the pause you long to continue
is always on
it cannot be pushed or pulled or held onto
there are no hands
that can hold the day
or let go
of the morning

echoes dance across the waters
it is your own voice you hear
there was never anyone
standing on the beaches of time
waiting for her perfect lover
to tame the winds
and sail into her heart
and erase the footprints of sorrow

winds erase themselves
untangle the dream of love
into threads of brilliant reflections
billowing and receding with every breath
your heart was not meant to hold love

as the shadows melt into their own darkness
pure spacious light consumes the dream of hope and fear
as your timeline plunges into the abyss
the vast vast emptiness you feared
has become you
the terror of impermanence
fell with the end of all tomorrows
memories are beautiful stories
sparkling shimmering
tears
inseparable from sea
have no name nor number
there are no drops in the ocean
nor wetness

sands flow through sands
all lines are made of sand

all is luminous transparency
of shadow-less light
layers of thought
flowing under over and through itself
painting this wonderland of love

wing-ed waves of joy and sorrow sail through endless sky
bouquet of life opens
and wilts
unbearable tenderness of love and love lost
no one wears this broken hearted beauty
no one weeps in utter amazement
or dances on the edge of sky


Wing-ed waves of joy and sorrow sail through endless sky
Bouquet of life opens
And wilts
Unbearable tenderness of love and love lost
No one wears this broken hearted beauty
No one weeps in utter amazement
Or dances on the edge of sky


Self is the sense and feeling of separation
The sense of lack,
The urge to feel whole.
To discover this edgeless wholeness that is always on means losing itself ...your very existence


Self is the belief and feeling of separation
The sense of lack,
And the urge to feel whole.
To discover this edgeless wholeness that is always on
means losing itself
…your very existence

there is no thing that you are or are not
the dream paints itself with these very words, every word seems to create distinct 'things', brain body cells awareness are all words. there are no actual things,,,, but we assume the physical world exists, yet it has no time dimension causality no direction no edge no measurement without words

everything said about the dream ... all this fleeting description ...even these very words paint the dream
believing in the dream
is the dream
not believing in the dream
is the dream
anything said about the dream
paints the dream

there is no escape from the dream that you are, that this is, this mentally fabricated world
however it may occur that the brain no longer believes the dream and this edgeless seamlessness is felt always...

enlightenment has nothing to do with you


you may be worried that if there is no one doing life it will end
Well
There never has been anyone doing life


slowly slowly
wings of fire
breathe the desert landscape
in
...out
tongues of flame nuzzle your ears
your cheeks
your mouth...
love plunges its fiery magic into your heart
pierces its very own heartbeat
liquifies the dream of this and that
and love

love burns you beyond recognition
the mirror lied
there was never anyone there
or anyone looking

your world aflame
skin and bones melt
there is no sky
nor ground
your voice your tears ricochet into the barren night
echo in the starless vastness
there are no words
no vowels
nor consonants
no love letters to send or receive
no sound or silence
in this edgeless emptiness
just a dream of timeless wonder
never here
never not here

no one awakens to this new dawn
this ever present kiss
winds sweep across the morning
golden finches greet the day
circling the feeders
splashing in the ponds
the neighbor's dog cries out
children rush to the swings
laughing
clouds circle the mountains
weeping

nothing is hidden
nothing is revealed
there are no things
nor time
no one walks in this world of wonder
or weeps at the beauty that was always here


the story seemingly continues but it is no longer believed... and its all story!
even not believing in the story is the story!
bodies and selves and awareness and consciousness are made up ... seemingly created by these very words...
golden finches singing at the feeder is a story,
like I am listening to and watching the golden finches...


she waited beneath the shadows
under the memory of autumn
winter winds came and left
leaves turned into soil
she was swallowed by earth song
and the blossoming night sky

in the dark
soft breath of moon
hovered
like the dream of yesterday
the promise of tomorrow burned itself
seared by love's unutterable light
the stone in her heart melted
dark and light fell through each other

no one was lost
or found
in this dance of echoes
it is all reflections of reflections
this wind ballet of light and shadow
falling gently through these lines
this unwritten tale
of love
that sings itself
like this


love is not a burden
no one carries it or holds it
it is not a thing
it is the end of all things
and anyone to hold them

what do you long for and fear?
it is in every breath
every heartbeat
every heart ache
saturating all and everything
no words can say it
but all words contain it
as it has no edges
it is not an it
as it has no qualities
it contains all qualities

it is not emptiness
nor fullness
neither both
nor neither

it is not here
there is no here
it is not there
there is no there
nor everywhere
nor no where
there is no distance between you and it
that is why you cannot find it
it is every touch smell sound taste and thought

it is not before
there is no before
it is not after
there is no after
it is not now
there is no now
it is neither never or forever
beyond time and timelessness

this is it
and not even that...

There is not anything that you are 

There is not anything that you are not 

There is no you to be everything 

Nor you to be nothing 

There is not one big thing like god or awareness or wholeness or emptiness that you are a part of or can merge with 

There are no things or non things whatsoever

rapt in hope and fear

hidden from your nakedness

and your tears

silken clothes of morning

dissolve in the summer sun

what is it that binds you

but the fear of freedom?

what is it that defines you

but the longing to escape your skin?

what is it that hides the love you long for

but the longing for it?

what is underneath these tears

this nakedness

this hope and fear...

what is under all these ideas of love?

there is not even nothing that wears this skin

who has this longing for love

not even love

wears the cloak of love

“There is no next”

she whispered 

There is no nothing 

There is no everything 

There is only this 

And not even that 

A ballet of wind in wind

Swirls around an empty center 

There is no wind 

No center

No emptiness

you know this, you feel this, but it is intuited knowing... ungraspable... 

the seeker is the longing for certitude... 

the longing for other better more and next... 

and there is none

but... you know that!

it is the grasping which seems to create something to grasp and a someone who is reaching...

we have many names for that which we seek... for many it is love or wholeness... but it is really the desire to end desire... to fill that sense of lack... but that emptiness you feel is real... your heart will never be filled... but it may explode...

this is longed for and feared... 

I had no idea what I was looking for... 

I had heard of no self but that does not make sense until it is recognized... so there was never a looking for that...

 or for enlightenment for that matter...

 it was a vague sense of peace ... of a feeling of all rightness, of ok-ness.. 

in the end I was looking to grok the sameness of inside and outside...  I had never heard there were no things! lol! what a surprise!  

not many teachers sing of no thing ness.. usually it is just no self... and it is rare to find someone who sings of this... it took me over a year and a half to find someone who knew this. 

we become the dream of knowing this is the dream... and that this objectified dream of separation is well.... achingly wondrous... 

it is like dancing on the edge of a feather between love and nothing at all...

thread of morning unties the dark

secret mountain chasms breathe

nothing was hidden

nothing was revealed

silence is embraced in its own hum

you can hear love singing

ripples waltzing underwater

flowing without movement

still 

without pausing

where did the night go?

where are the lovers in your dream?

where is the dance floor you slid across

and crashed through 

when all hope was gone?

where is the love you longed for?

where does tomorrow lay

hidden among your dreams?

under the bushes

a tiger waits

it is your own love

that rips you apart

consumes all ideas of love

every word uttered

cannot hold life

there are no hands or hearts

that are empty

and can be filled

Transparency slides through transparency

Dimensionless 

Space-less

Pirouette of light dissolves into its own spinning

Liquid ballet of sky in sky

Origami hearts fall apart

late summer

autumn moon sets

first fallen leaves 

punctuate the grasses

cold mountain winds rush down the canyon

first tires on the road purr

last cricket song melts into dwindling shadows

chorus of golden finches in the plum tree

still the empty feeder

a face peers from the window reflection 

through the swirling steam from my tea

all stories weave themselves

no one walks a timeline

between birth and death

there are no mountains 

nor chilly August mornings   

no one wears these naked eyes

wandering through broken shadows

in the endless quest for completion

my feet plummeted into fathomless earth

my reaching hands dissolved into sky

my heart lay bleeding

forgotten on the forest floor

no one owned this night

this heart ache

this love

all trails were forgotten

the depths of loneliness were lost

in the hush of midnight

moon Lilly blooms

morning finds itself

wrapped in shadows

echoes of midnight

sing

clothed in sky

day weeps

sewn with spiderwebs 

blue needs no hem

pouring down the mountain 

pooling in shadows at my feet

wading through echoes

it is my own heart beating 

a continuous embrace 

of light in light

blue in blue

solitude stretched its arms around me 

as my heart burst into sky

caressed and pierced by love's heart magic

the arrow exploded and ripped apart all ideas of solidity

this exquisite evisceration 

I could not protest

all tomorrows dissolved in the vast shadow-less sun

of unknowing

wind tumbles and twirls through wind

sweeps through oceans and skies and time and timelessness 

all footsteps dissolve in the sand they were made of

all lines are imagined

joy and sorrow 

love and lover

light and dark

merge

the fairytale continues

to sing itself

the pages are empty now

they always were

words slid into their own echoes

reflections slide through pools of memory

ripples dance through flowing images

empty silhouette

dances with her shadow

sublime lostness is the story

for clouds cannot weep

without my eyes

love cannot blossom

without yours

sky above sky below 

Sky slides through sky 

Flowing patterns of wind in wind seem to appear as this very breath 

This very song 

These very words...

When nothing is known 

There are no things 

No place 

No time...

We are an exquisite infinite tapestry of stories 

Written with tears

Written with rainbows 

Painted with dreams of yesteryear dissolving into endless skies...

and the Beautiful vacancy of time...

Yes poetry transcends meaning and non meaning 

Like love 

Like life

there is no emptiness

there is no fullness

there is no cause or source of what seems to appear

there is no 'absolute' which appears as all this

or emptiness which appears as fullness

or nothing which appears as everything...

there are no things whatsoever

no things or moments or events to be separate

nor one big thing which can be split apart

there is simply what ever seems to appear

no other better more or next

yet thoughts of these may appear

as well of thoughts of what never happened

it is merely the thought stream which seems to create thingness

and thinking won't erase the belief and feeling of separation

what lies beyond thought?

there is no beyond

or before 

or after

or outside the thought dream which you are

there is no you who has thought

there is no you who has belief

there is no you whatsoever

when thought is no longer believed

not by you, but by the brain which paints it

there arises a most wondrous unknowing

it is like the eyes have been licked clean of a lifetime of hope and fear

no longer is the feeling of a barrier between looking and what is being seen or felt

no experience nor experiencer

the seeker is looking for a knowing or understanding, but there are no things to put together into some kind of wholeness or understanding

and no one to to do so

there is no certainty and no one to be certain

no place to rest

no safe harbor

and no one to seek it

what seems to appear is magnificently unknowable

self is the assumption of knowing

of solidity

yet there are no things to be permanent 

or changing

it is like an edgeless flow

with no direction or non direction

no dimension no non dimension 

no time nor timelessness

neither moving nor non moving

stunning in its infinite spaciousness

without space

without fullness

without emptiness

nothing can be said about this

as all words seem to divide up what cannot be split apart

and is not a what

anything said about this

seems to create a description 

a knowing 

but these words are merely more painting on the window

seemingly obscuring the view

and creating the feeling of an inside 

and an outside

there are no sides

and no middle

falling through the mirror may happen

but no one falls

and there is no one on the other side

there never were any sides

no goal to reach

no path to nowhere

and no one to take it

this is it, coyote

and not even that

rainbows explode

all colors melt

your eyes slide through their frames

darkness bleeds into its own shadow

light is consumed by light

sound explodes and is swallowed by its echo

echoes dissolve into sound

leaking through a silence

that breaks into infinite mirrors

shredding your reflection

into infinite sky

every shard wears your unowned eyes

as you fall into a sea of diamonds

edgeless liquidity everywhere 

and nowhere

a soft breath sings your name

but you cannot find anyone here

or there

there is no here

or there

echo-less reflections

in an edgeless sea

have catapulted all dreams of tomorrow

into a sublime unknowing

time never died

it never was

there was never a never

or forever

There is an obvious aliveness, its inseparable recognition, and the awareness of that. Yet even saying that seems to create two things and a really big all encompassing thing!  All separation is made up.  All thingness is mentally fabricated. 

All knowing is the dream.  Unknowing is the dream. 

However, unknowing may subsume assumed knowing, and the dream of separation is intuitively felt to be made up, and imaginary separation is no longer felt. There is no more feeling of solidity, of a self in a world of separate things and events. It no longer feels like there is a someone doing life or a someone to whom life happens.  

Yet enlightenment is the dream as well. It occurs on an imaginary timeline and although it is an empty prize for no one, it appears to give the imaginary persona a life free from hope and fear and need of a never arising next.

sunset burns the desert sands

breathes darkness 

into waves of fire

you have always known

there will be no dawn

no one walked the streets of yesterday

or surfed the broken trails of stars

no one wears the memory of eons of moons

cascading through acres of midnight

no one climbed golden shadows

aching for sorrow's end

it was always the ache for all this

that seemed to clothe your heart

in oceans of sorrow and joy

you could always feel life

arising and subsiding

with every breath

always the first

and last

kiss

what is this grief of no tomorrow

when no one can hold the day?

the guard dog at the gate of heaven

is the belief in an other side

unfathomable, this song of life that has no words

and is all words

morning rolls through itself

night time dreams fade into memories

lost like all hand holds

in this book of echoes

forgotten halos surround the streetlights

heavy with dew

finches sing in the plum tree

a chorus of memory

paints the day

it is the assumption of knowing

that seems to cloud the window

and protect your eyes

from this unbearable beauty

of love

it is the idea of love

that protects your heart

from exploding

into love's unutterable light

what is this strange and beautiful world

this lover's dream

that weaves itself with shine and shadow

with motes of star-songs drifting through morning light

with echoes of moonlight that shimmer so tenderly

flowing through the dream of night?

there is no one to know

but wonderment is all there is

this enchantment with this enchantment

that all is love

night unfolds day

day unfolds night

origami hearts fall apart

releasing

love songs

falling 

softly softly 

into words

and letters 

spiraling through ancient dreams

crashing through endless oceans

a tsunami of tears

lost in the surf

there are no drops in the ocean

it contains no wetness

sea falls up

into sky 

sky falls down

plummets into its own reflection

as I fell into mine

long ago

in this story

of a girl

a woman

a songster

who was wrapped in her own echo

and blossomed into a love song

voices singing

a wordless chorus

a thunderous hum

of all the stories 

ever written

by no one

by everyone

everyones tears

paint this seamless liquidity

of joy 

of sorrow

all is the unending wonderment 

of love

if there is no voice, there is no you, nor this or that or time.... yet when thought is no longer believed, there is no longer the feeling of a you or me or this or that or separate moments or events... thought continues as this silence is not the absence of thought, it is that there is no one left to listen...

the thought stream does change considerably.. there is no more constant self judgement and self correction... no more thought about how the world or others SHOULD be... it is known and felt always that there are no things or people to be broken... there is a constant seamless ease and unbound joy of simple aliveness, what ever it looks or feels like

it is the end of hope and fear and need and BELEIF of an other better more and next...

seamlessness is impossible to illustrate as all words seem to divide what cannot be split apart... thought is a razor that appears to separate all this which is not a this... nor a that

thought creates all this and that, a template a cage of words seemingly creating solidity

no thing ness cannot be thought about... or conceived of, or known conventionally... yet it is always on...

as it is not a thing it cannot be imagined or believed... or attained ...as it is already the case it cannot be made anew

we are conceptual beings and can only 'know' the physical world through concepts... but this 'knowing' is a dream... 

as there are no things to know and no one to know them

words are prisms

pouring rainbows

into this water ballet

of light in light

love blossoms

and falls

infinite petals

lit from within

wilt into their own emerging

delicate tears

are love's beauty

lanterns of reflected light

no notes are held

in a heart that has exploded

no love is sought

when all is love

I am a lens

the inside of a mirror

that has no sides

nor middle

painting rainbows

and love

as I slide

into edgeless beauty

An echo’s dream

wind skims the sky
painting ripples on your mind stream
dreams of sunset sail into clear waters
who wanders on the beaches of this edgeless sea?
who holds the day as it crumbles into night?

echoes bathe in echoes
memory floats
suspended without time or number or place

softly softly
dew drops trickle down the long stalks of summer
you watch your reflection fade
until there is only sky


...and how can I tell you that there is nothing to find, no solution to this problem, this pain of imaginary separation? how can I tell you that you are the seeking? what would you be without these ideas of enlightenment... what would you be without this longing for something that you cannot pin point, that you intuit, but cannot articulate?

....for this feeling that there must be something more... something better, something other than this is merely the intuition that there are no separate things or moments or events... and this is always already known, but this intuited knowing creates a dissonance with the belief that there MUST BE SOMETHING SOLID, something permanent, something unchanging that will not die!!!!!

....and there is no escaping your beautiful humanness... this thought stream, this flowing dreamscape of you and me and we.... this is all we can ever know, this conceptual world... utterly spontaneously naturally occurring.... this is it, coyote, what ever it looks or feels like....

...what I sing of cannot be known in the conventional sense, as all knowing is conceptual... but this intuited knowing of seamless edgeless beauty may blossom and become apparent always.... this usually is preceded by a personal armageddon... it is the end of all belief, in a self in others, in love... it is the end of your world and all you believed to be true... it is the end of anyone to have a world... all ideas of truth and meaning are shattered...

and it feels like love, but unlike any ideas you have ever had of love...

you are the grasping... the trying to get this... and it creates the painful feeling of something to get and someone who is lacking... 

...and I love you


This is an exquisite joy, a sublime pleasure in simple aliveness... no matter what it looks or feels like... this amazement of amazement of aliveness of awareness of being aware...
A continual falling in love as love through love

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.

mountain thunder

deep in my bones

falling into stone

falling into dust

leaving no trail

leaving no sound

not even silence

Darkness unfolds the moon Lily

You can hear her song spiraling through the night

In the heart of the dream within the dream within the dream that dreams you

Blooms a majestic beauty

The wonder of unknowing

Ladders to the sun

Blossom into sky

There are no handholds 

No fistfuls of sky

No one walks through starlight

The ground falls away

There are no feets dancing 

Yet there is this dance

There is no voice singing 

Yet there is this song

It has no words 

Yet is all words

Flowers bloom and wilt

We are the waltzing of wind and falling petals

A magnificent carpet of shine and shadow

Shimmering in each other’s love light

No one to be everything 

No one to be nothing

No one to meet on the doorstep

Between love and nothing at all

You are imagined 

There is no one outside of or having the dream of you

Words paint the full moon darkness with liquid shadows 

Pour down the towering cliffs

Color the canyon and all who gather in this imaginary divide

With the weight and fullness of drifting light

Rushing backwards behind myself 

and falling forward in front of memory

I fell through the threshold of time

Every secret pocket was ripped inside out

My hidden hands 

My hidden heart 

This hidden love

All that I feared 

And longed for 

The secret garden blossomed 

It’s intoxicating perfume called me

No gate was opened 

I had to crash through 

Invisible walls

And be pummeled and pierced by rocks and thorns 

And soft petals and deep earth

Until beauty buried me

Love takes no prisoners

The battlefield is bloody

But that’s how flowers grow 

Thought flows like a river 

Washes itself away 

When I was very small

I picked up a stone

On the shore of a vast unending sea

Polished by wind

Polished by moonbeams

Polished by rainbows

Polished by years and years 

Of tears and fears

One day I put my hand in my pocket

The stone had turned to sand

I held it

Cupped against the wind

It was stars 

Shimmering

Returning to the beach 

It had never left

Ripples of sand flowing through sand

Was all there ever was

No one walking

Searching for love

No footprints to the edge of nowhere

No signs to the edge of no tomorrow

No one wishing upon a star

No one falling into starlight

No wind

No beach

No love

It feels like a sea of edgeless love

This dream within a dream

Dreaming you and me and we

But this has no words

No name

Nor number

Every word is its name

Every sigh

Every gesture

Every song

And all silence

Sings it

You know this beauty

You have been longing for it

Can you hear it singing your name?

early moon sails across the sky

...or is it the clouds?

is there a path to sunrise?

there is no way

there is no sign

there is no direction

no out nor in

nor up nor down

nor here nor there

nor anyone to travel

all words dissolved

the letters I sent were all returned

unopened

and I was left

hopeless

all my old tricks did not work

I could find no solidity 

no certainty 

no safe harbor

all was endless sky

all thought patterns

were just a cat's cradle

catching nothing

beautiful ephemeral flowing designs

painting the sunrise

and a someone who appears to dance

with the wind

as the wind soars through her

laughing

and weeping

and saying

I love you

cricket song

shadows dance with this thin thread of moon

wind slides through wind

I am an echo

of this windy night

rustling autumn leaves

winter sails across the garden

cold blooms

blossoms fall

there are no pockets

to hold the night

no one has an empty heart

there is nothing that needs filling

empty hands dissolve in this cold moon

it's all reflected light

...even the sun

is composed of memory

there are no things

that are not learned

no mountain to climb

no roads to cross

no life to live

no one to love

or be loved

the death of all tomorrows

is the death of all past

we are memory's dreamscape

suspended in a sea of echoes

Love  

Breathes me 

Sings me 

Nakedly it erased my eyes and grew them anew 

I am the eyes of the day 

Intimate skinless 

Licked clean of dreams of tomorrow 

Morning slides through me 

Deeper than space folding on the sidewalk 

I paint the morning 

Yellow finches 

Rushing tires on the road 

Tea kettle ready to sing 

This music cannot be sung 

Or heard 

Or remembered 

Or forgotten 

This house this garden this life this love belongs to no one 

I am a stranger and a lover 

New and familiar 

Who gathered the shells on the coffee table 

Who loves so deeply she thought her heart might burst 

Who writes love letters in the dark 

To you 

That I may see my face 

In the reflection of your eyes

All seeking perpetuates the painful belief in other better more and next... and someone to find this non existent jewel.  I do not say stop seeking! I merely point out that there is no one to seek, or not seek, and nothing to find, ...nothing to lose, nothing to remember, no wholeness or enlightenment to find.

It may feel like there is SOMETHING to get!

The tales of unicity beckon... the songs of edgeless beauty, of a love beyond all ideas of love... but this is already the case and cannot and need not be made anew... in the story a brain may suddenly see through its own charade and realize that all separation is its own mental fabrication, but this does not happen to the imaginary persona.  There is no prize... no goal to reach, no path to nowhere, no here nor there nor nowhere. 

Hidden among their vanishing

Origami shadows 

Fold into themselves

This light was never hidden

Never lost 

Or found

It was merely not seen

When there seemed to be a someone behind these eyes

Seeking the shimmering.

Trying to grasp the silent waters

Created these beautiful ripples

I drowned in my reflection

An echoes dream 

Edgeless seamless unicity is always already on 

without time 

or non-time

It cannot and need not be made a new

All looking for it perpetuates the painful belief and feeling that you are separate from it

How could you be separate from what’s going on? 

Looking for this 

Feeling like you are separate from this

And need to get this

Is it

Feeling like this can’t possibly be it

Is it

Feeling like there is a you and something to get

Is it

Feeling like you haven’t got it

Is it

Knowing there is nothing to get

And no one to get it

Is it.

What could possibly not be this

When there is no this or that?

The feeling of lack 

and the feeling of completeness

the feeling of effort 

and the feeling ease 

all arise ease-fully

All of life happens perfectly spontaneously all by itself.  As there is no outside to what is going on, there is nothing outside of life making it happen.

As there is no separation, there is no thing within life making it happen.

no one left home and no one returned... there was no path to nowhere... 

the path collapsed the ground collapsed and any idea of a goal collapsed... 

there never was a mountain or anyone to climb it... all there was was a story book character longing to jump out of the story... and found that all there was was the story... 

no longer believed, it became a love dance, of one of two of many ... of none... 

in love as love through love... the song sings all of this... we seem to appear in these words... yet the words are neither empty nor full... there is no outside to this story... as inside and outside, like all this and that are made up... there is no form nor emptiness... no time or timelessness... no things to be permanent nor changing... no movement nor non movement... no center or edge... all separation is illusion... illusion is illusion...

a dream within a dream dreaming ...

baseless echoes singing

reflections of reflections that have no source, nor non source... 

anything said about the dream paints the dream of separation... even these very words...

what is going on can only be known conventionally through made up concepts like this and that and time and space... 

this mentally fabricated world is often called the dream.

 this dream of objectified separation is the only world we, as mentally fabricated individuals, exist in, yet there can be profound shift in perspective when the dream is no longer believed... 

it no longer feels like there are separate things or events... or selves... it feels like time dies...

 and this truly cannot be spoken of or kissed with words, as all attempts are like trying to describe an edgeless piece of paper using a pair of siscors... 

the razor of thought cannot conceive of no separation... of edgelessness ... spacelessness... timelessness.... 

and songs flow and it is most often ambiguous words and phrases... poetry... that may skip the thought stream out of its usual patterns... the usual grooves of assumed knowing... and leave the mind... hanging... 

a delicious unknowing may be felt... yet I have no idea how the shift occurs... as it, like all of life is uncaused... there is no before or after... yet the shift in perspective called enlightenment is the dream as well... just part of the story... in actually it is an empty prize for no one.

there is no one to be everything

there is no one to be nothing

there is no self

there is no non self

there are no things to be real or unreal

there is no one to be free or bound

there are no things to have meaning or non meaning

love is as real as tomorrow 

knowing there is no you nor me nor love

is not the end of love

it is the beginning 　 

there are no words ...as all words seem to divide up what is not a what... but love seems to work just fine

No one to be everything 

No one to be nothing

No everything 

No nothing 

No one waits for 

Dreams within dreams within dreams 

Looking for this

Is this

There is no this

Nor that 

All the shadows fell into themselves

A light beyond brilliant blossomed

all my love letters that were filled with hope and fear exploded into a confetti of words, into consonants and vowels, into lines and squiggles that danced upon an all encompassing blankness, until emptiness consumed all light and dark

...not even an imprint or wake was left...

the dance of this and that fell through the dance floor as the sides of the mirror slid through each other, 

it was all sourceless reflections... 

all echoes... 

sea fell into sky and crushed all yesterdays and tomorrows. edgeless reverberations of what has no name nor number, yet is all names and all numbers, all signs and symbols, all ideas spinning around other ideas... 

center-less and edgeless this dream dreams itself....

the notion of separate ideas was lost and there was no one to recover them, no one who wished to capture this magnificent dream that plays itself, writes itself, sings itself, like a player piano that has no keys 

the music is obvious

this surround sound of love

it is inside and outside

are there really any sides?

you know this, everyone does, this wondrous aliveness that seems to appear and look and feel like anything at all!

this song of life that sings itself, it has no words yet includes all words.

there is no need to look for this aliveness

yet looking for it is it

whatever seems to appear is already this splendid aliveness

trying to see it, to mouth the words, seems to create a distance between your hand and

nothing

everything

lost within the dance of light in light

and found 

no where 

and everywhere

there is no one or thing looking and no separate things to see... no one sings, no one waltzes in this dream within a dream within a dream that dreams oneness and twoness and everything-ness and nothingness, this three dimensional movie without movement or non movement or dimension or time or timelessness... 

its all un-knowable, unfathomable, this aliveness that seems to appear... how beautiful that there are no things to grasp, and no hands to hold this wonderment... 

no heart to be empty or full... 

no life to follow or lead... 

no one living or dancing or breathing 

or singing...