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...