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