snow flowers linger
heavy in the morning sun
nothing in my pockets
nothing in my shoes
footsteps melt
winter melts
I melted into this love dream
...memory paints the day
when time died
but the hush was never entered
or left
first dove at the feeder
brushes away the snow
the ground is covered
with night time footprints
there is a small grey cat
who wanders in the garden
we watch him climb the old wooden ladder
and marvel at his trembling tenderness
and the soft warm feathers
he longs for
piercing cry
of the first crow
song of your aloneness
echoes in the canyon
what is the shape of wind
as it dries your tears
what is the shape of water
when the banks collapse
and your heart bleeds
echoes of love
into the ocean
of memory
where
time
stops
and
love
is the essence
of life drinking itself
through your lips
Water cannot understand water
Love is most beautiful as it requires no understanding
infinitely petaled softness
blooming
wilting
brushing light
and color
and sound
into this flowing dream scape
thought spins a lullaby
a web of words
a bower of clouds
where you sleep
and death lies
like a coiled snake
waiting...
time is made of letters
consonants and vowels
there seems to be a past...
but it is memory
is there any future
outside of thought?
you are a beautiful thought dream
spinning twirling dancing
in the heart of the dream
clutching your umbrella
when you are already underwater
tight rope walking along a timeline
the ends are blurry
there is a fear of the unknown
and excitement
for a tomorrow
that will never come
where is the heart of longing
where is the hush of summer
when the trees are naked?
what is in your pocket
when you die?
It is the seeking that defines you
What happens when the seeking stops
What would you be without the longing for other better more or next
What would you be without the belief in something more? What if this is indeed it
Life happening all by itself
No thinker no feel-er no actor no conductor no source or god making it happen...
it may be terrifying to consider that life as you have known it may come to an end... what would you be without hope and fear?
heavy in the morning sun
nothing in my pockets
nothing in my shoes
footsteps melt
winter melts
I melted into this love dream
...memory paints the day
when time died
but the hush was never entered
or left
first dove at the feeder
brushes away the snow
the ground is covered
with night time footprints
there is a small grey cat
who wanders in the garden
we watch him climb the old wooden ladder
and marvel at his trembling tenderness
and the soft warm feathers
he longs for
piercing cry
of the first crow
song of your aloneness
echoes in the canyon
what is the shape of wind
as it dries your tears
what is the shape of water
when the banks collapse
and your heart bleeds
echoes of love
into the ocean
of memory
where
time
stops
and
love
is the essence
of life drinking itself
through your lips
Water cannot understand water
Love is most beautiful as it requires no understanding
infinitely petaled softness
blooming
wilting
brushing light
and color
and sound
into this flowing dream scape
thought spins a lullaby
a web of words
a bower of clouds
where you sleep
and death lies
like a coiled snake
waiting...
time is made of letters
consonants and vowels
there seems to be a past...
but it is memory
is there any future
outside of thought?
you are a beautiful thought dream
spinning twirling dancing
in the heart of the dream
clutching your umbrella
when you are already underwater
tight rope walking along a timeline
the ends are blurry
there is a fear of the unknown
and excitement
for a tomorrow
that will never come
where is the heart of longing
where is the hush of summer
when the trees are naked?
what is in your pocket
when you die?
It is the seeking that defines you
What happens when the seeking stops
What would you be without the longing for other better more or next
What would you be without the belief in something more? What if this is indeed it
Life happening all by itself
No thinker no feel-er no actor no conductor no source or god making it happen...
it may be terrifying to consider that life as you have known it may come to an end... what would you be without hope and fear?
All separation is made up
As well as the ‘whole’
Bits and pieces
Flotsam and jetsam
Waves
Oceans
Water
Tears
death opens
a hole in your heart
lined with soft mirrors
never filled
or emptied
the tears never really stop
they are the underground river
that never leaves the surface
haven't you noticed
that your beautiful delicate eyes
are always anointed
with love's wetness
gently gently
rain
slowly slowly
rain
softly softly
rain
single leaf held in the river's current
swirling cup of gold
hearts aching
colors bleeding
wetness
flows into wetness
love
into
love
Wet in wet in wet in wet
Life is unknowable
There is no man or god behind the curtain
No one utters these words
We exist as imaginary characters in a 3-D magic light show
Suns and moons soar across the heavens
Tears fall into the river
Of love
Pouring into love
suspended in blue
December trees display
their long wild dance into sky
snapshot of wind
rips into infinite pieces
trying to hold life
fills your heart with concrete
with an imprint of wind
the sun cannot find its shadows
love looks for love
and weeps
life pours into itself
unceasingly
without stillness
or movement
is it the wind
or me
who dances down the leaf strewn street
bathed in golden shadows
You know I wonder about this stillness that everyone keeps talking about. It seems that people are looking for a special state or a special place where thought is slowed or becomes nonexistent.
Some people talk about there being a still place in the middle of the conceptual storm or the dream, but of course that would be a dream center as well. But the question arises, is there someone separate from thought who would be disturbed by it, or who could accept it?
All thought simply happens by itself, there is no really true thought or untrue thought because true and false are thought created. All imaginary separation is created by the thought stream made of learned shared words.
You could say that it is a flowing thought stream, but actually the ideas of movement and non-movement are also made up. So if and when thought ceases there really are no things... there is no imaginary thinker as well, it is only when thought returns that the first thought often is, “oh I wasn’t thinking”, and right away an imaginary thinker is created. This entire story of thought ceasing then is a thought created story!
I would say that the stillness that seekers long for is the end of belief in the dream. Yet this is also feared, because when the dream of this and that is seen to be made up, then it means also that they are made up! It would mean that everyone they have ever loved or known in their entire lives are also made up!
It would mean that there has never been a past and there will never be a future. A future where somehow stillness could be attained or lost.
It would mean the end of all seeking, as the seeker has disappeared. The end of all ideas of other better more or next. It’s like the Zen guy sitting there in the cartoon and one guy says to another so this is it huh? And the other guy says Yep.
For this is indeed it isn’t it?
It always is!
It is unnameable and it’s not really an it or an non it ...no one can capture it or understand it as there’s no one separate to do so.
So all trying to attain stillness or something other than this seems to push it away, like trying to capture a ripple in a bowl of water.
Your hand just makes more ripples!
Yet it is a good cat and mouse game that keeps people going and keeps the seeker safe. The dream of hope and fear continues, as that is what they are
...the seeking...
What would they be without it?
Thought has seemingly created a world and simultaneously broken this world into bits...
It tries to fit what was never apart into another imaginary bit called wholeness
It creates an imaginary center to the swirling with an imaginary hand that tries to grasp what has no substance...
the flowing dream scape that has no movement or non movement tries to catch the flowing...
Love pours into love through our eyes...
we recognize our shimmering beauty in everyone we meet
We are ultimately Alone
Together
A marvelous ballet of shine and shadow falls through its reflection into whirlpools of echoes streaming through this river of words
Love requires imaginary banks to flow
We need our imaginary lines to touch...
And cannot escape them...
We are them...
morning flows through the sound of rain
thought paints the window
where color blooms
into reflections of a face
hovering among the doves
and golden finches
eternity is a moment
that passes through itself
and dies on the wet pavement
a trail of soft white dove feathers
and blobs of hawk shits
this life of love
and love lost
spirals into itself
we are
love letters
written on the window
rain
pouring
down
Slowly
Slowly
Slowly
Without moving
Or standing still
Love opens its wings
And swallows you
She is rough and tender
Her teeth are beautiful slender knives
Eviscerating all ideas of life
Of love...
She sings
Without words
Or melody
Or silence...
When you look in the mirror
You can see her empty eyes
When I look at you
I recognize her beauty
Our eyes are filled with each other’s tears
And we waltz her shinning shadow
Light into light
Dark into dark
Moon
Is the ache of sound
Cradled
In winter skies
Songs
Are the ache of moon
Blossoming
In our hearts
Sliding
Through wind swept branches
Shadows
Reach for light
River
Is the song of moon
Echoing
In the canyon
Of love’s great divide
Tall cold walls
Of rock and sound
Cannot
Split the sky
Hands
Need a space to touch
Lips need a space to kiss
Songs
Need canyons
To echo
This
Naked
Intimacy
Requires
A me
And a you
To dance
And fall through the moon
Bathing
The silent garden
Love
Collapses
Time
Bits of tinsel soar in sky
reflecting memories of night time dreams
sailing through the day time dream...
never caught...
Or reflecting anything clearly....
I am a Möbius strip of wind in wind
Self
An imaginary lens
Between the imagined past
And an imaginary future
A twirling hologram
Between the imaginary known world
And the limitless timeless unknowable unknown
A lens that paints color
And light
And love...
It is not an enemy
I do not exist without you
We are reflections in each other’s eyes
You are beautiful beyond measure
I love you
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