So Do You

 the end of extraordinay and ordinary feels....

extraordinary
the end of heaven and hell feels...... like heaven
the end of mundane and sublime feels.... sublime....
the end of this and that and love.... feels like love

these words that write me pour through this prism that I am
I am this ego this persona this imaginary dancer of wind
sliding through the long low morning... 
down the canyon
across the desert
pooling in the chorus of my heart
gently combing the garden
where prayer beads fell off their strings long ago
and scattered in the dirt...
finding the low muddy places where tears still fall

golden leaves on the terrace
sometimes I sweep them off
sometimes not



feathers of sunrise
gently paint the garden with winged shadows
and light
colors bloom softly slowly as you bleed into the day time dream

when does the day begin
where does the day reside
in the garden 
in the canyon
in your mind
in your chest
where you feel the dove's softness

she balances on the feeder
she does not look at you
the window is a reflection
where your face dissappeared as light tip toed into the other side
sliding into rainbow tears
a day unlike any other begins
colored with the memories
of all the days that never were



words and the imaginary spaces in between fall through the emptiness of my heart and pour through the roundness of my mouth... they spill onto this screen, the sole light in this dark room until I untie the curtains and my reflection is born...  dark glass holds the night and my floating reflection basks in the pause before morning.... 

scraps of memory tie the wind to the rushing sound of trees..... I can feel them, outside, dancing in the garden.... I can feel the birds, sleeping in the plums and tangled roses where they are safe in their bird land dreams....

the tips of my fingers tingle as they slide across the warmth of the keyboard on this chilly morning while my husband sleeps.... his steady breath perfumes the night and reminds me of the warm blankets.... still waiting.... 

through the darkening I can hear the trash truck coming... up and down the neighboring streets... the rumble grows the storm waits patiently on the other side of the mountain and my tea grows cold as I read and respond to the messages of lovers....



suspended as emptiness in emptiness
as love in love
your heart slides into mine... we disappear in boundless love



these words paint me
paint you
paint this dream of love and love lost

thought paints me
cries me
spins me into this web of echoes
where light seems to be caught...
but it is only reflections
filaments of joy and sorrow
heart strings softly in the wind
bend and stretch and sometimes break
overtones reverberate into a hymn of utter silence
prayer beads unfold into rose petals
blossom into liquid light

we know this song by heart
it sings me
sings you
sings us into a chorus of lovers
a sea of dreams
dissolving into its own wetness
love
drowning
in love

web of thought
caught in its own enchantment
I may wash the windows
and dust today




ideas of words slide through words
reverberate between the sides of a mirror
melting the glass and all reflections
the ember of unknowing burns through its own light
sky dissolves in infinite reflections of sky

some leaves fall when they are green
some are golden
hovering between the words and silence
suspended as a liquid kiss
between the known
and unknown


this obvious aliveness
not in anything
nor outside of nothing
no words can capture it
as it is a word
words are pieces of sky
sky is a word
this alivness seems to look and feel like anything at all

the hush that never leaves
is the disbelief in thingness
and yet when sung of seems like an thing inseparable from all other imaginary things
like the blue in a sapphire
or the heat in fire
it is the blue and the stone and the person enchanted with the star floating in her ring
it is the fire and the heat and the light and the lovers warming themselves
and loving the warmth and the love

it is the love and the lover and the beloved... 
and there are no three nor two nor one nor none...

it is all illusion
even love
but
this feels like love suspended in emptiness
the hush super saturates the dream
and is the dream
all is illusion
illusion is illusion

and you thought I was going to tell you what is going on
I seem to arise in the loving of you
but there is no here nor there
the loving of you is the falling into you

and we dissapear
into the hush
we never left



it is amazing how much hate mail I get when I post an opinion! people assume I don't have opinions and judgements, when, well, I am opinions and beliefs and preferences just like them. judging is natural as it is quite necessary for survival. is the orange fruit harmful or helpful? how about consuming animal foods? will wearing a face mask help or harm me? how about crossing that busy street from corner to corner, or should I use the cross walks?

...then I post what I consider to be a beautiful poem and get a handful of likes... lol! where were all those people before and why were they my 'friend' anyway? lol!

it is sad that many people assume that I am or should be special, more special than them.... when we are all beautiful liquid stories written with the same words... there are only twelve notes but look at the amazing music that pours from musicians...

some assume that there should be no talk about 'other teachers', yet I find that people ask questions and I am honest about what I feel... that there are no teachers as this cannot be taught. and certainly there is no one under belief and preference or thought or feeling or... simply no one choosing to speak or not... to listen or not... to sit here on the computer enchanted with these words sliding out from underneath my fingertips...

here the hush before dawn never leaves... it feels wondrous beyond measure to fall in love with everyone I meet... to feel so deeply the amazement of love unlike what I thought love was before this strange un caused shift in perspective... to be suspended as timeless spaciousness.... a waterfall of colors sliding through rainbows ....dissolving into seamless sky....

I am not everything nor am I nothing.... there is no one to be everything or nothing, and no things to be or not...
very few are interested in what I say, but there are some listeners.... and that is wondrous as without someone reading these songs there is no singer...

I am the singing of this as these songs sing me... knowing that all these words are simply lines and squiggles sliding across a background of time and space.... and can never touch what I would like to say, which is said most simply in these three most beautiful words, 'I love you'.
and I do
I am the loving of you
without you I am not.





slowly slowly grey cat yawns
golden finches in the roses and doves on the telephone lines
peer into the garden

softly softly day unfolds
paper bird stretches her wings
words slide off the paper sky
sky is a word
love is a word... 

memory paints the garden
adorns these words with overtones
vibrating into this dream of aliveness
thought sings a ricochet love song
the knowing of knowing...
within this imaginary gap we seem to appear

we are liquid prisms
water colors sliding into a song that listens to her own echo
and is enchanted with with the spell
of her enchantment



we are liquid reflections falling though mirrors
steam rising from my coffee
passing cars in the dark 
words form my lips
all and everything meet and disappear into this kiss
where time eclipsed itself

moon sails through the morning
and our echo-less tears sail through the transparency of love 



no I can be found, nor someone looking for a self, no things can be found, no this nor that nor both nor neither... this does not mean that there is an "I" that is beyond description. the feeeling that there is a me or separate things has gone.
this is not a belief, more like a disbelief, a delcious unknowing,,,, yet obvious always..... it is clear that all imaginary separation, all distinction, all measurement, all qualties and characteristics arise in the thought stream, no thought no things, not even a thing called thought.



sunset
blooms and falls
all distincion fades in night's embrace
this deafening hush
never leaves
roar of the ocean in my chest
rivers of song pour through this edgeless heart
coming from everywhere and no where
these words that caress the dream into light and sound
and color... 

sunrise blossoms
petals of moon
eclipse
golden leaves falling
and the purple sound of wind



words slide through an envelope of space
rose petals pressed between the pages of our lives
there is no hand to turn them
no eyes to read them
no one who writes them...

morning dove left her imprint on the window
her flight interrupted
feathers
falling
she cannot be found


moon falls into the river
echoes of laughter slip into
deep
cricket
night

cottonwood leaves and wind
sweep through my heart
no one waits on the other side of time


light and dark
sound and silence...
there is and is not an in between an in between of this and that, and no this and that...
beyond place and placeless-ness
beyond time and timelessness...
we cannot go there
we do not exist beyond here and there....
there is no here and there nor the absence of a here or a there
there is no beyond....

and perhaps you have been looking to escape this illusion that you are... and all the while you are the illusion of trying to escape or improve this magicians tale, to grab the pen writing the story of your life where these words are written with water, and the pages are
water

and the story goes that some brains seem to believe in the story they tell
and others seem to believe the dream but not that there is a person inside the dream
and others seem to disbelieve the entire shaboogie... that realizing that all and everything is the dream including the realization of that....

that there is no other better more or next... and even the words
'this is it'
slide through their own echo leaving not even a silence that cannot be captured with or without words....

and the fairy tale girl peered into the mirror trying to see beyond her reflection and the mirror dissolved.... as well as the girl and the room and time and space... 
they never returned, they never existed.... 
there was never a never

and I am that fairy tale girl and I seem to appear in this dance suspended between never and forever... 
a pirouette of echoes
that no one sings or listens to

and my husband makes coffee and brings it to me
and the overwhelming beauty of the cup and the coffee and the steam
and him....
and the room and the mirrors and the memories sliding through each other coloring these very words that write themselves
this dream that dreams itself
just like this

in this present that no one recieves

the ribbon that that tied real and unreal into a pretty bow may untie itself

and unwrap all stories of truth and fiction

all promises of another day slip into the mirage of never and forever

here is the pearl of your own undoing

layers and layers of luminescence unravel

revealing a measureless emptiness

where a naked heart blooms

into the beauty of longing

there is no meaning to this story

but you know it well

you are this paperless rainbow

strewn across the sky

stars

falling

into their own light

there is no release from the enchantment that you are

your heart may soar

in innocent wonder

or it may plummet into the depths of despair

the heart of the story is that you are this gift to yourself

life unfolds into itself

endlessly

without time or its absence

all your wandering this endless desert left you nowhere

and no where is where you began

every sign led to another sign

all the words that seemed like love letters

slid into sand

all the books you gathered together for a raft

never kept you afloat

all that you learned

gave you no release from this desire to end desire

to end your search for wholeness

but your desire for wholeness is already whole

how could you be separate from desire?

when the present dissolves

so do you

Cartwheeling in the wind

 last breath of moon

the sound of no tomorrow
and the falling leaves


the words that we are.... that this known conceptual virtual world is....
seem to create a universe of this and that, and a backbeat of time and space.... 
if I call this (all and everything that seems to appear) a magician’s tale or a dream
or even an appearance 
it seems like I have told you what this is..., but what if there is no this to be anything or nothing? 

all these Answers will either satisfy your longing to know or not.  
why don’t they....
because there is an intuited knowing feeling of the great maw of emptiness that seems to be following you like a hungry dog... 
trying to swallow you and your world... 

you are these assumptions of what you are and what you are not
what the world is and what the world is not... 
why would you what more knowing? 
because there is no actual solidity…

when all questions cease
....the sails have collapsed the wind is gone 
the ship is sinking and there is no ultimate bottom upon which to rest 
there is not even an ocean 
or a ship
or someone to be swallowed….

no dream no dreamer no ...no ideas of what or where or when or how or why... 

such a delicious unknowing
no longer is there someone grasping for handfuls of air
no knowing can be found
no air
no hands

yet this mentally fabricated world, this worded world, this virtual reality, this dream of separation seems to continue…
it is known that this is the only world we can ever ‘know’
we are conceptual beings living and loving in a conceptual world…
this is where suns and sky and trees and wind exist
this is where we seem to emerge 
only in each others love light can we seem to find ourselves….
this is where love and beauty live

simultaneously, inseparably, there is not even nothing at all
and love
and everyone you meet knows their ultimate aloneness 
you can see it in our eyes
this is our broken hearted beauty
sharing it is beautiful
this is love


handfuls of morning coarse through your mind stream
painting the path of yesterday upon the wind and leaves
falling
into pockets of starlight
where galaxies wander
their empty arms swirling
longing to touch another's light

this devastating emptiness 
burns a shadow in the middle of the sun
it consumed your heart long ago
before you could remember to remember
this love that no one could ever be
this love that we are


gently 
gently 
sun

softly 
softly
tears

ancient song of whales
vertebrae in the sand
broken shells
wind

where is the dream when you are not

liquidity of life flows through itself
press a rainbow into the folds of your heart and it blossoms
tattered prayers
confetti of love
wind born colors fall through the lines and pages of of all the books you combed through
looking for the words that would turn a key and open your heart
that was never shut
that was never yours
that could never hold a moment
or love



the dream spins itself... there is not even nothing under or inside the enchantment that we are



Spring in fall
Fall in spring
Breath of my lover....




self is a fluid labyrinth of concepts, a river of thought with seemingly stable whirlpools of memory....
all words have no meaning, or non meaning... meaning is a word... words are concepts...
take the word tree, it seems that you know what a tree is.... but it is a concept that seems to encapsulate a bit of this symphony of perception into a box colored with fluid memories....
the memories that you are are unique...
you are the painted dreamscape that memory creates..
your ideas of what trees are and what they are not may be different than mine...
as there are all kinds of trees, yes?
under or inside the word 'tree' there is not even nothing.... it is a thought, a shared learned word, and words paint a worded world, a conceptual world, a virtual universe made of thought and a seeming you inside this world...
without memory trees are not...
without memory the universe is not...
without memory you are not...
this thought dream has no substance... like the dream you had last night... where did those flowers go?
where did that kiss go?
where did that lover go?
the light seems as bright in the night time dream as the day time dream...
where did the light go?
where did the night go?
your ideas and memories of what love is and what love is not may be different from mine, yes? yet we seem to agree on what trees are...
and love... well.... is there a shared knowing when there is a shared language... is there a knowing at all?
or is this all assumption...
is self the assumption of knowing?
the assumption of solidity...
is there any place to rest in this thought stream?
are there separate thoughts?
gathering fallen petals and pressing them into a book...
opening the book of love you find the lines that paint your image on this river of memory.... dissolving into our own reflection...
we are love's echo
love is a beautiful word that seems to capture a feeling
we seem to feel deeply...
is there a feeling and a you feeling it?
can you capture and hold the river of memory if you are it?
what is love... what is beauty?
perhaps this unknowing itself is beautiful...
perhaps the longing to know what life and love feels like for another is love...
perhaps knowing we never can is our shared broken hearted beauty...
perhaps knowing we are this longing to touch, knowing we never can is love...



we are this longing...there is no one having it to take it personally or not... and it feels super complete in itself....
the knowing that we are utterly alone gives life a bittersweet beauty...
this is the broken hearted beauty that we all share... 

....knowing we all share this... is love




handfuls of morning coarse through your mind stream
painting the path of yesterday upon the wind and leaves
falling
into pockets of starlight
where galaxies wander
their empty arms swirling
longing to touch another's light

this devastating emptiness 
burns a shadow in the middle of the sun
it consumed your heart long ago
before you could remember to remember
this love that no one could ever be
this love that we are





stars seem to wander
lose their familiar faces
the known world a dream
forgotten
the unknown a dream
remembered

swooning in ungraspable beauty
and the empty autumn leaves




the words that we are.... that this known conceptual virtual world is....
seem to create a universe of this and that, a backbeat of time and space.... 

if I call this (all and everything that seems to appear) a magician’s tale or a dream
Or even an appearance 
It seems like I have told you what this is..., but what if there is no this to be anything or nothing? 
And all these Answers will either satisfy your longing to know or not.  

Why don’t they....
Because there is an intuited knowing feeling of the great maw of emptiness that seems to be following you like a hungry dog... 
Trying to swallow you and your world... 
if you are these assumptions of what you are and what you are not
what the world is and what the world is not... 
why do you what more knowing ? 
Because there is no actual solidity...

When all questions cease
....the sails have collapsed the wind is gone 
the ship is sinking and there is no ultimate bottom upon which to rest 
There is not even an ocean 
Or a ship
Or someone to be swallowed....
No dream no dreamer no ...no ideas of what or where or when or how or why... 

low hum of vibrant aliveness
like electricity running through your veins
the sky
and the shimmering leaves
this is as real as it gets
sur-real
un-real
real-er than real
this is all we can "know"
knowing there are no things to know
nor anyone or thing to know that....
such a delicious unknowing
no longer is there someone grasping for handfuls of air
no knowing can be found
no air
no hands
yet this mentally fabricated world, this worded world, this virtual reality, this dream of separation seems to continue…
it is known that this is the only world we can ever ‘know’
we are conceptual beings living and loving in a conceptual world…
this is where suns and sky and trees and wind exist
this is where we seem to emerge
only in each others love light can we seem to find ourselves….
this is where love and beauty live
simultaneously, inseparably, there is not even nothing at all
and love
and everyone you meet knows their ultimate aloneness
you can see it in our eyes
this is our broken hearted beauty
sharing it is beautiful
this is love




late moon
shallow wind
long shadows slide over the hoof prints in the garden
pools of night nestle among the legs of headless sunflowers

what is love
what are petals in the dirt
what compels you to wear this empty night
softly softly words dance
creating light and shadow and and this all pervading silence
meaningless questions rise and ebb leaving a wake of sublime unknowing and no one to care or look for an answer to the song of autumn
as she caresses you into the folds of October skies

stars seem to wander
lose their familiar faces
the known world a dream
forgotten
the unknown a dream
remembered

swooning in ungraspable beauty
and the empty autumn leaves




Where does the full moon rise
Where does it not?



canyon morning
wind
breath
sometimes rain
sometimes tears
sometimes doves on the ground
sometimes on the feeder
silence is not a thing to be remembered
or forgotten
these ears these eyes this broken heart sings 
we are the song of our aliveness
naturally ease-fully life seems to appear
magical, isn't it, that we can love so deeply?
just like this
sometimes a blue jay



who weaves the flowers of our brokenness into a garland of echos?
what unravels miles and miles of stars into this heat of reflected light?
I was the wandering among falling stars
the longing to hold love's fire

nothing will keep the stars from dissolving into their own light

bittersweet, life is the taste of love
beautiful, that we cannot see our own beauty
and that there are others who can
as we are their reflection, 
they are ours
there is no source to this light
spinning
dissolving into itself

and the little girl slept
dreaming of dreams
and all the shooting stars she had never seen


I never saw a shooting star as a kid

I thought all the kids were fooling me

as I had never worn my glasses to sleep when camping




love is this circular beauty
an endless loop of liquid mirrors
dissolving.....
thought seems to paint light and color and lines....
spiraling around an empty center
and we emerge
and dance
in each others reflected light

you are the dream of all that you seem to know
summer blossoms falling into autumn
cartwheeling in the wind


And my heart aches 
And my heart aches 
And I am this achy breaky heart

feathers of sunrise

gently paint the garden with winged shadows

and light

colors bloom softly slowly as you bleed into the day time dream

when does the day begin

where does the day reside

in the garden 

in the canyon

in your mind

in your chest

where you feel the dove's softness

she balances on the feeder

she does not look at you

the window is a reflection

where your face dissappeared as light tip toed into the other side

sliding into rainbow tears

a day unlike any other begins

colored with the memories

of all the days that never were

We are love’s intoxication

 

we are love’s intoxication

what is wetness itself? does it exist alone? what is a what? what is the sound of your heart breaking ...your empty heart pouring 
your skinless eyes weeping...

...this love exploding into a delicious wetness saturating all and everything ...erasing all and everything ...including love.... and we seem to appear in this love light... dancing in the rain
this sensuous wetness
drinking itself
we are love’s intoxication

there is a knowing feeling of no thingness inseparably with the feeling of this all encompassing love...

and it gives the imaginary persona a life of unbearable beauty... this infinite intimacy is far more wondrous than I could have ever believed or wished for or imagined
this raw naked un-owned life...

falling in love deeply with every one I see... feeling our great aloneness... our shared humanness... and it is beautiful!
this is love

arising and dancing in each other’s love light
knowing we are each other’s echoes
each other’s reflections
no origin to sound or light

no self
no other
no love
just this day dream of love swooning into itself
through our eyes
our lips our ears our tongues
through this song
through these words 
all and everything seem to appear


turning twisting spinning chasing tales of light and love
she found she had spun a web of darkness
looking for the ground of being she was swallowed by the earth
and sky
and any place to land in between

she quietly slipped through the dream of solidity into the dream of liquidity
...no way in
no way out
no forward no backwards...
time loosened her grip on the wind
...wind sailed through wind and dissolved into echoes of sunlight
pouring through the river of dreams

dancing in the dark was utterly light filled
empty footfalls gathered tears and slid into the scent of wonder
blossoming and falling with every step
nothing but thought to set sail upon the sea of dreams
she never needed special sight to see....
there never was anyone behind the eyes of love

these poems sing us...
the dream dreams itself
tears
fall
oceans of wind soar across the desert and embrace all and everything in this waterfall of love





you are this description... this thought stream made of shared learned words
and that is description
the worded world the 'known' world... the magician's tale... the conceptual world...
no one knows what is going on as there is no one separate from what seems to appear to know it or grasp it or see it


all distinction all measurement all time and space and dimension ....all this and that are seemingly created by thought... there is no universe without thought... no laws of nature actually exist... they are mentally fabricated like trees and suns and galaxies spinning...



some claim to be uniquely 'awake' to what seems to appear... and yet how could you not be awake? is there any separation between the seeing and the seen? isn't it obvious that if you don't feel awake that you are awake to that feeling of not being awake? the feeling that someone has something that you do not... or that you have something... or that you want something...

and you do not quite know what it is... only from books and lectures have you heard of this elusive thing called enlightenment... but all things are thought created... when thought ceases all and everything and you disappear... why would you want roses to disappear and colors... and love... and you and me and enlightenment....




the poem of morning contains small sparrows hidden in the rose bushes...
petals of their song pirouette into the garden
doves flying up in front of the window
graceful wings fan tailed beauty
I can feel their softness
and the gentleness of flight as they soar
effortlessly 
into sky

all of life happens without effort or non effort
simultaneously self arising and self erasing
without time or non time...
you have never found a moment have you?

the poem of morning sings itself
thought sings you and me and the doves blossoming splendor
and things called silence and sound and poems
that seem to write themselves
just like this life appears
no one or this is making it happen
from the outside or in
can you find an outside or edge to what is going on?
if life has no edges is it a thing?
can you step outside of life?
if there is no you separate and apart from this life
are you a thing?



I am a fairy tale lover a dreamscape of love and love lost bathing in the scent of yesterday's rain

how many days and nights has it been since the illusion of solidity slipped into a pocket book of memories along with the reader of this treasure book of love
overflowing with dried leaves and petals and 
vast unending seas and mariners tales
of a sailor who lost her compass and the stars and the sky
as the waters consumed their own wetness

I can mark the day when time died but calendars have lost their meaning
all numbers all measurement all this and that were only the light and dark of numbers and letters sliding off the page
I dissolved into tears
tears dissolved into
ocean song
ripples
waving
sun dancing
pirouette of wonder like a breath of moonlight
whirl pooling into and through itself

we are love's memories
utterly alone we light the universe with our eyes
love melts our shadows
and burns our light

we are shooting stars burning our own brilliance
never beginning
never landing
bathing in meadows of ancient sky



I am a liquid dream of fluid memories...
and memory is also what seems to be happening 'now'.... 
images dissolving and coloring in the novel of 'my life' that writes itself, sometimes seemingly backtracking or leap frogging forward.... all a great unknown... a marvelous un-know-able....

memory is all I can know... there is no outside or inside to this dream that seems to feature a watcher of the show, but somehow it is obvious that all of this echo land ballet is not real or solid or even moving...

memory colors in words with infinite echoes.... regressive images and sounds and feelings...  so saturated with a feeling of what is not a thing as it is everything and no thing, I call it love... 
love caresses all imaginary things and events with an unfathomable softness... a gentle embrace from inside and out.... forming imaginary lines as they blur once again into a dream without time or space... or any sides or between... 

there is no one separate or outside of this flowing dreamscape to manipulate it or allow it or reject it or capture it... it is not an it... there are no its... 

memory is an idea as are all things.... I am memory... I am an idea... 

what is this thing called enlightenment but a nice idea
....like you?



you cannot manipulate or allow or reject thought as you are it

you are the story of knowing you are a story.. knowing this is not the end of the story... as endings and beginings are a story



sun sets into the growing twilight
darkness awakes, gathers her skirts and leaps into sky

she slept all day under the roses
not noticing the golden finches and sparrows hiding in her dress
or the wind playing leaf shadows across her face
she didn't see the fallen petals in the grass
and the neighbors cat creeping... 
she didn't hear my longing for the cat to return and display his feathered softness

silence is the song of our vanishing
words flow and paint the world outside
and in
and that line in between you and your reflection
between you and your echo
a line as thick as thought
trembles and breaks when thought is no longer believed
no source to the echo of reflections
other than thought
no thought
outside of thought

will there be stars tonight punctuating the blanket of darkness
autumn skies seem colder harsher more stark than the summer...
but they are just the same...
just like love warms you
no matter the back beat
the underlying story
love caresses both dark and light
love and love lost are the waves of the dreamtime ocean

this and that is the carpet of stars
falling into tatters of dream fragments
memories you seem to pick up and examine
but they are you 
that shell you held and pressed to your ear
marveling at the sound of your own blood
rushing
rivers
rushing into an endless sea of wonder

and we will never know...
will this be the last night of cricket song
...when is it not?



long moon night
echoes of ancient tides soar across the canyon
I seem to be here
....an echo of what has never been nor will ever be...
I can taste my heart song as it blossoms in your eyes
petals of wonderment 
fall
into 
wind
as we watch the dance of thunder crash on distant shores
listen to the caress of early autumn skies
and feel the nakedness of trees
still clothed in the splendor of summer

wind has no source other than thought
words spin the dream of tree tops dancing
and us walking through acres of moon
pirouette of love soars through this story
as it collapses into the dream time of memory
trails of forgotten shadows slide into night




how wondrous that nothing can be known as there are no actual things nor anyone who is separate from this thought stream to know it....
how wondrous is wonder...
only in this apparent double take 
this spinning thought dream is there knowing of knowing... 
only in the dream of separation is there knowing of unknowing... 
....amazement of amazement... 
only in the dream is there love and the knowing of loving....

love is never lost
or found
her caress is her song....
your song
this song
singing itself through your lips

this ever emerging ever dissolving thought stream seems to circle back into itself spinning the fabric of our lives
weaving wing-ed wind song
wind and mind exist only in their own apparent movement
...movement and non movement are thought
thought ceases and you and the known world disappear
why would you want to stop thought?
why would you want to erase the sky....

not feeling separate from thought there is no feeling that these shared learned words painting the dream of separation should or could be altered
it’s like thought has become part of the symphony of perception,
taken it’s place in the flowing dreamscape of this sensorial banquet
there is no one speaking it... thinking it... or reading it
there are no 'its'



and love....
her song and her ripples are so beautiful 
your heart aches
breaks into a thousand echoes…

sun dancing skipping playing across the surface of an unfathomable sea
liquid light slides through your mind stream
all is soundless echoes ricocheting across an edgeless formless ocean
acres of sky mirror your emptiness
mirror of water swallows the sky
mirrors of mirrors 
broken
pieces of light of love sailing away... pages of your story....

memories of love were shimmering reflections you tried to hold in a corner of your heart
like a treasure
like a spear
like a hollow place you longed for and feared
the great emptiness killing you softly

echoes have no substance
nor do words
nor do thoughts
what happens when all thought is known to be empty
when you and all others and even love is known to be thought

and the candy sprinkles are so sweet dissolving... the taste of taste... the deliciousness of not knowing what sweetness is
what life is...
what love is....

there is a doubt less knowing that there are no things nor non things... not sweetness nor taste nor love nor life.... yet life and love taste so sweet as the words caress your tongue and fall through this edgeless heart where no one danced in a moon less night.... no one sang of the wonder of love...
no one fell through the lines between day and night..., light and dark..., as all boundaries were erased so were you...
as all words dissolved so were you

the story dissolves into the story of dissolving...



and there is no you nor waves nor deep deep ocean... but a silence that is singing in you though you as you and yet....
no you can be found... edgeless seamless seas rise and fall...
a chorus of love that has no discernible words... sings the dream of you and me and we...
you find your heart mouthing the words you longed to hear your entire life...
'welcome home... I've missed you... I love you'

there is no one in the labyrinth of words that spin the dream... no one who is spell bound... we are the enchantment...
and that...
is enchanting...



Before the shift I was the belief that I was an unchanging thing called timeless awareness 
It seemed obvious that I had not changed since I could remember... some beliefs and preferences had changed, but the underlying constant was awareness.... I certainly was not those unreliable unpredictable thoughts and feelings and actions! 
The shift made it clear that there was no one or to be awareness and that there were no things to be changing or permanent, not even awareness or consciousness.  Yet This is what many teachers teach... you are not that little puny self with those pesky thoughts and emotions, you are this far grander thing called awareness! 
And if you do this or that (rest as awareness, etc.), you can realize this also.
It’s obvious that all trying or trying to not try perpetuate the illusion of a someone who is going somewhere, getting something (or realizing something), and that there IS a next a better a more an other... 
and there is not. 



and we are this love.... that has no words that is all words... sky written... with sky in sky.... 

softly softly stars fall through our eyes and we walk through acres of starlight... where is the end where is the beginning to this galaxy ...light ....spinning without a center... how could love find an edge to love.... how could hearts be separate, it is only the letters that look separate as they flow across this light filled screen... as vowels and consonants bathe in our mind streams and seem to form a river of thought... but no place can be found... no words can be isolated, as they become meaningless without other words... all thought refers to thought.... 

the illusion spins itself there is no hand under the cat's cradle no fingers that pull the puppet strings... no strings to hold the stars in their place... they have no place in the swooning of light into light.... 

love exists only in our eyes.... and I can feel your heart beating as it is mine... no one can hold this love ...it seems to hold us.... gently ...in this story of sky swallowing itself... what does that leave? 

what does it mean when time loses her shadow as autumn winds gather fallen leaves in the gutter... along the sidewalk where I walk... flat feet softly padding... breath.... and everywhere I look the universe appears.... and there are no lines between the stars.... no lines between imaginary things.... 

and we are imaginary dancers floating in this dream of love.... dissappearing as soon as we touch.... as a kid I would swing higher and higher... longing to hold the place where up met down.... suspended as weightlessness.... where all and everything kisss...... and disappear.... just like this breath this song this unfathomable wonder this story of love singing itself...

self is a fluid labyrinth of concepts, a river of thought with seemingly stable whirlpools of memory....

all words have no meaning, or non meaning... meaning is a word... words are concepts... 

take the word tree, it seems that you know what a tree is.... but it is a concept that seems to encapsulate a bit of this symphony of perception into a box colored with fluid memories....

the memories that you are are unique... 

you are the painted dreamscape that memory creates.. 

your ideas of what trees are and what they are not may be different than mine...

as there are all kinds of trees, yes? 

under or inside the word 'tree' there is not even nothing.... it is a thought, a shared learned word, and words paint a worded world, a conceptual world, a virtual universe made of thought and a seeming you inside this world... 

without memory trees are not... 

without memory the universe is not... 

without memory you are not... 

this thought dream has no substance... like the dream you had last night... where did those flowers go? 

where did that kiss go? 

where did that lover go? 

the light seems as bright in the night time dream as the day time dream...

where did the light go?

where did the night go?

your ideas and memories of what love is and what love is not may be different from mine, yes? yet we seem to agree on what trees are... 

and love... well.... is there a shared knowing when there is a shared language... is there a knowing at all?

or is this all assumption... 

is self the assumption of knowing?

the assumption of solidity...

is there any place to rest in this thought stream?

are there separate thoughts?

gathering fallen petals and pressing them into a book... 

opening the book of love you find the lines that paint your image on this river of memory.... dissolving into our own reflection... 

we are love's echo

love is a beautiful word that seems to capture a feeling

we seem to feel deeply... 

is there a feeling and a you feeling it?

can you capture and hold the river of memory if you are it?

what is love... what is beauty? 

perhaps this unknowing itself is beautiful... 

perhaps the longing to know what life and love feels like for another is love...

perhaps knowing we never can is our shared broken hearted beauty...

perhaps knowing we are this longing to touch, knowing we never can is love...