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