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...
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...
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