Friday, December 10, 2021

This Perfect Kiss

 we have never been separate

we have never been

yet here we are loving each other and finding ourselves in this love


~~~~~


love sings an elusive dance of echos

infinite colors

dreaming…

softly gently eroding the banks that could never hold a river of tears, this avalanche of empty liquid transparency pouring through your heart…

once outlined and frozen with a fear of dissolving into limitless love


and you reach through your reflection and find

more reflections

pouring into the boundless depths of intimacy


love is the hovering scent on the trailing edge of summer

bent sunflowers waiting for the first frost

ponds laced with plum scarlet and the

lingering shadows of naked trees skimming the hush of water and wind,

a cascade of light and shadow and colors

 a crescendo of wonder

watercolors of perception and its inseparable recognition

this symphony of life

breathing through us as us


we are concentric contrapuntal holograms spiraling through each others light

pouring through oceans of rivers of endless sparkling

fading illuminations of not even nothing

seen but not held in the sigh of a dream


winds of desire is this song without words

breaking through its own light

drenched with nameless intoxication

I emerge in the singing



~~~~~



falling through the falling

soaring through the soaring

suspended as the floating

dissolving into itself

love's bittersweet beauty

is that it cannot see itself

yet all that it sees is itself


~~~~~



this is love without other,

beyond all ideas of love,

beyond all ideas of beyond...

such excruciating beauty of this mad dance of rainbow raiment no one wears, whirling between time and timelessness….

this dream that dreams itself seems to swirl transparent iridescence into a watercolor ballet,

dancing us into an imagined universe of rainbows melting into endless sky

 

how utterly amazing to be this amazement of amazement, this magical enchantment of a dream spell written with love songs

unravelling

the web of thought they weave


this undeniable scent of infinite colors blooming and fading has no name,

hovers on the tip of your tongue

nestles in your heart

born and dying without a beat in between


tides of yesteryear cannot keep the seas from drowning

I am caught in a wave of unknowing

drowning in love


~~~~~~


the universe flows through you as you are the universe flowing…

the liquid neuronal net seems to capture bits and pieces of this sensorial banquet that it creates through naming…

the taste of taste is not ever known

as we are the universe tasting itself 

nothing is captured, not even thought can hold itself


~~~~~




we are mysterious ancient sea dreams drifting in a lullaby of love

wilderness of memory sliding through the clothes of empty summer dreams

un-weaving the tapestry of time, leaving a fragrance of nostalgia where the rhapsody of moonlight plays across fields of dry grasses 

heavy with frost

leaning into the shimmering

life plunges into its own obvious nakedness


immediate undiluted life

clear and pure, without other…

we are a faint and fleeting river of light pouring through light

nestling in the flavors of love

passion blooms and wilts before it is ever born…

soothing strains of twilight puncture your veins and you bleed into sky

flame of love burns itself


~~~~~



there simply are not two things to create any relationship, nor one big thing as there are no sides nor edges, no inside nor out…

thought must constantly whirl to tell the story of you and your world, 

every word seemingly creating a ‘thing’ including ‘thought’, and a whirling and a story and... 

complete indicating a non completeness,

wholeness indicating a thing which could be whole or not whole.... 

it is obvious that there are no things nor the lack of things, and no one to know or not know that, 

…like making rock candy out of a super saturated container of water, a 'seed' must be inserted like a stick, around which all the crystals grow, pure sweetness erupts, as the child's eyes grow with wonder and anticipation at eating this beautiful crystalline concoction. 

one ‘thing’ introduced creates a cascade of things, and we are the stick or seed around which the dream of things swirls. 


often love is the last imaginary thing to dissolve into not even nothing... yet, truly, it is the seed of love that explodes and supersaturates the dream of things


only after love dies can it bloom and subsume the dream of things

we are the radiant beauty of love's mystery

swell of moonlight burning into sky 


~~~~~


stories sung, and silent, swirl and dance and have no owners nor story tellers, they speak of love and love lost and beauty ...almost ...captured.... 

and they are no longer about anyone and feel suspended is a waterfall of wonder as they dissolve in the lullaby of words they never left, a river of songs... 

like a song you might have heard in a dream, but cannot remember, and do not care if the words are not clear or blend into the sounds of morning... an old song from a car radio streaming down the empty morning streets as the tail lights echo on the wet pavement like a river of tears that you feel you used to recognize, maybe, once,

 but this once upon a time has dissolved into an a temporal seamless wonderment that any stories seem to be told or heard or dance through the acres of sky erupting and dissolving with every breath, every heart beat, every song ever heard or not heard in a stillness that has swallowed all sound and silence…


~~~~~


"this without other" or better or more or next... has no edges, and is therefore not a thing, there are no separate parts…

nothing could be absent or missing and nothing could be added or removed as there simply are no separate things, nor non things (ie the absence of things), nor one big thing called wholeness.... 

there is no time or non time, no place nor non place,.... without two there can be nothin else, so therefore no this.... and yet this seems to appear, so all seems to be as it seems

yet somehow the feeling of real versus non real or truth or non truth or 'actuality', or non actual, are all obviously made up ideas, and to whom is this obvious, when no center to the dream can be found? 

perhaps we, as imaginary points of view are the imaginary 'knowing'.... inseparable from the imaginary 'known', 

does it require imaginary separation to recognize non separation.... without an imaginary point of view is there anything to view? 


so here is this call and answer love song, feeling that there are no separate voices, no personas, yet seemingly existing as a separate persona, laughing weeping loving .

...yes loving loving loving the dream of separation which we are…


I am the loving of reflection songs....  I seem to appear as the loving of you…


~~~~~




I am a reflection song, painted in a million shades of light…

echoes of a symphony that no one plays or hears yet is not silent…

strains of ancient love songs seem to anoint the dream of music and light with ripples of thought whirl-pooling into shapes that flow and merge with other amorphous shapes, dissolving and spinning into infinite facets of wonder…

a liquid love ballet appearing and fading simultaneously like reflections in water cascading into rainbows and coalescing into the thunder of love



echoes of moon plummet through their reflection as the taste of moonlight blooms and fades into the resonance of infinite love… 

echoes of your loveliness resound in the canyon of echoes

no walls can be found, yet you move your arms and find you are reflections

dancing,

and there are not two nor infinite reflections, nor one in this dream of love without other


you are the song of dreams flowing in a ballet of unbearable beauty

nothing without

nothing within…

you are this dance of infinite intimacy

the symphony of perception and its inseparable recognition

without division or other

no other time no other place no other momentary,

no this time, no this place, no this moment…

just this love,

and no love


luscious gardens of golden fragrance gather in this evening song

sigh of wind and the ache of moon glow tumble into the gutters of forgotten dreams

we the ethereal music of life of love streaming and dissolving into its own insoluble wetness

a mythical unfolding of a million wings

into a dream of endless sky


~~~~~



no one gets out unscathed.... the pain of imaginary separation is what we all share.... knowing this, is love... love is the balm that soothes the pain.... there is no one without the other..... 

when really has your heart not wept?


~~~~~



life simply does itself and we are phantoms, simply dream lovers, floating in liquid skies, 

tears are love's shimmering reflections, the only place we can see ourselves is in each other’s eyes... 

truly, we do not exist without others

and there are no others…

in this great aloneness we all share, this great aloneness that defines us, we can never touch, yet we are this longing, to touch…. 


simultaneously here and not here, absent and present, drifting turning pouring streaming prisms of wonderment

this elusive magic this miracle of this dream of separation seeming to appear, yet never actually appearing, with no solidity or liquidity,

mountains and skies and magic and love, brilliant and undeniable yet not…..


a seamless liquid flow neither moving nor non moving.... 

self creating and self dissolving simultaneously,

love swooning into love is the dance of life

this washing away of the need for meaning for solidity for capturing this obvious magic seems to saturate love and and immeasurable beauty into all the colors of the dream of life, no matter what it seems to look or feel like….


~~~~~


how can we share this beautiful intimacy when we are it? 

this is love this is beauty this is a seamless dance, a water ballet of two of one of none.... 

suspended as the flow of magic almost touching…

and then falling into each others absence... 

your emptiness your fullness fills every tear as they overflow into a river of song, an ocean of deep un named currents rushing, 

floating drifting bathing love in an underwater dream song we can only call love…


love rests gently in her own arms and you find yourself lost in your own embrace


~~~~~


we are the never forever dancing on the edge of the tides of moonlight

scattering dreams across an edgeless sea…

in this twining of a storyline, words are lost and found, emerging and dissolving, spiraling into a dream of endless sky

drifting through reflections of a million tales of starlight dancing, neither real nor un-real, nor in between,

tossed and twirled and dissolved in the winds of imaginary time

what this is, is wildly wonderfully unknowable,

simultaneously erupting and evaporating into a sensuous lost-ness

with no concern of ever landing or returning to a home that never was

there is no before or after to this fairy tale of sumptuous aliveness

born and rocked gently into this love that is always singing…


as the last brush of evening fades into night

a dream of liquid echoes drifts through the edge of time


~~~~~


you know this… that there is no one or thing separate from thought listening to it…

that there is no one or thing separate from perception who is aware of it…. and if it feels like there is, is there a some one separate from the feeling?

can you even find a looker?

can you find any thing separate from what is going on… that would be the source or cause…

can you step apart from what is going on and capture it

or know it

is it an it if there is no edge

no outside

…no inside?


what is the light in your night time dream

where did all your dream lovers go? 


~~~~~


love softly spins into the dream of you and me weaving stars into our eyes... reaching out to touch our shimmering reflections we dissolve into the imaginary spaces in between us



~~~~~


you know there is no other better more or next, right? as they have never been found, no 'outside' to what is going on, so no 'other', etc. 

you know the past is just memory, and the future is just ideas, and no 'now' can be captured.... yet there may be the belief in these, and that belief is what you are. 


when the belief in these is no longer believed, there is no feeling that there is any other better more or next, no hope or fear or need of a never arising next.... and the dream of separation is no longer believed, no belief is, so no separation is felt… no separate things or events…. it does not feel that there is a someone doing life or that life (or thought or feeling) is 'happening' to a someone. 

beliefs may remain but they are known to be fluid mental constructions like a net of words that don't actually catch anything...


enlightenment is a story..., and it may seem like a goal to reach, like a better dream than the one you think you are... but you can search and search for enlightenment or no self or no thingness, and you will never find it, as when you are, all things are.... like love and beauty.... and space and time and tomorrow.... 

no you no things, no love no emptiness no fullness not even nothing exists outside of the thought stream, ‘outside’ is a mental construct,

thought even names itself…


if you cannot find a there, is there a here?

or are they both just ideas… including that path you think you are traveling towards enlightenment

go ahead and capture a moment, a thought, a feeling, a laugh a smile…

and all you will have are stories…

the story of you

words cannot hold the day

yet there is no day without words

words cannot capture love

yet there is no love without words

no one knows what love is

what beauty is…

what is a what?

…meaningless sounds that have no meaning nor non meaning

yet they are our love songs to each other


enlightenment is nothin more or less than the dream appearing as it already does... there is no veil to rip off, no other better place when you will be replaced by love.... 

there is already only love, and yet 

there is no love....


~~~~~


rhythm of water blooming, dancing swirling rainbows burning into a cascade of wind and ashes and sparks dancing

starlight hovering on the edge of time and timelessness


somehow the taste of taste, the beauty of beauty... just… missed…. is the flavor of beauty.... 

the essence of love is that we cannot catch it or know what it is, as we are this loving, this taste of beauty…

echoes of echoes bloom and wilt and we are the flower that never actually forms  


the belief in the illusion of separation dissolves into a wondrous unknowing… it feels like love has swallowed the dream of you and me and love

alone and together in this obvious aloneness, nothing can be joined

no one can touch

we are each other


it seems all we can know about another is the love that lights us up



~~~~~


joy and sorrow merge as love washes away love, and beauty washes away beauty... and in the sunset of this mirroring wonderment that there are no separate feelings nor anyone separate from feeling, love's obvious brilliance swoons through its own light, the light that you are


~~~~~



I was wandering beneath the towering empty cliffs of time

wind and moon and tides caressed me

dissolved me into a shoreless sea

no wind no sails nor paddle nor boat…

adrift in bejeweled seas of wonder

intoxicated with reflections that have no source

I am the shimmering

and the wonderment

oceans of love pouring down this river

that overflowed its banks so long ago

I cannot remember not loving you



love knows no time... and requires none for your beauty to pierce my heart and your hands to be always held in mine.... for these hands have no owner, this heart has no hidden corners where secrets lie, love has burnt the edges and erased the deep dark shadows where hope and fear used to hide


we are this beauty, this love shared, alone, together, we dance

without this two step, this chorus of love, there is no aloneness 

no hearts to cry out

no hands to hold

no love to soothe the deepest cuts of despair and sorrow

or smiles and tears of love and beauty and joy

no one exists without reflections

and it is all reflections

and there are no reflections


~~~~~


this is not an appearance for no one.... as the imaginary observer of things is as imaginary as the 'things'. 

this and not, not this and not a not... 

this may sound paradoxical, yet these seemingly contrasting ideas are not separate nor joined but a seamless music that has no outside or inside... all words, all thought is part of the dream scape of this symphony of dreams where time and space are felt to be simply more ideas like mountains and trees and endless sky

and feels like an ocean of love pouring through me as I am the pouring, the ocean singing itself through these fingertips dancing along the keyboard, words magically appearing, songs singing in the key of time, yet there is no certain key to be in or out, as all love is this wondrous music blooming and fading without time or timelessness….

an atemporal dream ballet without a stage or real or un real reality underneath it.... 

all ideas of this and that are simply colors... floating... in a rainbow of dreams.... hovering, drowning in an intoxication that requires no special circumstance nor drug,

beyond joy and sorrow and even all ideas of love and beyond


~~~~~


cat goes in and out through this long moon night

through bits of dreams and songs unwritten

the hush of perfection

and the soft breath of my lover


love does not make all things whole 

it knows no brokenness

love is immeasurable

it has never been separate from you

nor you from it

there simply are no two, nor one

nor none


water pours through water

light flows through light

love softly gently embraces and falls through itself

there is no water

there is no light

there is no love nor the lack of love


it feels like I am being dreamt and there is no source to this dream of light and dark and

colors

flowing and morphing into and through each other,

no one moving through this dream, no inside nor outside

nor in between

utterly intimate and infinite, edgeless ungraspable spaciousness

without space

not happening to a someone or thing

nothing stable or solid, a floating liquidity without actual movement

a ballet of meaningless patternless patterns drifting though other liquid patternless patterns


words are spoken and things may seem to appear,

but they drift back into the seamless wonder they never left

a dream of lovers loving and feeling that they are losing love

but they never had it

or lost it

I want to hug them all

and tell them how beautiful they are

although they are not

nor am I

nor is love


how can we not speak of it when all words are it, and there is no it without words…


~~~~~


tides of forgotten moons wash dreams and memories and deep forgotten currents of sorrow and joy... pouring acres of moon songs through your hollowing footprints

you slip into a sea you seem to remember you were looking for

but could never find

it was never lost

it never was

without or within


the dream of time and space erased all echoes

including the dream of time

blooming and wilting beneath the shadow of unseen moons sliding across distant horizons

where seas crash into blazingly clear skies

and mountains pour into burning seas

skies sail through schooners of clouds

darkening, and memory paints the warmth of love and moons hovering

on a cold dark night when even the stars have lost their sparkle…

love burns her fingerprints into yours

melting all memories of moon

and love


~~~~~


I was the looking for love

but love swallowed me and I fell through my own absence into my own embrace…

how beautiful this heart song made of echoes dreaming of echoes

dream lovers surfing the dream of sunset bleeding into the dream of love


love nuzzles in just like the grey cat that sailed into our home and hearts, and we found we had a cat shaped emptiness we did not know we had

love forms the imprint of our hearts

it cannot be lost or found as it has no edges

nor does your heart




love cannot be found or lost as it is everywhere and no where... measureless substance-less sourceless directionless elusive ungraspable atemporal.... no you to be separate from this which is not a this or that as it has no edges or center.... it is unknowable and yet love is intuited, felt somehow to have saturated the dream of things with a beauty and natural ease and drenched all and everything in an all encompassing liquid wonder, a bright and sourceless brilliance, an un-extinguish-able fire burning itself without ever actually becoming a flame or ashes... 


love sailing surfing burning the water ballet of love falling in love with love

reflections tumbling soaring melting into reflections


delicate wings of feathered wonderment gently softly kiss the half of a kiss you thought you were, erase the lips, and the one looking... leaving

only

this

very

kiss




echoes of wind soar through rippling currents of light... sky is born of time and space as love sings the absence of your name, delicately ripping the curtains off your mind, and the lids off your eyes…


~~~~~


no story is more true or false than another, true and false, freedom and non freedom, all this and that are imagined, 

I am this story and I have never left nor have I ever been,

I am as imaginary as this world of things and events, of time and space and love... 

all songs are beautiful and unique, and some may see my songs as teachings or directions, some may simply enjoy the resonance, most do not listen or care, but I love singing, it feels like love igniting me into the dream of you and me and love….


sensuously suspended between lost and found, no longer looking for solidity, I have lost all solidity…

I dissolved into a universe of liquid wonderment


love saturates all 'things' with a seamless spontaneous natural beauty.... including all the things and events I would have considered 'afflictive' before


pure edgeless intimacy, unbroken beauty named and un named, astounded astonished enchanted at this astonishment, these tears that flow as I play with my cat, drinking hot tea, enveloped in the early morning hush that permeates the sound scape evaporating all sound and silence,

…watching these words slide across the screen and disappear into the in between spaceless space which never was nor will ever be….


the smoothness of the keys of life, and the beauty that there are no separate keys nor notes nor perfect song, nor fingerprints of water in this water ballet of love, always in tune with itself...


water colors dissolve into the river that burst its imagined boundaries of time and meaning and any ideas of rivers or water or flowing….


as love bleeds into the interstices between the betweens, not beyond or before time or timelessness, adorning this atemporal dreamscape of light and dark playing joyfully in exquisite dolphin colors dissolving wet into wetness, and love into love... 


loving you is the heart of who I am


~~~~~


is love, is life a mystery?

what are the words in this poem?

are you separate from the reading of it,

and the sounds of early morning?

what lies under the skin of sound…

what is under yours?

what separates you from the seeing of

the cat yawning

and the light blooming in the garden?


what is underneath this morning song?

what is this obvious aliveness

that cannot be grasped

wind blows

ripples dance across the pond

cat purrs

tears fall


there is no edge of life to fall off of

love needs no costume

she blooms and wilts and

burns the imaginary walls between you and me,

between you and life


love sings and you cannot not listen,

as you are her song and the hearing of it

love is the tempest you feared and longed to die in

the volcano you were thrown into the day you were born

waves crashing and receding on the beaches of time

wildly consuming every particle of sand, every bit of what you thought you were…


tearing down all ideas of love she drowns you in her edgeless embrace

she rips apart the lines between joy and sorrow with her terrible magnificent beauty

death will come

winter was never hidden under the clothes of autumn

you know that


~~~~~



this is closer than the tongue in your mouth, your breath, your heart beat…

blooming and wilting simultaneously

we are this flowering beauty, not ever becoming,

yet utterly obvious and so familiar it cannot be found

or lost


the song of our aliveness sings itself

erupting and dissolving without time or timelessness

rainbows cascading through infinite colors

never separate never joined

the silence the hush the rush of unknowing pervades the song of silence

nothing can be known or unknown, there are no things

yet stars bloom in your eyes,

and starlight hovers in your breath

you are the sparkling in between the between

that never was nor will ever be…


the wings of this and that soar into a heart beat of time and space

and an imaginary existence

no center or edge to the swirling dream scape can be found


without before or after

without solidity or liquidity,

neither real nor unreal the dream is only what it seems…

yet

how marvelous

how stupendous

how excruciatingly beautiful

this love that seems to swallow it all

swallow herself

taste itself

through your heart your eyes your lips your beautiful beautiful eyes


~~~~~


both empty and full and nothing at all

love ignites the dream with a bittersweet beauty that leaves nothing untouched,

burns all and everything with an inescapable brilliance

a pirouette of here and not here, it feels like I am echoes blossoming and wilting, twirling and disappearing inside an edgeless heart…

life bursting wild and free and simultaneously dissolving

a touch of madness

a gentle caress of love

roaring

in a sound scape of broken dreams


a life of photographs

fading…

snapshots

that never caught time or anyone trying to catch it….


….and we are utterly exquisite, a signature of flames



~~~~~



and I am magically tripling through a dream of lostness in an exquisite and heartbreaking fairly tale where there is no movement toward or away from a never arising now


it feels like love…

love lost and found, and never lost and never found... 

only in this edgeless heart that has never held love or emptiness does love echo and sing with her own resonance and a chorus erupts,

a volcano of sound of silence of both and neither

and it is recognized, it seems, by itself…


this is felt deeply, and love may seem like a paltry word, but this is a continual heart rush, a river constantly overflowing its banks, a flood an avalanche of impossible beauty, tumbling, roaring, rushing, streaming, exploding, gently softly tenderly caressing, ripping and burning and drowning all and everything in its inescapable unfathomable beauty,

…there are no things, no you nor me nor love, yet here is this love I longed for and never could find as it is not separate from any ideas of me or you or love


sunlight swallows the river and its reflection

and all there is, is pure searing sourceless brilliance

…yet there is an echo of footfalls

and in this dream of sound and silence

we meet

and fall into each other’s heart song



the closest we can really ever get - the most I can know about you, really, - is the love that ignites me because we're mirrors - we are reflections, echoes - of each other.



~~~~~


excruciatingly beautiful these tears that have no end or beginning but rain continually weather it is cloudy or sunny or if I am sitting in this dark silent house sliding my fingers over these smooth keys…


and sunlight appears on the river,

or are these tears or simply words streaming across the screen?

morning blooming blossoming light flowing cascading over the high canyon walls where darkness seems to hide and is never touched by shadows….

swallowed by sky and cast adrift on sea dreams of clouds

forming and dissolving

sky in sky…


neither real nor unreal, no solidity can be found

none is looked for

a liquid dream scape where it feels like love yet unlike any ideas of love


knowing love is an idea does not diminish the light the rush the zing the roar! of this elusive aliveness that feels like light streaming through light

space pouring into space…

 love flowing into love,

drowning in its infinite intimate embrace


such inescapable bittersweet beauty of the last

golden

leaves

hovering

on the edge of winter


you know this that there is no ultimate truth… nor lies

these are simply words ideas like love, they hover in your trembling heart

and can never be found…

it really does not matter if there is no meaning nor non meaning


death hovers, and THIS is as real as it will ever be

as there is no that, nor next

there never was nor will ever be…


nothing hides in between these words just waiting to be found

nothing was ever lost

there is only this song breathing words into a dream spell that has no sound nor silence outside of the words that cast the spell,

the enchantment

that you are


~~~~~


love is the river pouring through the dream of love, pulling us into the current we have never left, drowning us in our own beauty, our own love…

through each other's eyes we emerge as this sparkling, this shimmering wetness, as real and as unreal as dreams of vast edgeless oceans washing away the sands of a million love songs, and forming unseen harbors, where we rest, alone, together,

…whirlpools of reflections bathing in tides of forgotten moons



when I started singing with seekers I recognized that I could not give them anything, or nothing... that this could not be shared,

and yet I somehow seemed to appear in the longing to share it, knowing that it never could... 

and yet this utter intimacy of swirling ever deeper into the unfathomable dream of love

... a rushing river overflowing its banks, a flood, an explosion, an eruption, a dance of perfect beauty,

a tsunami of what I can only call love is this very dance without dancers, this love without lovers, ....without love I am not.... and there is simply nothing that is not love and without love there is simply… nothing... to... be... suspended... as... nothingness.... or.... dissolve... into.... endless... skies...


there is no self no other no love, yet I am here, and seem to arise in this dream of love, although no lovers can ever be found (or lost) in this edgeless center less beauty I call love


it feels that all is all instinct, all of life spontaneously happening by itself, action and reaction without separation, all happening without separate parts called awareness or perception or thought or behavior, or time or timelessness or before or after…

and I call this love, although this is love without other, love beyond all ideas of love or beyond... 


translucent skies pour through all shades of darkness

and rest in their own light

trembling in the winds of memory

light falls through itself


I never could have believed that I would simply truly effortlessly fall in love with everyone and everything….

I love you I am you…

I do not exist without you…

how marvelous this excruciatingly beautiful seamless love…


~~~~~


we cannot know what love is as we are not separate from it

love is not a source or destination, or space in which all appears…

love is this very intimacy of aliveness that is obvious but unknowable, ungraspable, inseparable from itself

awakening may feel like love has consumed you and your world, but you and your world were always love

nothing ever happened and nothing ever will

quite simply, love recognizes itself constantly

without time or timelessness…

life, love, beauty, are a continual union of what was never apart

it seems I am not, yet I am the loving of you…

is it me loving you,

or is it love loving itself…

and in the non existent gap in-between the walls in this chasm we seem to be falling through…

this dream of mountains and endless skies and birth and death and love,

here we are

no longer trying to grasp beauty,

no longer trying to understand love…

singing love songs to each other

just like this


she listened to her love letters ripping apart her heart, slicing the edges of memory into tattered threads, unwinding the fabric of illusion, dissolving the words that slid across the pages of her life, 

as sky exploded into sky, love lay herself down on her own pyre and her naked branches reached into the flames of her own desire... 

one leaf fell at her feet and it was golden it was scarlet, it was the color of the colors of many, the color of none, the infinite colors that slide between the lines and can never be caught or held, but simply blossom and wilt in this flowering that never actually happens, nor does it not,,, the blossoms cannot be plucked as there is nothing but velvet lanterns falling.... 

love cannot be held as all is love, there is no love, and yet love is the ballet of all and everything and nothing at all


no one dissolved into the echo of her own embrace



~~~~~



I really don’t know you at all! ….all I know is this warm cascade, this heart rush that echoes in my chest when memories of your wide open love slide through this mind stream...

…and I am a child walking with my parents, delighting in the newness of being human, I am a woman wandering through fields and forest with my husband...

you could be an artist, an accountant, or a bar keep, or a ghost writer for forgotten movie stars, or a researcher of tiny glass wing butterflies most people never see, but somehow imagine as rainbows… hovering… just beyond their sight when they catch a glimpse of shadows gliding down the sidewalk…


~~~~~


what is this wondrous aliveness but love?


we are the knowing of this aliveness,

this indivisible seamless…

aliveness knows itself,

swooning through its own embrace

your arms

your kiss

your heart

is this love loving itself

no you separate from the loving

or the love


nothing is out of reach, nothing is before or beyond

there is no next or this to be found

no separate hands to grasp

or to hold…

there is no separate you to know or not know this

and yet it need not be known

love knows itself


…no separate heart

no separate love…

no separation is love

utterly infinte, utterly intimate

closer than close,

immeasurable

boundless

love 


~~~~~


it is like a great wind blows through you and erases all knowing and unknowing, and you are wind dissolving into wind…

there is no need to know or remember or forget the words to the song of life as it sings itself... 

there was never any meaning or non meaning.... tree tops dance in the wind... wind dances in the tree tops... are the trees reaching for sky or is sky reaching down to caress their beautiful naked arms…


ocean pours through itself

love loves itself

no separation is believed or felt and this cannot be touched with words as all words are razors slicing up endless sky…


and I seem to be the longing to share this beauty knowing it can never be shared,

the longing to touch you knowing that we can never touch,

the longing to love you knowing that love is the dream…

neither real nor unreal

neither true not un true…

and it feels beautiful,

this wondrous dream caressing me painting me, anointing me, dancing me, loving me into the seamless dream of love


~~~~~


and in the dreaming no one dreams nor is there anyone to be or not be dreaming.... or sleeping... or waking.... there is no one looking yet everything is seen, no one tasting, yet all is the taste of taste,

no one loving, yet all is loved, embraced, held in love, as love, through love…

there is no one to know or not know, no things to know or not know, utterly familiar and totally new


the recognition of the dream is the dream, the knowing of love is love

…love recognizes her beauty in everyone, in no one, in everything, in nothing, everywhere and no where, no one need look or cease looking, nor forget or remember…

the jewel of love is inescapable as it has no measurement nor direction, it has no time nor timelessness…

no place nor placeless-ness….

love has no other

there is nothing outside or inside of edgeless seamless unbroken love…


is love empty is love full?

is this intimate, is it infinite?

words twist and turn and the answer is love as well as the question…

is this a dream if no one dreams?

is this illusion if illusion is illusion?


~~~~~


etched with tears etched with rainbows

bleeding


love burns in the flames of desire

desire burns itself

life burns itself

love burns itself...

wind sails

soar through wind...

and no vessel can be found

the world pours through our empty hearts

pouring love pouring emptiness pouring sea dreams through a dream of infinite sky


we are the touch the kiss that never is or was or will be

falling though our own embrace

no center or edge can be found

words cannot place love into a dream without place or time

there is no need to capture what is not a what

yet words flow

as do rivers

as do tears

as does this love song that echoes in the tides,

and the embrace of moon glow by the sun

that knows not its warmth or light

love finds itself

in the looking and in not looking…

who is seeking this elusive thing called love?

what is outside these words this heart this love…

this dream that pours through us as we pour through it

as we hover

suspended

in love as love through love


love doesn't need directions or a path... love needs no special restrictions or allowances or conditions

love is when we are

love is when we are not

love is

love is not


love is a word as is life

love cannot grasp its own magic

it is not separate from itself

love is a dream word filling dream skies with dream clouds and dream rain and dream tears and dream smiles

writing dream words in dream books

dissolving dream pages with the enchantment they paint

stories of love pour through their own words

leave no residue

or echo

not even this wetness that spills down these cheeks


love is a story you cannot know

you are not, yet, all is this utter seamless intimacy of love

including you

light of unknowing erases all sides, empties all betweens

…what more, what less, than love?


that there is a you in the dream is the dream

there is no real dream under the dream

no real you to find

no one to look

there is no one to know that this is illusion

no one to know that you are a story

no one to know, or not know, love

it unavoidably knows itself


~~~~~


and I am constantly singing love songs

so I can seem to appear in the singing, and tell you I love you, because I do…

how can I not love you when I am the loving of you?


the belief in separation is the feeling of separation

it may cease, and truly, it all feels like love... excruciatingly wondrous seamless beauty..... and thought cannot get around it, or put its edges into it and make love into an it….


stillness in movement, movement in stillness...

sound in silence, silence in sound

neither need be looked for or acquired...

no pointers are necessary, or possible, to what is unavoidably obvious, as there is no outside to what seems to appear, no edge from which one can observe you and your life.... 

no center around which the dream spins, other than your own beauty exploding and imploding into the heartbeat of love….


no perspective is right or wrong, no story is better or worse than another,

as better and worse and true and false are made up,

the very fabric of the story are these very words that seem to slice up this aliveness, this love story sung by no one, sung by everyone, sung by every broken heart overflowing without meaning or non meaning,

simply flowing without movement or non movement…

stillness cannot be grasped or understood, or sound…

for what is this song if not a love song caressing you into being, from the inside and out?

all words form your imaginary lines that you need not remember as they remember you.... the prison that you may feel is you.... the bars may become transparent, the words lose their meaning, their solidity, and even words like meaningless or love cannot grasp this pure seamless indivisible love

 

there are no separate keys to life, yet without separation there is no melody… what key can open the door to your heart when there is no door or edge to love?


your heart song rips into mine and a chorus of tears rains… it is love flooding itself, saturating the dream scape, and is no more or less love than any thing else…


you are not separate from love

you cannot have it or lose it

love cannot die

it never was…


~~~~~


love is this very seamless intimacy

it cannot grasp itself

yet it seems to pour through its own beauty

painting water colors of rushing rivers

and tempestuous, …easy oceans

lazily floating into sky

as sky reaches down

and flips you inside out

all safety is gone

there never was a harbor where you could hide

and wait for that never arising next…


phantasmagoria of sound and light seem to dance through a stillness

yet stillness and movement are the dance

there is no other

or outside to this love

piercing deeply the illusion of love

ripping all love songs into tatters

words and music slide off the pages of your life and dissolve

there is no back beat, no ground of being no unchanging sky in which clouds appear

no unchanging ocean in which waves and deep currents roam

simply sky and sea and long stretches of un named beaches

where no one wandered waiting for her prayers to be returned

but sea and sky and the shore are not

simply a beautiful illusion,

like this love that fills me and empties me and dances me

as I am love dancing

infinitely intimate

tears

fall

wind

blows

love

sings

like this


~~~~~


the death of hope is the death of fear, and the death of need of a never arising next. after all, there is only life as it seems to appear!

simply a miracle

all and everything is included, nothing can be added or subtracted.

life is not lacking, and can include the feeling of lack,

as well as the feelings of fullness, or emptiness, and all the shades in-between


awakening is not about dissolving into everything

it is the intuited knowing that there are no things, not even emptiness

and no one to dissolve

this does not erase the fullness of life bursting!

it does not replace the dream of things, of love, of wonder of both, and neither, simultaneously

is this seamless ballet of aliveness


life does not happen as it is supposed to or as it should

there is no script or page upon which life is written

the passion play sings itself

no one sees a special ‘enlightened world’, that others cannot see

life plays itself in all keys

each as real and as unreal as any other, all music is wondrous!

life hears itself through your unique song

it feels like a love song with all its heartbreaking beauty

there is no entering or getting out of this magic of life

as you are not separate from it

no separation is love


~~~~~


we are lost and found stories… words drifting through rippling whispers and kisses and laughter and tears,

only a shimmering reflection of this great ocean of love can ever be seen

as we are inseparable from the water of love, somehow we see ourselves through the wetness of each others eyes, but we can never see ourselves as we are not, nor are others, nor, indeed, is there love, or rainbows or simply this…

we are a cascade of dream colors sliding down a waterfall of dreams…

love pirouettes and we are echoes twirling trailing falling through air through water through nothing at all…

it is all a dream there is no dream…


life simultaneously blooms and wilts without ever flowering,

leaving not a scent or an echo...

we are memories of a fragrance from a flower that never was


~~~~~


looking at 'others' feels like looking in a mirror

…without a mirror

reflections without a source

shimmering

in the imaginary spaces in between what has no edges and is not a what


bliss vibration

love recognizing love

not knowing what love is,

or what is a what,

is the beauty that can never be lassoed with words

‘love’ will do

infinite intimate wild love, radiant beauty, without beginning or end

need not be found, as it is in the very looking

or the aching for love

it is this very untamed ungraspable aliveness

pouring through itself

tumbling through these words

sliding off the page

through the mind stream

and gone forever


was it ever

was I ever

is there ever anything but love?


even shadows burn into light



how could an imaginary part of the dream know anything about the dream? only if there was an outside, an edge that could be crossed by this imaginary dream persona who could survey they dream scape and say, ‘oh my! this is a dream indeed!’

 there is no escape, no outside or inside to the dream, as inside and outside, like all this and that, is made up.

how is this known? it is a feeling of seamlessness that saturates the dream of things, and it is obvious always that there are no things no selves no others, no time or space or dimension or measurement actually  at all…. no actual at all, no nothing no everything, no emptiness no fullness…

all qualities and characteristics are made up, the very fabric of the dream is not, yet it appears to be…

there is no underlying real world or truth or any thing to find or lose, no destination, no other better or next. and somehow this is a feeling akin to love, and it feels beautiful…


I am the singing and the singing sings me

a call and answer love song

echos of echoes of echoes

bathed in moonlight on a moonless night

suspended caressed painted in the sliding colors of moon song

emerging dissolving reflected light without a sun or source, or the echo that I seem to be


…and my mouth my lips my heart sing of this simple blooming and wilting wonderment, and the flower that never becomes is this ache for this excruciatingly beautiful love that it can never hold or press in the pages of its heart, as it is this love without edges, this dancing of the heart….

echoing reverberating soaring wind songs written with sky in sky

space in space

love in love


suspended as the floating

soaring

without looking for wings or sky or sea or land

immeasurably unknowable…

concepts drifting through a conceptual world

if you say it is all the dream or love or god or nothing, that says nothing!

I simply say 'it is all love, there is no love' to say nothing even deeper, and I say there is no 'it' to be anything or nothing as no edges can be found... no edges are FELT. but edge-less-ness becomes a concept,  a 'thing' when named as does love as does nothing as does god…

this is utterly intimate, closer than your breath your heartbeat…

closer than love…


~~~~~


sunset burns her photographs, shatters painted windows, gathers the shards and ashes and scatters them across the night sky…

…and the shimmering burns the shadows in between the brilliance…


echo of moon soars,

gathers sound and silence into a dream of sky

firefly ignites

and fades… night disappears into night


that there is an underlying unchanging substance or source, even love or god etc., is not what this feels like...

although I say 'all is love', I always say 'there is no love’,

 ...simultaneously there are no things and yet, all and everything...

emptiness without emptiness, and, oh my!  fullness, life exploding and dissolving without a background of empty space, or against a sliding screen of time... 

life flows without movement or non movement, without time or timelessness, and it is not made of something, not even emptiness…

we are echoes of a heart song no one has ever sung


love sings us as we sing love…

nothing need be done

nothing can be done

love is, love is not, love blooms and drowns in a million shades of rain…


~~~~~


we are a dream of waves dancing, tumbling, crashing, and receding, never reaching the shore of a boundless sea of sparkling reflections,

drowned dissolved in the wetness from which we never emerge…

an ever erupting and collapsing heartbreakingly beautiful edgeless dance where the dancers and the dance are not two or one… or none…

spinning wildly without a dreamer or source, intangible illegible ephemeral, never actually blooming or wilting, we are the flowering, the heartbeat, the love in between time and space and nothing at all…


this life, a river of song of memory that has no source nor destination as the liquid ballet has no actual movement or non movement, and yet it is all we can ever know, we are as real as these other dancers, these other lovers that break our hearts with their untamable excruciating beauty…


this love of the dance is the dance, a ballet of this and that, emerging from and dissolving into itself, boundless-less-ness bursting from its imaginary seems…

this is mad wondrous love exploding all ideas of love, as there are no separate lovers, nor love, nor anyone at all… yet we find ourselves dancing, falling in love, a cascade of wonder that this ephemeral dream of love and lovers seems to fall through its own echo, its own reflection and there is no source to this flowing or any substance that flows, not even love… yet, it is all love somehow, love that has broken burnt smashed obliterated all ideas of love…

and the lushness the richness the sensuousness is undeniable

knowing somehow that love is an illusion is not the end of love…

it is always beginning and ending without a heartbeat in between

and that is our heartbeat… our song that sings us as we sing it

elusive ephemeral, not real nor un real

what is love? what is not, and who would know? who or what is separate from this edgeless flowing undeniable heartbreaking beauty?

only as imaginary separate lovers can we love…

real and unreal, a dream without without a dreamer…

a dream of two, of many, without one or none…

edgeless, all consuming elusive unknowable love, rippling streaming falling tumbling through itself

it is all love… there is no love


~~~~~


flocks of echoes swoop and swirl and skim a sea of reflections pouring through a dream of sea and sky and unfathomable beauty spiraling through itself…

stars ignite our eyes as love’s unquenchable fire consumes us

love’s dance is a ballet of one of two of many of none twisting turning rushing roaring kissing caressing eviscerating exploding searing burning our hearts our bodies our minds, extinguishing itself in every tear every breath every heartbeat, every word ever uttered, every song never sung

love slays you and herself simultaneously as you are love, yet there was never anything or anyone to slay


love is the story the fairytale that need not and cannot be believed as there is no one telling this story and no one listening... yet we are this call and answer love song, this chorus of one of many of none…

love caresses itself into being and consumes itself, love is all encompassing, there are no edges, no outside or inside, no place outside or inside of love


the sword of love pierces you in the deepest places you never knew existed, this is far more intimate than your most secrets thoughts and feelings... not even nothing is left, it never was, you never were, nor was love.... yet love swoops in and colors in the emptiness with echoes of echoes pouring through a labyrinth of reflections coming from nowhere going no where… and the fairytale continues to dance to pirouette in between never and forever, between infinity and no where, between the betweens angels sing this chorus of love


it no longer feels like there is a you separate from music, and there is a knowing that separate notes separate voices, separate lovers are required in this symphony of love

the idea of separate moments dissolves into an atemporal heaven of contrapuntal madness inseparable from sanity

polyphonic angels gather you into their wings of sound, and you are caressed, pierced, eviscerated and dissolved by love by everything by nothing at all, inside and outside dissolve into blooming exploding wonderment, and you are this music and you are this love and you are these wings of emptiness and fullness soaring.... with no substance or lack of substance, only sky soaring through sky, space through space, love through love….


love is the subject the object and the imaginary spaces in-between

a deep underwater current of love envelopes you and dissolves you and there is nothing but ocean... 


and the wind ran down the hill and chased the shadows in between


life kisses itself through your eyes your lips your mouth your tongue your blood your bones your heart... leaving an echo of a kiss …suspended dissolved in a waterfall of echoes... you can feel love's song ricochet across the canyon that has no walls no sky nor ground nor rushing river of love

sensuous sourceless aliveness falls through its own caress

wild mad love dances with itself and falls though her empty of arms, the ground falls away, and all dissolves into this

perfect

kiss