We are life electric

 when you are not.......

there is no happiness nor sorrow...

many write me
they long to erase themselves
they think there is a place outside of this human existence they can reach... a place always in the sun
a place without sorrow without pain....
without death
but there is no place outside of this worded world
this thought dream of this and that 
this is where love and beauty live and breathe
through the prism of you life seems to taste itself
feel its own aliveness
can you feel this pulsating aliveness?
is it in you or outside of you?
all sensation is a confirmation of your beautiful aliveness
all emotion is a confirmation of your beautiful humanness

face it, life as a human being is hard.
Life is full of great joy and deep deep sorrow and despair. 
No one gets out unscathed. 
Everyone has loved and lost love. 
We are blessed to know that life is precious and we are blessed to know that someday we and everyone we have ever known and loved will die. This brings about this preciousness.
most of all, we are blessed to love.

there is no other better more 
or next
yes, all separation is imaginary 
you are imaginary
trees mountains
time
is imaginary
love
is imaginary

oh! the first doves are swooping down to the frozen ground
I forgot to fill the feeders last night

always new and always familiar like a deja vu rolling through itself... neither forwards or backwards... neither still nor moving.... tears fall and they have no gravity...

there was never a place to land or a place to arrive... no one was falling... gravity an illusion, as lightness itself is an idea...

light and dark seem to caress you and your world into being
it is always only, and just as it seems

this is not like childhood for there was no knowing of the wowness that explodes in this never always first and last kiss...

there is no one or thing looking through these eyes... yet seeing seems to happen... hearing tasting touching 
feeling... 
an infinte seamless edgeless sensorial display
that has no actual things
yet all and everything seem to appear
a flower blooming
wilting
petals
tears
doves at the feeders



wind spins the empty skirts of dawn
shadows cartwheel across the garden
fallen leaves festooned with frost
frozen images
melt
it is all liquid
solidity is an illusion
as well as fluidity

and whence the light within this cathedral of winds?
winged waves of crystaline transparancy hover

on the edge of knowing
and unknowing
there is an aching beauty
you long for it and seek its name
but this has no name as it is not a thing that can be held
there are no hands separate from this watercolor dream
that paint it
there is no brush
nor canvass
nor colors....

there is only this edgeless seamless wonder
and cannot be known directly

without looking
a sideways glance...
there is awareness inseparable from the world of things
and inseparable from this seamless wonder
as unicity is the dream as well

there are no pointers for you to see this or get this
as you never can
this is a recognition that is beyond knowing
beyond you
beyond all ideas of beyond
trying to see beyond the seeing
it seems like your boundaries extend... 
can you ever find an edge to what seems to appear?
is there an edge?
is there an outside to all this
is there more
is there a next?

trying to grasp the beauty
you end up with a butterfly
pinned to the wall
a bucket of water
and more tears
and the end of rivers
flowing
into the shoreless sea

pictures of wind
fall through wind
colors slide off the photo
and saturate seamless empty space
love sweeps away all and everything
including herself
and reappears
pure
ungraspable
space-less space

this makes no sence
I am not trying to be clear
or obfuscate
I am simply an imaginary poet
of nonsense songs
I am not trying to soothe you
I cannot hold your hand
as you hover on the edge of knowing
and unknowing



emptiness of liquidity
rests in itself
echoes sleep on the bones of the earth
galaxies
spin
over your head
under your pillow
punctuate the dream of starlight
with whirlpools extending into infinity....
spinning inside you
more intimate than thought
all disappears as it seems to arise

wings of starlight breath night into your mouth
dark into your eyes
sound into silence
silence into sound

hum of the universe reverberates in your empty chest
there is no difference between inside and out
from whence the stars
from whence starlight?
where exactly is life?

the sun set in last nights dream
colors slid off the sun and into your heart
you bathed in the ache of beauty
swam in the overtones of no tomorrrow
and your heart sings
all you can ever know
is this unknowing
but you do not know
how this is known
there is no one 
no point in the universe
no star in the sky
that knows what starlight is
yet stars seem to bathe in starlight
they dance through your mind stream
echoes pirouette
like this
infinite
intimate
space
without space
emptiness
without emptiness
love
without
love



we are a current of love's echoes
drifting cloud beauty
consumed by love's seamless liquidity

you reach out to touch the shimmering that seems to be all around you
it slides through you.... it is the reaching itself
there is only light pouring into light... 
love pouring into love... 

and you want to sing of this all encompassing love and discover that you are the longing.... to share this beauty.... you are the song.... 
all is song
filling your ears
your mouth
your heart that is no longer yours
it never was
there was never a center to the cyclone
or an edge... 

there is no axis upon which the world spins
no center to the universe
no universe
without you
light shimmers in your synaptic gaps
heaven is in you
you are love's fire
burning itself

there is no space between these words
no gap inside the letters
christmas lights strung from tree to tree
illuminate the garden
bathing in summer's dream
in the midst of winter
memories soar and paint the wind
with the liquidity of yesterdays
and the hovering absence of all tomorrows

dove alights on the frozen ground
you can feel her warmth and softness
in your hands
in your heart
picking apart the words to find love
there are only empty feathers



opalescent skies
fade into
illegible transparency
what is the weight of memory?
how far does it extend?
further than your hands?
further than your heart?
further than love itself?
is there an end to love

we are richochets of love
the dream slides into and through itself
memories are liquid
you are memories pouring into a cup
of memory
drinking itself
tasting itself
only through imaginary separation
is there love
and the recogniton of it

how delicious the nectar of love
how baren when it feels like it is gone
but is it ever
gone?
did it ever begin?
the sensousness of life is obvious
burning brightly
whatever it looks or feels like
is it love
is it not?
life caressing you into being
with memory
a tale of distant shadows
ears roaring
seas crashing
tides encroaching
and receding

leaving scrolls of seaweed you cannot read
empty shells that hold the memory of ocean song
or is it your blood
your very aliveness 
you hear?



she tried to hold memories of yesteryear in the palm of her heart
liquid fire burning
holes in the sliding picture show of her life
ashes of love's sublime taste
bittersweet on her tongue
her inner core melted
all assumed solidity vanished into afterimages of snowflakes
delicate tracery on the window
sliding 

tears of all that never was
and never will be
nor anything that is
or is not
nourish the roots of emptiness
that had been pulling her feet
into the earth
the very ground of being collapses
and no one falls
into infinite spaciousness
empty of space
there is no breath
in or out

liquidity blooms and has no words
but there is awareness of it
the imaginary split begins
but there is always knowing that there are no two
nor one
nor none

and she hears a voice 
is it hers
she has no answer
there are no questions
she seems to arise as a singer
when there is someone to listen
to remember the song of young girl
a woman
a songster
a liquid dream of memory
colors soar through falling rainbows
there is no painter of the dream
no paint
no dream

and I love you she says
again and again and again
because she does

not knowing or caring what love is
feels like love



what ripped the universe and shreded the known world?
the fillagree of thought that seemed to split this most delicious liquidity into this and that became transparent
and revealed
not even nothing under her twirling skirts
it was the belief and feeling in solidity that shattered
on that day in may
many years ago
and this world changed
I changed as the thought stream changed
there was no more looking for what cannot be found
or lost
and no looking for why these songs flow
arching across the universe
dancing through the imaginary spaces in between
nothing
and everything
the passion play bursts into a ballet of stars
falling
burning before they kiss the ground
twirling on the edge of the known and the unknown
breathlessly beautiful
autumn leaf in the winter wind

self luminous un-owned love swooned through itself and left a winged kiss in the imaginary space in-between us
brush of aliveness has no color without the prism that you are
memory slides through transparent layers of unknowing and anoints the mountains with morning
and this song with a singer
and someone who listens
peers inside the shell of moonlight
and hears her reflection
bathing in the ripples of moon



there is no finding anyone or thing that is beautiful or not beautiful.,, there is no saying 'all is wondrous' for there is no 'all', and that would have no meaning, but none of these words have  meaning or non meaning as meaning is a word... word is a word... so there is nothing but these streaming words that require other words to define them, there is no definition, there are no lines... period. 
yet words like wondrousness and beauty and love seem to appear and stream into the dream anointing all and everything with this undeniable wondrousness and beauty and
love

I listen with a friend to videos about aliens and many theories about the universe which are not mainstream and it is not more or less true than the ones I study for my nutrition degree... 
all beliefs, all theories, are arrangements of separate assumed things, and the patterns are wondrous. truly amazing the ideas that flow... that any ideas flow at all... that thought is an idea, that ideas are ideas, and that somehow there are questions and explanations about 'what is going on'. 
Some theories seem to be helpful for survival... tiger... DANGER! etc. or just feel good stuff, like sunshine and love... but it never ever feels like there are separate things that can be arranged into some kind of understanding... not that any story feels true or false, there is the story that true and false are stories.... and I am a story of liquid beliefs and preferences but there is no one to be found, no beliefs to be found, no preferences to be found.... this morning I reached for a well cooked sweet potato

and as I watch these words these worlds spill onto this lighted screen in a dark room, the morning sleeps

how could there be separate things and events? this aliveness cannot be punctuated by bleeps and pauses, by right and wrong, by perfection and imperfection, for indeed there is no meaning nor non meaning, no movement nor stillness,
the hush before morning sings

and saying what appears to be going on is a story
its all story, made up
even this



desire is the movement of life
as soon as it seems like you appear in a universe of things
there is this flowing which requires its banks,
a background of space and time,
and a thing or things rushing relentlessly into a shoreless sea

wandering the beaches of infinity
looking for the perfect peace
longing to erase the desire that you are feels like chasing your tale
or is this your tale chasing you?
when are you
when are you not?
is there someone to be life?
can you find an outside to what seems to appear
and a you separate from it
or is the illusion of a solid stable you
an assumption

edgeless liquidity pours through itself and the ocean sings of its own wetness 
words melt into each other and time falls apart
brilliant seamless stillness is an echo of itself

you many search for an intuited knowing of this piercing luminosity
but it is in the looking
it may sound elusive and like a prize to achieve
but is the sunrise a prize?
can you capture daylight and put it under your pillow so that you may see the night?

looking for the magic
is magical

the longing that you long to end
is what you are

I am this longing, but it no longer feels like there is something missing
it feels super complete in itself
love flowing into love
light pouring into light
space into space
emptiness into emptiness
there is no love
no light
no space
no emptiness


desire is the movement of life
as soon as it seems like you appear in a universe of things
there is this flowing which requires its banks,
a background of space and time,
and a thing or things rushing relentlessly into a shoreless sea

wandering the beaches of infinity
looking for the perfect peace
longing to erase the desire that you are feels like chasing your tale
or is this your tale chasing you?
when are you
when are you not?
is there someone to be life?
can you find an outside to what seems to appear
and a you separate from it
or is the illusion of a solid stable you
an assumption

edgeless liquidity pours through itself and the ocean sings of its own wetness 
words melt into each other and time falls apart
brilliant seamless stillness is an echo of itself

you many search for an intuited knowing of this piercing luminosity
but it is in the looking
it may sound elusive and like a prize to achieve
but is the sunrise a prize?
can you capture daylight and put it under your pillow so that you may see the night?

looking for the magic
is magical

the longing that you long to end
is what you are

I am this longing, but it no longer feels like there is something missing
it feels super complete in itself
love flowing into love
light pouring into light
space into space
emptiness into emptiness
there is no love
no light
no space
no emptiness

all is space 
all is light
all is emptiness 
all is love


darkness bleeds into the air
fleeting images blossom and fade like waves of long summer grasses
ribbons of sunset fade into twilight
memories of fireflies alight and receede
I am memories of moon
when there is none

I am a photograph of wind
that slid off the paper
and dissolved into wind reflection

ripples of sky
have no substance
other than sky
sky has no substance
outside of the word
there is no outside
or inside
where is the middle of thought

middle is a funny word
kinda like jiggle
all these words fall apart
it was only thought that seemed to hold them together
the story writes itself
all is a trick of reflections
simply memory filling in the blank
that gaping maw of emptiness
that you get a glimpse of sometimes
when you look in the mirror
and if there is nothing
here
what does that say about there?


life feels like a liquid three d light and sound show... with no center or edge. no things or lack of things yet all and everything seem to appear. 
imaginary edges are not noticed unless needed, the body and imaginary self seem to continue, somewhat like before. there is a undeniable wonderment/stillness, like the hush before dawn.

it is not like being a nothing or an everything, or a still wind, more like an elegant music playing itself and all thingness including me are its reverberations




love sings to herself and we are her echo
this is a dance of reflections and there is no source
nor mirror
colors slide off the rainbow and leave traces of forgotten shadows bathing in a dream of light

this seamless edgelsss liquidity appears to flow into and through itself with waves and currents and rippling irridescence and this picture show is all encompassing, swallowing even its own wonderment

you can never pass through this solitude
you can never escape this longing
this is the house of love
it is what you longed for and feared
you cannot enter or leave
it seems you can look out
but there is no out
and really no in
nothing is defined
not you nor love
we are the definitions
what is sky
what is blue
what is love
what are you

imaginary lines are formed by this web of thought
that has never captured a thing
not even itself

autumn leaf spins in the winter wind
breaks free
just for a moment
soars up into clear blue
softly softly 
floats
to the frozen ground




seekers feel deeply an underlying dissonance of intuiting this seamless indivisible edgless liquid dreamscape and counter feeling of imaginary solidity of the known, mentally fabricated made up worded world. and it hurts
I remember

I simply point out the indivisible nature of this brillant immediacy
which you intuit deeply
but can never capture or know in the conventional sense

this unknowing is feared and longed for....
for if there are no things
what does that say about you

and the impossible beauty of this brilliant immediacy

there is no finding anyone or thing that is beautiful or not beautiful.,, there is no saying 'all is wondrous' for there is no 'all', and that would have no meaning, but none of these words have  meaning or non meaning as meaning is a word... word is a word... so there is nothing but these streaming words that require other words to define them, there is no definition, there are no lines... period. 
yet words like wondrousness and beauty and love seem to appear and stream into the dream anointing all and everything with this undeniable wondrousness and beauty and
love

I listen with a friend to videos about aliens and many theories about the universe which are not mainstream and it is not more or less true than the ones I study for my nutrition degree... 
all beliefs, all theories, are arrangements of separate assumed things, and the patterns are wondrous. truly amazing the ideas that flow... that any ideas flow at all... that thought is an idea, that ideas are ideas, and that somehow there are questions and explanations about 'what is going on'. 
Some theories seem to be helpful for survival... tiger... DANGER! etc. or just feel good stuff, like sunshine and love... but it never ever feels like there are separate things that can be arranged into some kind of understanding... not that any story feels true or false, there is the story that true and false are stories.... and I am a story of liquid beliefs and preferences but there is no one to be found, no beliefs to be found, no preferences to be found.... this morning I reached for a well cooked sweet potato

and as I watch these words these worlds spill onto this lighted screen in a dark room, the morning sleeps

how could there be separate things and events? this aliveness cannot be punctuated by bleeps and pauses, by right and wrong, by perfection and imperfection, for indeed there is no meaning nor non meaning, no movement nor stillness,
the hush before morning sings

and saying what appears to be going on is a story
its all story, made up
even this



everyone knows this great aloneness
this vast emptiness that rages in your heart
everyone recognises the simple magic of this immediate aliveness
that looks and feels like anything at all
including the fear
the lonliness
the joy
the sorrow

it is obvious that life spontaneously appears
and dissolves simultaneously
including the thought that something makes it happen
thought does not linger
it does not hold anything
or nothing

the longing for life to be or feel differently hurts
because it always only looks and feels like it does
there is no past to retreat into
and future is simply ideas
liquid memory filling in the blank of unknowing
a seeming continuation of the story of you

and you are
a story
fleeting flowing description
a thought dream 
as all imaginary solidity is created with thought
thought is learned shared words
there are no things under the words just waiting to be caught by them
hanging out on the beach
watching the sunset
waiting for words like beach
and sunset
to paint beaches and sunsets in the mind stream

these things exist only in the naming of them
and
well
that is a story neither true or false
true and false are stories
like this
a circular love dream spinning a web of motion
a whirlpool of thought
where you seem to arise in the center
and all things are separate from you
including that love that you long for

it's quite a connundrum from which you can never escape
you are this thought dream
spinning itself
an dream spell of words
cast by no one
caught by no one
we are the enchantment



all ideas of other better more or next
vanish
all ideas of perfection
vanish
all ideas are ideas

description
flowing
this liquid world cannot be held
nor can thought that seems to punctuate it with things and events and people and
colors
and ideas like description
and flowing
and thought



such unutterable beauty sings itself and somehow our lips find the words our heart has always known



Caught in the tailwinds of her own desire 
She spun around into and through herself 
as the wind soared through its own voice
she heard her echo floating....
far and near collided into this impossible dream of wonderment
there had never been a place to arrive 
and no one Traveling... searching the sky 
For sky



and it is heartbreakingly beautiful to realize that all ideas of trees and mountains and 
endless sky
were only ideas... as real and as weighty as thought...

and it breaks your heart to realize that all you have loved
all your hopes and fears and dreams
were simply dreams...

and that realizing this
is the same dream...

and that there was never anyone to realize this
nor anything to be realized
this ephemeral flowing dreamscape
is a spell conjured by no one
all words are magic
gutteral eminations that seem to create things like
trees and mountains and
endless sky
and words

what seems to appear is simply all that ever seems to appear
and it is magical
and wondrous beyond measure
that this edgeless seamless liquidity
this banquet of sensorial display spontaneously appears
and is recognized
and this recognition of it
is it
and there are no 'its'

and this broken hearted beauty is indeed what I call love
no one exists in a tree-less sky-less love-less world

seamless edgeless ocean of love
paints itself
sings to itself
and her song is love
there are no separate parts
no separate voices
yet it is a chorus
of you and me and we
and it is the apparent intervals between the notes
the spaces between the lovers
where music and love dance

from whence the song of love
when it is all love



we are these shared learned words. they give an assumed understanding because they all seem to fit together, they all reference one another and form a net of thought, which is really like a net of razors seemingly slicing up this edgeless seamless symphony of perception into separate things and events. finding new words to describe this will not capture anything because there is nothing to capture
shooting stars burn themselves
there is no place to land
nothing to land
love builds a pyre of all that you have ever known about yourself and the world and you are gone
then she lays in her own fire
fire burns itself
life burns itself as it arises
there is no past or future or now
nothing separate from life to capture it
no things to hold
no one to hold on to this obvious magic
this preciousness of life appearing all by itself
as soon as we feel fully separate 
around eight
we know this great aloneness
which we try to escape our entire lives
but without imaginary separation
we are not
love is not
there is no awareness of life
and love
and of being aware
the greatest treasure in the universe
is this imaginary division
you are it
you are the unique lens where life gets to taste its own magic
and bask in its own mystery and majesty


there is no knowing what is going on other than it seems to be doing itself
no outside to all this
and no inside
there is no going back there is no next
this aliveness seems to look and feel like anything at all




some say that it sounds like I romanticize this by calling it love...
what else but love? and yes, this is in a way a romance... 
this is life having a love affair with itself... 
it is through your lips that life kisses itself, through you that life touches tastes and feels its own aliveness.... 
this is sensuous, liquid love falling in love with itself... 
because of this imaginary division this split in the universe there is an echo.... of an echo.... and it hears itself...
we are the reverberations, the overtones and undertones, 
shadows dancing on a canyon wall, but there is no dancer... 
all of life dances, sparkles, shimmers in your synaptic gaps, 
we are life electric, and a current of love seems to pull us along, riding the tail winds of our own desire, we are life's song and her song is love




there cannot be an intellectual understanding of this. it is either a lived experience that there are no things or non things, no selves or non selves, no others, no more better or next, ....or not
there are no words to sing of this as all words slice up this seamless edgeless fluid unknowable symphony of life, and poetry seems to work best, but that is my opinion and I am these opinions and beliefs and this is a belief 




I am the song of memory
ancient and new
raw unfettered rip tides
caught and released into the ocean from which they spring
and never leave

time is an arrow that pierced your heart
and froze the back beat of your life into a drone of constant sorrow
but the soaring magic of this obvious music is never lost

as the words slide through the pages of your life
they begin to sound like a foreign language
simply a beautiful song
sung by no one
about a dream girl
who lost her footsteps
as her feet melted into cloud castles
she had been aching to reach
one day

but that day never came
it always was
this dream time melody
sings me into love's beautiful song
and it sounds
just
like 
this