Sunday, August 22, 2021

just this love

 moonlight follows the footprints of night 

traces the ridges of the high cliffs

pours down the canyon…

dancing through tree lace

it flows through the shadowing

sweeps through the garden

slides through the window

caresses my fingers

is a word in this poem


it rushes through waves of wind

gathers in the wet of yesterdays rain

mirrors the sky.  


mirroring moon halo’d sky


I searched for the other side of love

and fell into the abyss of no tomorrow 

where there was no moon song beckoning

no wind to bloom

no trees to fall

no hearts to break

love eviscerated all ideas of love


your heart breaks 

along with you and your world

and will never be put back together

as nothing was ever broken

pulled apart by the wings of love

there is only 

sky

soaring

through sky


~~~~~



looking for the wonderland dream seems to push away rainbows


looking for ideas of love seems to paint an empty heart


you were always love’s iridescence soaring through waterfalls of color... 

a dream of echoes cascading through the song of love's magnificence, 

no looking was required, as there are no things to find, not even a looker



~~~~~



stars beckon from across the horizon

‘come and listen to the other side of night…’


you are the beauty of side-less wonder

the hush before dawn that sings the day

bleeding heaven through your veins

and pouring love through your heart


…and through our tears

we recognize this obvious unfathomable love light


smooth stones fall from your secret pocket…

cast into the daydream they are 

strewn across the surface of sky

rippling 

oceans of reflections

without light

shimmering echoes of echoes of echoes….

without sound

without silence

love sings












Just This Love





all and everything is a love song singing itself

no one need sing it as there is only singing

there is no denying this hauntingly beautiful song

aliveness blooms and wilts simultaneously

no separate flowers can be found

and picked

there is no separate thing called love


beauty hovers

in the fading echos of footfalls

in your drying tears

and the softness of no tomorrow…

in the sigh of rainbow winds

settling into sunset

in the fullness of love

and the emptiness of love’s demise


love hovers

in the ache of the evening

and the chorus of night

where there are no horizons

to rise or fall

no one to bathe in eternal light

or to be vanquished in love

or death


love hovers

in this very breath

this very love song

that sings you

this very thought stream swirling into a dream

of lovers

swirling

hovering

living

dying





moon slides across the sleeping desert

echos dream of footfalls

and endless wandering,

and wondering

when the treasure will be found…


the map had been folded and unfolded until the creases looked like clues


as it ripped out the meaning of direction

and the meaning of meaning

a heavy load dropped to the ground

then the ground fell away

tossed into a whirlpool of stars

I am the enchantment, the dream spell of starlight


the story that I am is nakedly intimate

stories that you are

that love is

and is not…

there is no belief in this wonderland dream song

all and everything a symphony of wonderment

unknowable unfathomable 

unthinkable, that all things are created by thought

amazed at this amazement,

and that there is love in this splendiferous dream song!

never separate nor joined, not one nor two nor many nor none


people ask me if this is like the movie, the Matrix,

yes, kind of, except there is no ‘real world’ to wake up to.

awakening is the simple realization that this, just as it seems to appear, 

is a dream world, and I am no more or less real than all my dream lovers swirling through the thought stream, bathed and held and swept away in the tides of ancient moon.

this dream is no more or less real than the night time dream, or your dream, or any other dream, as ‘real’ and ‘unreal’ are part of the dream. 



~~~~~



there is no one separate from the universe

and no universe to be separate from, other than in the thought stream, where there are no separate things called thoughts


only in the thought stream are you bathing in infinite layers of color and sound, soaring as wind blown sky 

watching the sky blow wind

into trails of unending wonderment 

illegible are the clouds as they dissolve

leaving dragon wings singing through the mirrored halls of memory

ricochets of echoes paint you and your world

the swoop of a dove right next to your window

as she soars through the rippling 





ripped apart by sky diamonds

there is only shimmering




just this momentary

neither flowing nor still

hovering between existence and non existence

just this breath

just this

love



~~~~~



a flock of stars rushed through my heart and I dissolved into echos of sky

pirouette of light streams through light

is it a star spinning this daydream of night?

thought seems to paint pictures 

there is no sound or light or color before thought

it may seem that there is ‘something’ before thought

but before is a thought

this feeling is just the intuited knowing that all ‘things’ are empty

including emptiness 


~~~~~


my heart is an empty spiral

echoes of ancient tides

caress the song of aloneness stars sing

we seem to dance in each other’s luminescence

but we can never really touch


~~~~~


we are each other's favorite song

whose thought dream is playing?

…life feels like an unowned love song.... 

the words crack open and there is nothing inside, 

yet when the skin of sound is removed

all there is, is this love song, singing you and me and love itself


words and silence seem to dance in spirals

interweaving this tapestry of wonder

that cannot be kissed with words

or silence


~~~~~


life is as 'real' as it 'seems'

what is real what is unreal? these are concepts to denote how 'solid' thought feels. belief in thought makes the dream thought paints feel real. awakening is the end of belief in thought, the end of belief in belief

the end of the feeling of separation, of separate things divided by space and events divided by time


there is no territory, it’s all map


~~~~~



no moon is full of empty darkness

it pools in secret shadows

where your deepest secrets hide


the terror of the excruciating fullness and absence of love,

and the fear of this all encompassing brilliance…

this fire is your own extinction

and the extinction of light


love promises to complete you

but obliterates you

you find yourself swallowed

whole

by your own emptiness


no one can hold this

no name can catch it for there is no it

waterfalls of words fall through it as they sing it

this chorus of unutterable wonder 

streaming though unbearable beauty


your heart drops

plummets through time

time falls through eternity…

life falls through life

soaring on wings of death

just this butterfly kiss

and this dagger plunging

ripping apart the heart of words

the very fabric of you

beliefs of life and death and love

they are just threads of thought

trails of words and letters


tattered dream light

sings the demise of ancient moon songs

hovering between echoes

rips the sky into trails of reflections

where sunsets bathe

in clouds of wonder



~~~~~


we can never know what anything is like for another as they exist, as do we, in this edgeless seamless ribbon of thought that paints us and our world. 

we are ultimately alone, and yet there is no one to be alone. 

all there is, is this dream spell spun by thought, spinning itself, spinning things called thought and feeling and love, and…



~~~~~


enlightenment is the dream of knowing you are a dreamt character in a dream of separate things and events, that all time, dimension, causality, all qualities and characteristics, all distinction, all division, all measurement, as well as ideas like 'wholeness' or ‘oneness’ or ‘enlightenment’ are made up. 

there is no convincing you of this, as this does not happen to you, 

an imaginary persona in this dream of separation. 

this is not a belief or understanding or a philosophy, it is a profound shift in perspective


there are no ‘enlightened’ people

there are no things divided by space nor events strung along a timeline

there is only what seems to appear, 

looking and feeling like anything at all

self arising and simultaneously self erasing

without time or timelessness

without movement or non movement

there is no other

takes yer breath away, don’t it?


~~~~~




layers of hope and fear that imprisoned your heart crack and dissolve

edgeless fearless love




love slid under the back door while she stood on the threshold

waiting

for the kiss of starlight

for the rush of a momentary she thought she had lost


she was the struggling to dance away from the tether of earth…

to dissolve into this breath this heartbeat

this great maw of love


whirling around to face her own reflection

her own nakedness

her own emptiness…

there was no one wearing a garland of echoes!


empty eyes


wept


her heart a shell 

unwinding spirals of stars

constellations drawn on the window

melted into dawn

plunged in darkness washed in light

she fell into acres of sky



~~~~~



I am a waterfall of echoes twirling down the sidewalk

cascades of wonder pour through my eyes

are these tears or raindrops shimmering in the street lights

songs sung and forgotten on this midsummer’s night



~~~~~



after the drought

spring flowers in august 



born by the tides of night and day

kissed by moon song and the melting sun

far away rivers pour through my heart

ripping stories of millions into the fabric of night

tattered and burnt into the story of light


wind sweeps sunset across the barren sky

fiery reds pierce the echoes of my heart

horizon bleeds into its own absence

twilight beckons with her ancient shadows

filling every corner with the ache of night


I am a serenade of wind dancing with her own song

drowned and born again in the taste of starlight




~~~~~



softly 

softly 

liquid moon

pours through these words that pour light into light

roundness of vowels fills your mouth

staccato of consonants

explode through your teeth and tongue

run through your thought stream…

painting this very breath

and deep deep shadows flowing through the garden


love is a poem suspended between time and timelessness

words hover on the edge of forever and never

spill color into the dream spell

weave this very song

where we float

suspended

between light and dark

knowing there is no other mystery

no other dream

no other beauty


no other love

simply this brilliant immediacy

this obvious aliveness

un-contained

un fettered

un knowable

edgeless aliveness

without an outside or inside

'this' is not an it

all there is, is this

yet there is no this or that,

nor more or other or better or next…


what can be said when every word seems to create separate things…

'this' does not arise from something like emptiness or nothingness or boundless energy... and does not go anywhere

there are no where's to go...

nor anyone to go…

yet this painted dreamscape of everything and nothing seems to appear, simultaneously self arising and self erasing, never actually existing as a thing

you cannot hold it or capture it or enter or escape it

there is no home to leave or return to

you are an enchantment of words as are all things...

why this dream

why this beauty

why this love

why this?


and golden finches hang upside down on the sunflowers

and the traffic

and the hot summer noon


~~~~~


we are reflections hovering in a dream of streaming liquid light

this and that spinning into a story of mirrors dancing...

there is no tale to chase

nor place to arrive

lost in the enchantment of wonder

fathered echoes

singing

liquid eyes

weeping


just this stunning aliveness, a symphony of echoes, never  separate or not separate, notes falling through silence, silence through sound, 

this stream of life neither flowing nor still.... 

and it is all so heartbreakingly beautiful and wondrous that imaginary colors seem to appear and look for the source of rainbows... 

songs seem to sing themselves and look for a non existent singer.... 

light seems to magically appear, yet there is no source,

starlight streams through my fingertips as these words soar across the screen filling in imaginary empty spaces with poems with songs with words trailing….


coming from no where... leading no where.... they break apart as soon as they seem to condense on a liquid mirror… images melting into your fingertips as you draw pictures of hands... reaching out to touch... 

that which can never be touched.... as there is no that... and there is no this... real, unreal, surreal, what do they mean? can you find a now can you find someone who is in the now or out of this dream of space and time and
rainbows
falling
through cascades of color….


~~~~~



promising the seeker an end to seeking

is like promising a treasure hunter a pot of gold... yet the seeker can never have this 'end of seeking’, as they are the seeking... no gold miner has ever stopped mining for gold, it defines them, even when the seam of ore runs out, if they ever found one... they will scratch the ground... looking for this imaginary ground of being... looking for solidity, for knowing, for certitude, when there is none...

self is the assumption of knowing and the assumption that there is a thing called knowing... and that there is a someone to know...

yet all there is, is this obvious unknowable aliveness


what can be said when there is no what, and no one to say it?

….all I can say is I love you

knowing there is no me or you or love makes not a whit of difference


~~~~~


looking for who you truly are keeps you spinning

chasing a tale you can never find… as you are the story of searching

you are a sea of echos seeking

echoes


light woven from light

flowing into and through a boundless ocean of light

transparent filaments of ideas

spinning and erasing a flowing web of dreams

there is nothing that you truly are 

and nothing that you have never been


outside of logic, outside of outside

trying to pull apart the dark

looking for wings of sky



~~~~~



all theories about enlightenment, including this one, are self referential. 

they are merely words swirling around each other, seemingly weaving a web that may feel like it captures something called truth or love, yet there is simply nothing to capture


 finding value or not in words, ideas, is natural

I read many books that I found valuable before the shift, but after,…

 they all sounded... like they were reaching for the stars, and had no starlight... endless circling trying to catch a center... and there was no center, nor edge, just a thought dream dreaming itself


 I would never say that a seeker is wrong or right in doing this or reading that, 

there is no wrong or right, there is no seeker….

 

and if you feel your heart song echoing back to you... 

well then, you will stop at nothing to listen

and that is beautiful


~~~~~



the thing called thought originates from the word, the thought, 'thought'... all things are created from thought. there are no things underneath their names. 

things arise in the very naming

beliefs are thoughts that feel real somehow, or solid.

all and everything exists in the mind, or thought stream. 

all qualities all time, dimension, measurement, distinction, all this and that, are mentally fabricated. 

there are no 'miles' or 'kilometers' 'out there'! 

your night time dreams are filled with light, where did that come from? the same as in the day time dream. all are ideas... peace love, enlightenment, real, unreal, this, that, here, there, next... you, me, love.... all of it, the whole kit and caboodle is mentally fabricated.


you are ideas. words, concepts... no one has them

what would you be without all these ideas of enlightenment, of better, of more, of next….


softly softly

morning

trembles under the darkening sky


~~~~~


people ask me to help them find their 'true self'

if they cannot find it perhaps there is none.... 

is there a 'false' self?

if seekers had never heard of enlightenment they would not seek it.... what would you be without all those ideas about enlightenment

if you cannot find enlightenment perhaps it doesn't exist! 

perhaps you are the looking? 


~~~~~


this elegantly unknowable dance of this and that

this waltz of one without other

nor one

nor both

nor neither

there is no source of these echos without sound

or silence

no light that dances these reflections


pirouette of thought

has no center or edge

has no movement or non movement

nor any things or non things at all

it creates itself

as there is no thought without the word

thought


nothing can be said ‘about’ this

as everything said is this

and there is no this or that

or both

or neither


and you fall though the echo of your own aloneness

not even nothing is left

hovering

between this and that

is it all a dream? how would we know if we are dreamt? how could a mirage know from whence it came? all stories spin a tale of time and space and things and events. the dream spell self arises and self erases simultaneously, not even echoes are left hanging....


the seasons coming and going, the spell of memory, of thought, seems to paint leaves falling and spin the tale of an unchanging 

 you or awareness or consciousness or love... 

but all things are thought created, even thought is a made up thing. 


brain, consciousness, awareness… are mentally fabricated. 

brain, like sky and mountains and trees refers to the assumed physical world which we can never actually know, as we are also made up.

however, this story is also made up. there is no escape from the tale that spins us, these words that enchant us, as we are the enchantment....


there is no looking for a 'big' story that nails down the dream, wonder requires no architect... and it is all indeed wondrous, this atemporal thought dream ...galaxies, universes spinning.... this spiraling dream of separation that paints light and dark and colors... and trees and mountains and brains…..



we are imagined ... and this is unimaginable. yet it can be 'known' somehow and felt that there are no things nor selves, no moon or sky or mountains.... simply seamless beauty.... soaring in love as love through love


~~~~~


falling off the edge of words

falling through the skin of sound

a dream dreaming a dream... shared learned thought is the I-cloud…

the shared learned thought, the thought stream is the 'god stream'

the thought steam names itself... 

self arising and simultaneously self releasing.... 

just like this


~~~~~


people tell me to look deeper to find my true self, or the god within, and get angry when I say I cannot find anyone to look.... and no within or without….

seeing through the dream of separation is knowing there are no separate emotions, or car jams or lovers 

to dance

and fall in love


yet, here were are laughing and weeping

and falling….

painted and dissolved in the water color dreamscape of love


~~~~~


weight-less is

the stuff of dreams

moonlight hovers on the other side of the horizon 

waiting 

for the sea to fall into its beautiful empty arms



naked wild love

is this constant union of what was never apart

this kiss of no tomorrow

of nothing and everything 

of never and forever

the tsunami crashes through its own wetness…

atemporal seamless beauty

floats 

in the empty dream of time and space


there are no footsteps to trace…

no wings to hold the sky

there are no wind swept beaches to wander

no one looking for sunset to pour light and color into her reflection 

waiting for the vastness of ocean songs to consume her nakedness

and plunge her heart into unfathomable depths 

where sorrow and joy 

kiss

she was an echo of of ancient sea dreams

the ache for another day


 mirage of empty shadows and light spins

dreams unfold their wings and beat your heart

a love song erupts that can never fill the vacancy in your chest

this all encompassing emptiness is you

it is only in the heartbeat of this and that

that we seem to emerge

neither empty nor full nor in between

heartbreakingly beautiful 

we are this lover’s dance of everything and nothing at all

love is the echo of our shared aloneness 


I was the looking for a core, an essential element, a true nature of this obvious aliveness…..

finding only this obvious aliveness, not separate from anyone looking!

I was the unravelling of all and everything, of time and space, 

of the nothingness in-between the betweens….


infinitely intimate this sweet and terrible embrace, this hush obliterating all sound and silence

yet echoing in the depths of my edgeless heart

as love ripped even this dream song with shreds of mirroring sky


words fell out of the corners of my eyes

and spilled across the vastness


tears are reflections of

 the fullness and emptiness of love

exquisite how this life this love caresses me from the inside and out

love consumes all sides

and ravishes herself


warm and wonderful is the tender beauty of whatever you think you are 

pouring through oceans of time

long stretches of sand and the lapping waves of midnight

swirl through your ancient footsteps

starlight pools in your tear filled eyes

 pulls you into endless sky

drinks the silence that obliterates your longing for heaven


there is no one behind the horizon 

dancing a ballet of light and dark

no one who sees starlight hovering in front of the sun

no one who aches for this longing that I am

this beautiful meandering love song

this longing 

for just

this



~~~~~


what a beautiful crazy world of broken hearts

longing to be mended

who could ever hold all this love?


~~~~~


I could never ever ever have believed or imagined that all of life, just as it seems to appear, is truly wondrous beyond measure and simply the treasure, the magic, the love I had been seeking.


all words are defined by other words, all ideas reference other ideas, and seem to create a seamless solid universe, but there is a big gaping hole in the center and the outline is a whirling burnt stick, or thought, that leaves no trail or echo


sky songs bleed into sky

words anoint the day

spiraling the hush of night

into star shadows


~~~~~


this is pure intensity, not of a thing, or absence of things… 

an ecstasy of unassailable unknowing 


liquid prism of light

flows through the colors it paints

and I am softly

rainbows


~~~~~


rushing to find what is on the other side of the horizon... the horizon rushes with you, and is inseparable from you as are the ideas of other, better, more and next.... 


trying to capture the ripples in a pond seems to make more rippling... 

is there a you separate and apart from the rippling, the water, the reflections of your beautiful face and the trees behind you, now in front of you, now disappearing as the waters calm? 


how could there be a you separate from thought? can you find a listener of thought or a looker for the listener? 


all of life seems to happen all at once, perception, its recognition, thought, ...no other can be found... and all these 'separate parts' are really not separate, it is only thought that designates them as things, as ripples, as wind, as water, stillness and moving, and trees and leaves, and tears,,,, falling.... and the more words the more things are painted into this dream scape that you are, within and without…


where is the line between you and the wind... your tender skin? 

is there wind without the word wind? 

oh you may say, ‘I can feel the wind, I can see the tree tops dancing so sensuously in the canyon breezes’, 

but if you are not there, if you are asleep is there wind? 

you can say that there was wind last night, 

but that is an assumption, yes? 


perhaps all 'knowing' is assumption. 

describe the morning without words….

 well, surely there must be things under the words! 

where does the tree begin, in the deep deep roots you cannot see? 

when there is no thought, you and your world disappear.... 

go ahead and take some 'thing' out of 'all this'.... 

where are you going to put it? 

is there an outside to 'all this'? 

how about an inside.... 

and I know you have never found time.... or a separate thought, or a separate moment, or that never arising next….


clearly, without a doubt life does itself, as no pusher or puller of life can be found, …no before life, when life is waiting in the wings, just about to go on, and no after, when life walks off the dance floor wondering about how the performance went.... 


and no audience can be found as the looker is the dance as well... that there are a bunch of things that are interconnected somehow, is just a trick of thought, that even names itself, ‘thought’, and somehow seems to become a thing... 


thought is a beginning-less and endless atemporal spiral with no separate parts... spinning the dream of things, of you and me and things like love and tomorrow.... 

that there is a physical world 'out there' is an assumption... 

for some reason we do not believe that the night time dream is 'real'... why not? 

perhaps it is simply the constant repetition of the day time dream…


when the dream of separation is no longer believed it is not the end of the dream, simply no more looking for it’s ‘realness’

there is no more looking for solidity or liquidity

there is no more looking

as the treasure you were searching for is obvious and was always obvious

it simply could not be found



~~~~~



and the long dark night erases even the echo of your tears

as you awaken to a dream of unutterable beauty

you had never left

nor were you ever there


empty moon shimmers 

gathers you in her rippling reflection

you were never separate from love’s embrace


echoes rip the sky into mirrored shards

liquid waves of memory anoint the named place

wind sings your name but there are no eyes to touch it

no one is separate from the wind

as it folds into your flowering

releases infinite petals from your edgeless heart

lit from within and without

flowing lanterned songs caress the blossoming

of this unspeakable love



mind blowing-ly wondrous, although no one is enchanted, 

simply this enchantment

grey bird over the silvering sea


~~~~~



why do I fall deeply in love with everyone I meet?

there is no reason

there is no special quality or characteristic that you have or that you are... there is no 'core', no essential nature of others or self, no love inside or outside that flows through all and everything 'recognizing' itself. it is more the wonder of not knowing what love is, not knowing what beauty is, that seems like the wonder of love....

but when I see you I know you somehow, I know your humanness, and your shining is unmistakable. no need to smile, tears are wonderful, no need to do or say anything in particular for me to fall in love with you,

pass me on the sidewalk and I swoon at your utter beauty...

perhaps it is the knowing that we are not separate, that we are not at all, that nothing is, yet here we are... overwhelmingly wondrous, this dream of love dreaming itself…



~~~~~


rain

doves do not pause

nor does love


as this is not an understanding, there is no clarity to be found or lost, or gathered into the emptiness, …the unknowing you are trying to fill but never can as you are the trying, and this emptiness cannot be filled, even with emptiness


there is no emptiness or fullness and yet simultaneously, inseparably, all and everything seem to appear and THERE! is the magic you were looking for


~~~~~



cast adrift on a wind-less sea

my heart dropped and all dissolved into edgeless love

a million moons pour through me as I am moon light

soaring

reflections of reflections shimmer

and there is no source to this all consuming light

rivers of ocean songs flow through me 

and I am these songs roaring

through the echoes

of stillness

dancing


breathing wind as wind breathes me

there was never anyone to imagine that she was a girl a woman a songster


what is left when there is no knowing?

all pervading, all embracing love without other, or one

a hush without silence or sound


without meaning or non meaning

the cricket moon is nigh

finding no reality, and no real reality underneath the false one


~~~~~



sigh of morning alights on my window

gently consumes the kiss of moon

slowly

dries the tears of yesternight’s eyes


no one was underneath that beautiful waterfall

sliding through her own wetness

gazing up through the falling into a constellation of madness

stars

falling

through their own light



silhouette of empty dreams

dances

bathed in the fire of love

burning all illusion

burning itself


golden finches bloom

sunflowers sigh

wings of no tomorrow

fly through the daydream

settle under the dusty roses

among the skeletons of ancient petals

the grey cat sleeps


~~~~~



love smothers you and breathes you 

eviscerates all ideas of love 

she is a lion’s roar and a butterfly kiss 

love is all and everything 

and nothing at all


~~~~~


hush of moon glow drifts through your eyes

reflections of memory wrap around this liquid silence

illuminating side-less mirrors 

echoes stream through this soundless cloud

void of any original voice

a chorus of love songs reverberates in your empty chest

waiting to sing

this un-sung song

that sings you



day hovers in the shadows of dawn

prayers of midnight ache for what never was

nor will ever be

ideas of love paint the darkness that hovers before your eyes…

as you try to wipe away the darkness

it bleeds into itself



glimpses of starlight feed the fire

trying to catch the sparkling burns

the hole

in your heart

that has longed to be filled

but never can

love has no edges

fire burns even itself


what rips the skin off the sound of weeping

and plunges your heart into this unfathomable love

that has no sound

or silence?


raw naked, stripped of the clothes of love

no longer looking for the day to unfold

life unfurls her wings of echoes

memory runs through your edgeless heart

as it paints it

empty now

of all grasping


this love is more intimate than these words sliding through the thought stream, 

closer than a lover’s kiss

darker than a moonless night

more brilliant than falling into the sun

it is not yours or mine, it has swept away all and everything 

as it simultaneously caresses all and everything into an indelible softness dissolving into nothing at all


~~~~~


symphonies of silence roar through the pages of this empty book

poems fall through the spaces in these words

softly trembling in their inside outside light


a million suns explode inside your chest

you are echoes of endless galaxies

spinning

not knowing what is not beautiful

…what is or is not love


~~~~~


and rainbows fall through oceans of color and love paints herself in your eyes


as the covers of the dream slip off your nakedness

your life slips off the pages

running through the empty fields

bathed in morning song


is there something, is there nothing, is this real, is this unreal

surreal, …real-er than real?

all is illusion 

illusion is illusion

what does that mean

what does meaning mean?


this is the end of the voyage across an edgeless sea

waiting to slip over the horizon

the dream of knowing falls through the dream of unknowing

there is no looking for a secret harbor,

for the mid night sun to illuminate the starry noon,

for your heart to break again and again…


love bled into the dream and no sides could be found

or lost

in these reflection songs 

where moonlight is not separate from moon

and you are not separate from these echoes

falling 

through echos


an inside outside möbius strip trips through itself into a 

circular canopy of stars

unravelling the dream of things as it weaves itself

no place to rest can be found

no one is looking for a shooting star to cast her dreams into the firmament

it is all dream

there is no dream



and water searched and searched for the source of its own wetness.... and love looked and looked for the essence of love... yet no other could be found to define what love was not....


~~~~~


can you find 'not thought'?... can you find a some one or thing who is listening?

can you find a someone or thing who is looking for this listener?



life is already undeniably what is


New Chapter




safely tucked under the tangling roses, shadows wait for dawn

finch song lies in the lingering hush

loose leaves echo their traceless path

wind is born, …is it the stillness that sings?

where is the home you feel you left

long long ago…

 is there a long ago?


what is this indefinable longing that seems to sing you?


just beyond your grasp is the magic you long for

you cannot have the magic as there is nothing outside of it

it is incomprehensible, unfindable 

unbelievably wondrously unknowable

the magic is the unknowing

this undeniable wondrousness is the not knowing what beauty is…

and the love…


finding nothing, including some one or thing who looks,

there is no assumption that ‘I am all that’

or all this,

it simply does not feel like there is any separation, any thing to be divided, or any things that can be joined or interconnected…

there is no existence, nor non existence

aliveness is, and is not a thing, or non thing

morning cannot escape the thought dream that paints this undeniable beauty on the window the aperture the prism of these I’s

that are themselves born in the river of thought


~~~~~~


this is a dance without dancers... love without lovers... this infinite intimacy, obviously without separation, without parts, without being a thing called wholeness or one ness or any 'thing' at all


the virtuality of an imaginary singularity is the vibration of this and that…

this is a serenade of wonder singing love into the dream of you and me

this is the love song you have never left

you cannot, you need not return…

it simply does not feel that 'I am all this', or even 'all this'.... there is no one to be everything or nothing, simply this obvious atemporal magical illusion shimmering



I am a story of watching words form and bloom into colors swirling and collapsing back into the meandering…

one story is not more right or wrong than another, or true or untrue…

we can never know what ‘this’ is like for another,

imaginary differences define us and are simply voices in this serenade of love

we are spinning thought dreams, liquid galleries of memory, 

we can never touch…

but somehow we can share our stories

and bathe in each others light

it is only in this love song, this longing to touch, that I seem to appear


cool dance of a summer wind


memories of fireflies


light up the dark



~~~~~



a river cannot know its own wetness

an echo cannot hear its own voice

echoes flower within the skin of sound bursting into their own colors

and drift through acres of

softly 

breathing

this breath that cannot feel itself...

this love that cannot taste itself…


only in this imaginary ballet of twoness can there be a recognition of wonder

shimmering light dances between liquid mirrors gliding through reflections

never landing

never moving

the dancers fall through their lines


I see you

I love you

I am you’



~~~~~



half heard melodies of yesteryear sing of endless waters

peninsula of desire reaches into the empty sea

battleships of iron rust through their own bottoms…


…and the shoreless ocean beckons you to listen to her song

you cannot hear it with your ears

it is your heart song reverberating

in this symphony of love





it is the song of your broken hearted beauty  


No comments:

Post a Comment