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
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