and in this dance of one of two of many of none,
hearts explode with wild mad love spinning dancing pirouetting with itself
…the illusion of space and time is beautiful
beauty is a beautiful illusion
‘all is love’, says nothing,
there is nothing to say or not say…
that this is all mystery makes ‘all this’ seem like a thing called ‘a mystery’, and that there is a someone who understands, and others who do not…
no one is free of understanding, there is only unknowing, not that I am this unknowing… there is no one big ‘thing’ or one all inclusive edgeless thing, even ‘wholeness’ or love, that has no solidity or liquidity, or qualities or time or space or any characteristics, distinction, measurement or non measurement…
is there a self, are there others, are there things, is there nothing?
who could step outside of what seems to be happening and gaze upon this unspeakable world of fleeting flowing edgeless-ness and say, ‘oh yes, this is the way it is’, or is not?
and yet singing seems to happen and words seem to paint things, and things called nothingness and emptiness and wholeness and sides are formed and the dance begins, and it is beautiful beyond measure, for this sharing of apparent perspectives is indeed a lover’s dance, as we exist only as these imaginary points of view… are they real, are we real, what is ‘real’ what is unreal?
is life is love a beautiful mystery?
can we know love if we are this dance of love?
there is no mystery to solve nor door or heart to unlock and open
only edgeless ephemeral openness
love seems to know itself,
love is as real as it seems
may I have this dance?
what would we be without broken hearts? these are our wings…
~~~~~
she wondered about the meaning of meaning and spun into the dream of unknowing, and danced across and outside of the footprints she had been following into a world of unspeakable beauty
there is no thing called truth outside of the naming of it
and no thing or things that are unknowable, …unknowable is unknowable is a word that seems to capture and set free all words, yet there are simply these words casting a dream spell …this dream dreaming itself, painting and melting our eyes into the seeing,
drawing and casting our dreams into a sea of dreams where nothing is caught or grasped or held… not even the waves or deep currents of sky reflections basking in the never more of boundless love,
which seems to be caught by the words ‘boundless love’
but like trying to catch a fish which is made of water, it slips away as all things do, as they never were, we never were, love never was…
yet here we are
painted by words and melting into each other’s eyes
soaring wingless skinless, sky in sky
we can never be joined as we were never apart…
~~~~~
what is happy what is sad? who would be separate from this current of emotion to know?
is there a heart of love, a nectar of life that you can grasp?
the longing itself is beautiful… hands hearts eyes reaching out to see to know collapsing into the reaching the seeing the longing that seems to define us
spiraling galaxies rushing slowly arms of light illuminate the dark and burn our eyes with the awe of a dance without feet without space without time without dancers…
web of starlight spins you into a dream of exquisite wonder and you become dizzy as you fall into a bliss of unknowing where no one exists…
no lovers can be found twirling in this pirouette of dreams,
are we this lovers dance that is not yet is?
there is no knowing and no one who longs to find or lose her feet or fall through the sky that is falling through itself
there was never any place called home nor any place that was not…
no one to leave or return, no one to weep these empty words that slide across the page and dissolve into their own wetness…
one echo one heart one love, vibrations of love do not require millions, only two, only us…
the heart beat of existence is this and that…
wings soaring lose their feathers their skin their bones as fingers of sky fall through our fingers and there is no more reaching for knowing for sky for love…
~~~~~
how can the sky fall if it is already kissing the ground?
our hearts this love knows the words that sing them…
love melts into its own caress, an atemporal love song singing itself
the idea that there is a someone with something (or without something) is simply the game of this call and answer love song that no one sings.... yet it appears I arise in these words these wiggly lines these songs that flow through these fingertips, trailing meaningless echoes across the
pages that have no substance outside of these words that have no sides, nothing inside them nor outside, as inside and outside are ideas are words are symphonies of wonder just like you
calling 'this' anything including ‘this’, when there is no this or that…
love without other has no words…
that is why I write poetry
the sound of love is rain is tears is wind dancing and flowers wilting and the vault of sky crashing into its reflection shimmering on the sea of dreams that it never left or entered
~~~~~
soft cloud murmuration
flowering sky
sings its naked beauty
caresses this edgeless heart
wind pours its colors through oceans of liquid silence…
love rushes in and out of her own chest
nakedly my heart beats
tears fill my eyes
the world is weeping
or is it sky?
love overflows, erasing the banks of time and space and any sense of a center where anything could be held or understood in this avalanche of words of sounds, the morning doves and the lone robin who spends the winter in the garden, the footprints of rain streaming down the window, the excruciating heartbreak of our shared humanness, this choir of angels burning all sound and silence
passionately love eviscerated me with slender teeth and burning breath
radiant luminosity torched my world
love swallowed all and everything, including herself…
words chase their own tales and the circling seems to define a center, to inscribe a heart in the middle of this dance this pirouette of wonder... but it is a holographic play as there is no substance to this song, this gem that has no edges but seems to reflect infinite colors, and as you reach for the beauty, the beauty is your hands your heart, love reaching out for love…
this very song these very words can never touch the beauty they are, yet love seems to circle around itself and pierce its own touch, burn its own hands, break its own heart…
and we seem to arise in the spinning the dancing the twirling of love songs remembered and forgotten, heard and unheard, sung and unsung…
~~~~~
what is this ungraspable beauty of life this love we cannot hold?
does it lie inside the words the music the love songs we cherish,
or is it in the ones we forget?
memory cannot find the words or music yet we seem to dance…
is it the morning dove softly swooping onto the naked branches or
the weight of this heavenly caress of light thawing leftover snow?
is it in hidden in the shadows under the frozen roses?
is it the frost outlining every petal as if your fingers your eyes were painting them?
is it a secret a mystery a gem a buried treasure deep in your heart,
the absence the presence of all things, this indescribable fullness bursting…
the foggy rain of moonlight,
or morning kissing the empty ground…
the rush the roar the sound the silence these thoughts these feelings that no one can find or hold or erase or discover or define, or find any meaning or non meaning to this river of life that has no banks or source or destination
it feels like love flowing through itself, a deep current of ocean pouring through its own wetness, super saturating all that seems to appear…
we can never know what love is, or indeed any thing at all
and this morning song of midnight blossoms falling gently into the softness of unknowing, and a hush beyond words softly gently breathing
I love you
~~~~~
this undeniable yet unknowable aliveness... it is not an it, as there is no other no edge no center, nothing to divide or grasp or understand, yet it seems to dance us, through us, in us, as us, flood us within and without and in-between until the banks erode into unfathomable beauty,
the tides of this and that crash into the cliffs the buttresses of assumed knowing, dissolving the homes the the beaches we walked along, trying to peer into the sands the sea, the endless sky, looking for footprints to follow for a path to the magic…
our hearts break forever as we fall through our own embrace, leaving only this unspeakable aliveness that feels like love…
sky falls into sky… and there is no sky nor wings nor hearts beating yet all is sky is love is nothing at all… and this is indeed wondrous, marvelous beyond belief, that we are imagined that love is imagined and there is no one or thing imagining….
whose words whose tears whose love.... we are this kaleidoscope of dreams coloring in the imaginary blank spaces where love exploded and erased all things including herself
~~~~~
naked light cascades through rivers of silence splashing color on the crumbling banks of time and space
where you lay, drowned and spit out from the sea of sorrow…
sky reaches down through winter’s starkness and gently illuminates your hand, and as she pulls a blue stone from your heart, you watch forgotten dreams of flying soar through the remnants of memory…
tattered fabric is so beautiful in the wind when there are no prayers attached, and no one weaving wishes for what will never come…
lone crow sings and there is no answer
birthed and bathed and drowned simultaneously in the flames of love
all is immersed in the song of no tomorrow
~~~~~
crescent moon sighs and her silvery glow pours cold glimmering shadows into the garden, cat purrs his warmth into my chest
life explodes and extinguishes itself simultaneously…
galaxies unwind light and color from their flowing arms and magically appear in our telescopes
kissing our eyes with the wonder of distance and stars collapsing buried deep inside our hearts…
our eyes are prisms are gems are things that appear to see but there is no one separate from the seeing the touching the feeling these words this very thought…
thunder of blood the tides the wind the stars and worlds crashing
softly the moon slides across the sky…
there are no trails no paths to nowhere, no place where you are or are not… we are but thought dancing through the dream of time and space,
without a ground of reality or unreality to rest upon or escape from
this simple obvious aliveness does not animate ‘things’, it is all things as there are no things, there is not one all encompassing thing called aliveness or emptiness or ‘this’…
can you find an edge or outside to what seems to appear, life just as it is
can you find someone looking for an edge?
can you step outside of this, or would that then be this?
…this without other is simply the dance of life dreaming of wind and wonder and weaving itself into nothing at all…
tears are echoes of love dancing with her reflection
words slide off these pages and fly into flowing paintings of liquid wonder, wings of wind rustle your feathers and it is a secret language that only you can hear but never decipher as this song is singing you
nothing is hidden, nothing need be revealed
what life what love what beauty is, no one knows, no one can know, as there is no one separate from what ever this is to know to capture to grasp to hold the magic that they
and that is utterly wonderful and marvelous and unspeakably beautiful
yet I sing, as the singing is what I am…
there is no love, yet I love, as loving is what I am
~~~~~
the felt sense is that there are no things to be separate or joined... and some say this feels like love and there is a constant stream of wonderment exploding, and their entire world changes as the thought stream changes, and others who call it dog shit awareness...
there are no right or wrong words, and this is expressed so beautifully.... many tongues many tastes... so many say they laughed, but here there were tears and they have never stopped, it is as if my heart is an edgeless warm rain... a deluge of love pouring into love
~~~~~
how wondrous this sourceless beauty this love without other
this one without two without one without none…
wings of wind lose their feathers their skin their bones their flesh as sky pours through sky, space soars through space, and space and spaceless-ness dissolve…
hovering in moon song we bathe in love's waters flowing through its own wetness as the moon and sun and all evaporates, leaving no trace or echo,
yet these swirling kaleidoscopic patterns of light and shadow cast upon the walls of dreams continue to dance to pirouette through this spaceless space this emptiness without emptiness…
this ephemeral dream of love that never was nor was not vanishes into these words that have no substance nor non substance, as light as heavy as the word rain drowning the very ground of being, the imaginary screen upon which the painting of life dances across, and that screen that was believed to endure is simply a weaving of echoes of songs that you might have heard, somewhere, sometime, but nothing can be heard no matter how hard you try to return to this love you cannot as you have never left…
nothing can be lost or found as there is no one separate from this which is and is not…
this is peace without knowing what peace is, this
love without knowing what love is, as there is nothing that is not love
~~~~~
why wind why waves why does the sky make me cry?
why tears why smiles why is this wonderment without questions feel like my heart has an ocean pouring through it?
a tsunami of wetness pulled the wet out of water and emptied what I thought of as ‘my' heart ‘my’ soul, my very existence itself…
it flooded and drowned and extinguished my world and left not even a trace of a song a melody or a hint or suggestion that there was ever anything other better more or next… this was beyond emptiness as emptiness is an idea… neither stark nor full nor OK nor not OK…
and the sun rose again and the dance began again yet it was center less, edgeless and utterly devoid of questions, of a sense that there ‘should’ be this or that, or indeed anything at all.
always home, yet there is no home... and no one to return or leave... yet it feels somehow like a constant union of what was never apart.... a sensual liquid pirouette without a center spinning and always meeting itself... kissing itself…
this cannot be understood, as nothing can, all there are are more words more ideas to try to fill in the utter devastating blankness you feel and fear… and no matter how many angles you try to look at this, nothing can be seen lying under these words, or indeed inside them… they are simply words, thought, which seems to spin and erase itself and has no solidity or liquidity… outside of the words solid and liquid…
and you cannot give up this seeking for meaning for enlightenment as you are the seeking you are the belief that there is something that you can understand or some thing some key that will unlock the prison that you feel you are in, but there is no prison there is no key there are no edges or doors to this imagined goal of knowing…
and when teachers say ‘there is simply life happening as it does’, you fight, you question, there has to be something more!
maybe you try to stop seeking you try to relax into ‘just this’ but all that is ‘just this’ isn’t it?
This feels like a conundrum from which you cannot escape and indeed you cannot as there is no one to escape and no place to go… and no place where you are, there is no other side… and the looking the insistence that there is an ‘other’ that there has to be more! continues to form your imaginary lines…
I have no answer to this dilemma I can only say what it feels like, that there are no answers, and the questions may cease…
and there may be a feeling of utter sublime OK-ness, no matter what seems to appear, life simply self arising and self releasing and never really becoming any ‘thing’ at all.
is this love is this magic, is this a beautiful life? I cannot say as there is no other life… but yes, it feels like love somehow and it feels marvelous and all I can say is ‘I love you’, because I do
~~~~~~
all separation is imaginary including all ‘things’ and 'events', so the story that there is a wrong or right action or non action is utterly moot, and this is not a story of meaninglessness, as meaning and meaningless are more stories. that these stories of should and could, and other better more and next cease is also a story… the beliefs and preferences that form me are not chosen, no one wears them, we are all unique beautiful stories, written with the same words…
~~~~~
we are but echoes without a source or time or place to arrive.... yet it seems we soar through each others hearts and dance for a brief moment through empty chambers where songs are born, and twirl in and out of memory....lost and found images rippling through an ocean of dreams….
belief is no longer believed
it feels like a fairytale spinning a dream spell whirling and swirling tales of sorrow and joy and we are that enchantment, floating without sky or sea or any anchor or purpose or source or destination.... such ease when this which we cannot know what it is, nor long to discover the treasure as all is a spinning gem... it is not felt to be solid or liquid or anything at all, yet it does feel quite magical. shimmering reflections flowing through reflections... life is in focus and out of focus simultaneously
there is no feeling like anyone or the world is broken, it all feels ethereal and real, magically beautiful… floating… but there is no one floating and no ether to float in… like love flowing through love,
there is no one under the story, no thing writing it or reading it, nor anyone to whom life is happening, and no one doing or not doing life…
when I broke my wrist in a few places after the shift there was pain but it was not happening to anyone, and no fear, a wondrous calm actually, when our last cat died I sobbed and sobbed, yet it felt beautiful…
this unutterable peace of no other better more or next... and yet when my loved ones suffer I love and care for them. life flows with all feelings... but it is no longer felt that there are separate feelings or anyone separate from them to define them
~~~~~
and the moon hovered on the edge of your world as you slipped into waterfalls of words streaming through liquid moonlight morning…
the walls of your dream collapsed into a river of song, as you felt your body extending into echoes of rippling light and watched reflections of your face disappearing…
and love was nothing more or less than an echo in a canyon of memory,
and the sun was simply a reflection that shattered into infinite shards of prism’d magnificence, melting into its own warmth and light
~~~~~
just this, only this, sublimely this, what ever it looks and feels like, and yes, there is no this, but this is all there is!
…as we are liquid stories, unowned, flowing portraits,
as we share our stories we literally become each other…
~~~~~
this is utter rest without a ground to rest upon
clouds appearing to rest in sky is simply sky in sky without sky…
there is no fundamental nature of being
real and unreal is illusion
illusion is illusion, empty even of emptiness
luminescence, free of light
freedom, free of freedom
wings of morning brush against these empty tears
elegant tracery of light on light
drifting in motionless flowing as sky suspended in sky
wings without substance or sky in which to soar…
enlightenment is a story,
a crystalline void within and without without substance or nature like a mirage, a fairy tale dreamt by no one told by no one heard by no one…
we are the magical dream we seek to discover to know…
knowing is the dream
familiar and new
paradise, a page of numbers dissolving in love’s indecipherable beauty…
she sings herself into this symphony that has no notes nor
melody hanging on the staves of time
the fences around freedom were words like ‘freedom’
the boundary of love is the word love
I watch your lips move and songs flow, songs of freedom and love and the longing for something you cannot define other than more words more ideas more thought seemingly circling around… nothing…
and it is all a miracle this magic of life without other
simply this very hush, this spontaneous ease
this music of life of light of love of nothing at all
kissing itself drinking itself through your eyes
flowing in through your reaching out
sky trembles between dark and light
as it falls, gently, into itself
~~~~~
time waltzes with itself, echoes of emptiness mirror this liquid world of sonnets blooming and wilting without time or timelessness,
nothing is caught in the lattice work of thought dreams…
you feel your feet dissolve into the ground dissolving into space as velvet light erases your footfalls, brushing luminesce into a dream without time or space, coloring it all with love….
this symphony of life has no notes nor singers, it swoops and swirls without silence or sound, without movement or non movement, it twirls ancient moon beams into a tapestry of light and shadow painting all things with radiant halos of unspeakable magnificence and melting all and everything again into light without shadow…
psychedelic colors seem to pour through the edges of sound, as songs twirl and spin forming the inside and outside of our hearts with echoes of an ungraspable resonance that simultaneously ruptures and melts the imaginary edges of love
is this love is this madness is this any thing or nothing at all?
no one can say as there is no other…
no banks to rest upon and gaze at the sea, no one separate from the liquid dream scape to bathe in its supersaturated wetness or swallow the wetness that we are, that all is…
there is no source or maker or underlying theme to this dance, no ‘big dream’ or dreamer
…no all encompassing love that has dissolved all things
it’s all love…
there is no love,
nor ground to dance upon
no dancers…
yet here we are in this ballet of love twirling swirling waltzing slowly gently melting into one into two into one, as one as two as none
~~~~~
that this without other is continually self arising and self dissolving…
that is indeed the beauty we were trying to catch.... and that this is a story that still does not catch it... seems even more beautiful!
and that beauty is a story is ahhhhhhhh..... excruciatingly wondrous…
and that wonder is ungraspable is utterly .... lovely... and that love is an idea.... spins my bippie, what about yours?
and that I am a dream character as real and as unreal as you and tomorrow and love…..
tears fall through this naked morning and the cat yawns…
and the transparent light dream ripples and is ripped by the winds of unknowing
and she plucked the petals off the flower one by one looking for love
and as her garden grew she gathered more and different blossoms
plucking them all and staring at the naked stems…
one morning she noticed the petaled softness at her feet
and began to cry and laugh and dance in rainbow raiment
dissolving into the twirling without a center or any edges at all
~~~~~
tapestry of echoes tumbles and slides through this liquid dreamscape without a dreamer or painter or background or screen,
or time or space or anything or nothing at all…
there is no magician who spins this dream spell, yet you are an enchantment, a hologram, a fairytale of thought, a sourceless reflection without any substance or lack of substance, without emptiness or fullness… empty even of emptiness…
reflections crumble into a dream of lack or fullness and no hand no words, no looking will dissolve the imaginary veil between you and understanding or love or enlightenment
nothing will reveal your true nature or a ground of being as there is none, and no one to have one…
heart and mind, this and not this, are not different nor the same
always arising, never arising, always ceasing, never ceasing
purely nakedly simply so…
and it does indeed feel utterly naked, this love without other, there is no knowing anything or nothing as there is no one to know, or not know…. and it is beautiful and it is wondrous and amazing and it is love
and here I am, as real as you and love, and I am this falling in love with you with love with this ungraspable aliveness that we are
~~~~~
galaxy of thought spins filaments of nothing
crashing through the edge of infinity time …breaks …down,
your heart breaks your body breaks, the world melts into itself… this precious aliveness, excruciatingly beautiful and terrible, and the wondrousness of …just …this …love… just this flowing insubstantial,
…the river looks up and sees its own wetness, its own shimmering beauty… love recognizes itself, we see ourselves in each other, in this dance in this love, in our shared broken hearted beauty, and we can say, ‘I love you’,
and this is enough…
river of song river of moon river of midnight river of madness… and the river sings your name, and nothing is heard, nothing is held, not even this magic, not even this love
~~~~~
would we notice the lightness of no longer feeling like there is an unchanging someone or thing inside this body who has to make her feet dance down the sidewalk, if it was not there before?
or the end of the belief in other better more and next if there had not been that belief before?
how wondrous the story of enlightenment, happening to no one for no reason or non reason, yet somehow some stories include the singing...
I feel like a bird before dawn, or the last one at dusk... sometimes a full on chorus, sometimes a single note… nothing to say really, just utter joy in singing.... watching these fingers slide across the keys, my turquoise ring on top of the jumble of bony fingers... and words magically appearing, just. like. this.
~~~~~
fear and longing for this overwhelming terrifying beauty and this excruciatingly unbearable love may drown you consume you and your world, yet you have never been separate from this boundless ocean of love to be drowned…
somehow this may be realized and the illusion of separation is seen through and no longer felt,
not that there is an all encompassing beauty or love, as love and beauty are ideas and only exist in the naming of them, like you…
…this is the edgeless-ness you longed to engulf you…
these is no question, ‘why beauty?’, or ‘why love?’
but, instead, ahhhhhhh… ’of course beauty’, ‘of course love’
~~~~~
the suspicion that there is no separation looms on the horizon of hope and fear... waiting for a breath that cannot be found or lost,
a glimpse of moonlight caught by a smoothness rippling into a dream of moon may crack the edge of infinity, and nothing is left not even a broken shadow….
wind ripples echo through ancient tides of memory painting water into a sea of dreams,
as stories that have no speaker nor listener merge in this dance of wonder, and before and after are simply echoes that have no resonance... yet are beautiful just the same in their incomprehensible liquid sensuousness
whirlpools lose their spinning and never were…
echoes lose their sound, and memory cannot trace the meaning or meaninglessness of nothing at all…
and love was the goal but love needed no finding
it was never confined to the words or melody or the ballet of tree tops and wind floating…
love requires no time or space to find itself
it is only the idea of other that stands between you and love,
as you and love and other are ideas…
there is no other side of love
there is only love without other
~~~~~
life is intrinsically beautiful in its obvious aliveness…
the very fabric of love is life’s tattered beauty…
wind sings and clouds pour through these words and all is wet
life’s beauty is the gem of death…
you cannot dissect the rain with a knife and fork,
imaginary separation is not separate from no separation…
is the dream of enlightenment better than the dream of endarkenment if better and worse are the dream?
where is the song of your life born, where does it go?
you can feel your heart resonating with the words that sing you as your mouth your lips your tongue taste the delicious beauty of the song they sing, your breath is the wind, your fingertips drink the sky, your limbs flow out into the universe of things, and galaxies spin light into darkness and dark into the light of unsung dreams…
all dreams collapse into themselves, beyond the boundary of thought,
all horizons all boundaries cannot withstand these all consuming flames
love’s brilliant demise burns your flesh your bones, your very being is born and dies in love’s unrelenting fire
~~~~~
super psychedelic serenade of iridescence lightly brushes your name into an illusion of echos, rippling empty dreams of light and shadow and erasing any notion of tomorrow…
all knowing is simply a dream of solidity in this liquid enchantment breathing words into things into swirling reflections spinning universes into an exquisite dance that has no ground or space in which it soars…
a flood of ancient love songs rips apart the letters that spelled your name, saturated and dissolved the vowels and consonants with their own lack of substance or ethereality, and this magic seems to sing itself as no outside or inside can be found, nothing moves your mouth your tongue your hands your fingers you heart as it slides into mine…
there simply are no separate things or events, and the dream of separation is not separate from the dream of enlightenment... all things, including us, are simply thought dreams, fleeting flowing shared learned words... and this is description as well, description describing the description, without being true or untrue, without meaning or non meaning, yet somehow suggesting this ephemeral sensuous liquid quality that infuses the dream of things, the feeling of no separation and no things to be separate cannot be conveyed, and resonates with those who seem to have glimpsed this slipping into and dissolving into the dream of flowing,
neither moving nor non moving, no one dissolved, there is no source or destination, just a song of lovers echoing through a dream scape of time and space and nothing at all…
the mechanistic view of the universe seems impossible to believe, yet no beliefs are believed, and are useful for navigation in the dream spell, the enchantment that we are...
as all is wet without any thing called wetness
~~~~~
reaching out is reaching in
is it me dancing or is it sky?
my hand traces the contours of this cloudless expanse
I drink the world through my fingertips as the world dances through me, as me, and I am this drunkenness, this enchantment of a seamless
dance…
and a thousand suns blossom and extinguish all light and dark as petals… gently… fall… or are these tears….
no one was blind to this seamless dream and no one can see…
the veil that is lifted is the belief in a veil…
always apparent yet never born, the illusion of things seems to dance and sway and twirl into a universe of stars and suns and brilliant love…
empty luminesce ignites and burns all love songs, even this one
morning sweeps through the canyon and the world is born
sourceless echo-less ungraspable, without a conjurer or any hand moving, or mind that dreams, all is a dream spell, an enchantment,
that all is illusion, is illusion
liquid stories seem to swirl into the dream of me of you of love, neither true nor false nor both… nor any thing or non thing at all…
this dream world remains, obviously apparent, this is not a featureless substance, as there is no substance nor non substance, no reality or unreality…
not existent nor not non existent,
emptiness falls through its own lines
what lies beyond all thought, all words, when beyond is a word?
ahhhhh…. to be the whispers of a dream dreaming itself
~~~~~
wild love spins endlessly
the compass has no place to begin or end,
no point nor pointless-ness, no on or off, no north nor south, just wide open spaciousness without space….
sourceless, rootless, echo-less, without any substance or lack of substance,
the illusion of inside and outside melts, and the illusion cannot be found or lost… this all encompassing peace is center less, dreamlike and ungraspable
life is always completely unabashedly unbound nakedness
without inside or out
neither sublime nor ordinary
ecstatically, love recognizes itself in all things
a constant reunion of what was never apart
~~~~~
when imaginary separation is seen through and no longer felt, the reductionist, mechanistic view of the universe seems impossible to believe, yet no beliefs are believed, and seem to be useful for navigation in the dream spell, the enchantment that we are...
this is like trying to paint the universe with two similar shades of grey, or play Handel's Messiah with two notes in the middle of the piano, or describe why you prefer pears over apples, (when they are ripe), and how you know it is your lover walking down the street when they are a block away...
calling life a 'mystery' could make it seem like there is a thing that is unknown, and unexplainable, yet there, none the less, and also seems to give what ever this is, which we cannot know as we are not separate from it…
so, there is no ‘it' which is a mystery... and round and round words spin and can never catch the magic the wondrousness of life simply simultaneously appearing and disappearing all by itself, never actually becoming a thing which can be examined or captured by thought, as thought is a razor, and seems to create the things we seem to ‘know’, yet there are no things to cut, it is only this thought stream which creates things including things called 'things' and a thing called thought....
so there is a recognition a seeing a groking of this inseparable symphony of life, and seeing this is inseparable from the music,
also there is the recognition that we are imaginary dancers, imaginary lovers streaming through the mind stream, phantoms of thought, like all the colors in the rainbow, yet does this make the rainbow, or love, less magical?
how could we be separate from the dream of colors, of lovers, of this magical dream of life, of love without other...
the enchantment, the dream spell that we are, that this is, seamless edgeless center less magnificence,
I fling my arm through the sky and there is no hand nor endless blue, it is a magical light show of sourceless shimmering reflections, echoes of echoes, with no unchanging thing called me or love or life, and no things which can change or be gathered into this continually exploding and imploding atemporal bouquet of utter wonder and astonishment
the scent of indescribable beauty hovers…
and there is weeping but no desire to catch or pinpoint or change emotion or thought as no separate feelings can be found…
like a child with her first crayon box, trying to find the colors of the universe, one note cannot express the color of wonder
I will sing a story of a brain requiring, to learn language, which is thought, a nervous system and an endocrine system and a digestive system... a body... with sense organs, it requires the sun and plants to eat and others from which it hears or reads or feels (in the case of the deaf and blind) words, and this thinking results in 'things' and when enough things are created a self is born, somehow, which is not these things, but can feel consistent, and as solid as these other things, although this self can never be found, as well as no looker for this self
so to limit thought to the brain... well, yes indeed without brains there is no thought... no self no things… no you… we are liquid dream scapes of memory and some memory is stored in the neurons of the heart…
and this is simply life dancing, inseparable from the dancers, spinning webs of ephemeral thought, unravelling the dream that never was,
dream dancers, dream lovers,
dream
love
~~~~~
thought spins a dream of time cartwheeling through space weaving reflections of morning into my eyes, unweaving the tapestry of thought into beautiful tattered love letters….
echoes spiraling through echoes illuminate the canyon walls where memory dances with her shadow… sensuously deliciously life begins and ends without becoming or disappearing…
love recognizes its beautiful voice in the cries of one of two of many of none… whose heart is not weeping?
this is a song without words or music that resonates in places you cannot find or ignore
it is a baptism by love, the flames of your own desire consume you and your world, and love consumes even herself
somehow it all feels like love... and there is no thing that is not love, yet there are no things, not even these rippling echos of love songs that formed these thoughts, these lips this tongue, this very breath that sings me, and sings love into every word
~~~~~
wind cannot chase itself
there is no direction or lack thereof, as there is no starting point for this song, nor place where the dance arrives, only this ballet of ripples sliding through ripples, reflections blossoming and dissolving, falling into and through the flowing that they are, that we are, that nothing really is or is not… this is a meandering without substance, or liquidity…
sun and moon and the midnight river weeping at its own inescapable ungraspable beauty
lullabies require singers and listeners
love requires imaginary lovers…
and loving you is the missing of you
and the great aloneness we all share, we all are, knowing we can never touch
as we are not
love is not
yet we seem to arise and disappear in this lover’s dance…
all I can say is ‘I love you’
I watch the river weep
~~~~~
a rip in the sky reveals its nakedness
where clouds used to hover and dream of wild tsunamis and forever blue
horizons fell through their own lines erasing the song of day and night…
…and she danced with her echo and fell through the barrier between sound and silence,
as the morning star plummeted through ancient shadows of endless sky
fire burned her shadow and her light and
she danced through the edge of time where no one was dancing
and returned to the song of sorrow and light
…there is no other side to love
and life is always new, an exploding dream of wonder, of light and dark and colors... rainbows dancing... as all implodes into itself, and never becomes any thing at all.... yet this flowering and simultaneously wilting astounds and hypnotizes as velvet petals of softness caress your heart, and pierce it, erasing the illusion of solidity with this undeniable beauty of immeasurable ungraspable aliveness… this is a magic spell cast by no one told by no thing, a water color painted with water in water, pebbles skipping across the river, ripples blooming, stars strewn across the heavens.... tears splatter the sidewalk and dry in the hot summer night
wild naked love requires no direction or place, there is no fear of placeless-ness, no one is looking to be found or fears this sensuous lostness… simply elegantly …suspended, ....floating... sky in sky.... tendrils of clouds almost form and melt into sky, rain falls through rain, wet in wet, …or are these tears sliding down these mirrors of sky of love of morning bursting through the window, dissolving the imaginary lines between us, as echoes of yesteryear melt on our lips in
...this ...very …kiss
~~~~~
the worded world, the thought dream, is a symphony of infinite combinations, twisting and turning, spiraling around itself as there is no point inside or outside of these words, or outside of this dream of naked shadows where the dream can see itself, …it is only to an imaginary center that the dream may seem to swirl around, ...but that center can be obviously empty and the emptiness of the swirling can be seen, by no one, ….perhaps by the dream itself, as it seems it feels like love recognizes itself in every word and every pause between the words which is simply a bunch of words that can never see or catch itself as there is nothing to hold to grasp to understand...
that there is nothing to know without an imagined someone to know, can seem frightening or beautiful, yet to whom? this can never be known and there is simply no concern to discover to unravel the dream of words as they unravel themselves, and love's nakedness burns away the tides of hope and fear and the need for another wave, another tear, another kiss, another drop of love… as there is no other
this is the heartbeat, the breath of love singing, echoing, a murmuration without substance, a trail of liquid sunsets bleeding
~~~~~
endless moon love slides through an empty chair
as we bathe in our own naked beauty
life feels like a Chagall painting... floating… dissolving… in ... love.... directionless.... nothing but this embrace.... of love
the line between ordinary and extraordinary, between love and not love dissolves, as do all imaginary lines
word swirl and dance into an arabesque of perfection as the movement seems to halt... without movement or stillness they melt into the hush that is never born or dies… but subsumes all sound and silence and permeates all words with a wondrous disbelief, songs stream through these fingertips that slide across the keys, singing an enchantment that paints the cascading scenery of painting this magical illusion
where is the silence inside these words, but in the looking for it…
where is the beauty but in moonless dreams as a car streams past…
…old love songs dust the narrow road with lights
trailing no where, leading everywhere, …all is perfection without imperfection, all is love without other, all is ecstatic, …simply life blooming and wilting without becoming a flower you can pluck,
you are the flower you long to hold …deep in your secret heart of hearts you know this, but cannot articulate it, no one can, as there is nothing that can be said about flowers or love or anything at all…
there are no things, nor you to gather them into this bouquet of love exploding in your heart
and the morning star pierces your sleepy eyes and dissolves into morning, a song hovers on your empty breath that your heart knows but cannot sing, …this is the kiss of ancient songs of untold universes spilling into light and shadow and infinite colors bleeding into this unexplainable wondrousness
illuminating the brilliance of unknowing
~~~~~
stars spin across the heavens, scattered leaves twirl down the sidewalk, wind pirouettes through the naked trees, and these poems spin ancient words under the door through the window across the horizon where love was waiting for you to dance in your own light and kiss the heart the love you never had or lost, and toss the stars back into their own brilliance…
galaxies explode inside your chest, and the thunder of your heart beating madly echos through the universe, as your delicate breath your tender song slides through the window of infinite reflections where you lost your face along with a million tomorrows….
…and what you longed to see you never saw, nor did you not, as there was no one separate from the seeing or the seen… only dewdrops of morning sliding through the petaled softness of your eyes,
bejeweled wonderment of color shining through the prism of perfection, tossing ideas like inside and out into a tidal wave of thunder crushing itself under the weight of your own light, this exquisite love, this wild beauty which was never yours, yet erupts in this poem of morning bursting into a song a chorus a symphony of unspeakable love…
whose heart sings, whose heart echoes... this murmuration of words dances with its reflection on the empty canyon walls, and there are nothing but echoes pirouetting into a ballet of light and sound that has no dancers, nor light, nor sound...
echoes of resonant beauty sigh, dissolving into their own light
the sea dissolves into its own wetness,
and I weep that I cannot touch you or pour this song through you so you will become the intoxication that I feel, that we can never know what life feels like for another, we are one star one galaxy singing, never hearing our own light, our own beauty, we are woven into this tapestry of echoes,
sparkling shimmering starlight falls through my eyes
or are these tears, who could say where this wetness, where this love begins or ends…
~~~~~
time dissolves in a chrysalis of light
sky
flowers
pour through moon
dreaming…
resting
gently
in this kiss
your mouth
tasting the fullness
of the absence
of moon
and time
worlds spin through the arc of sun and moon
love spins through the dream of love,
cartwheels through this poem where love’s tendrils reach deeply into these words and pry apart the sounds as they echo in your heart and dissolve the solidity you are trying to grasp, melting your hands your skin your aching heart
catapulting sky into sky
blue into blue
wind into wind
love signed her name on the walls of your heart and dissolved the edges between intimacy and infinity and you were pierced by love’s heart magic in places you never knew were weeping…
the windows of your heart rippled and dissolved into exquisite transparency, ripping away the edge between love and not love…
love appears and dissolves in the kiss of this and that
it cannot be found or held or lost…
this magical illusion of love and love lost is the heartbeat of existence
wings of sky breathe and the universe appears to soar through itself…
though your eyes your heart your fingertips the world drinks itself
breathes itself
love recognizes itself as it burns itself in your heart
you are the pyre of love
ashes bleeding
wind dancing
though wind
~~~~~
I breathe in acres of sunset and sunset breathes me
crystalline waves of transparency ignite the dark
light explodes and extinguishes itself....
naked songs pierce the shimmering armor separating you and love,
flood your very being and dissolve you and your world…
tears bloom and fall dissolving their own wetness
symphony of love, wild beauty sings
vivid and poignantly reminiscent, I am an ephemeral deja vu
all 'knowing' is thought, ‘self’, the assumption of knowing... what am I but all that seems to appear, seamless brilliance without substance or lack of substance, …there are obviously no separate things, yet every word thought seems to create them, including a thing called thought…
thought is a flickering ephemeral paintbrush, light and dark and colors appear and all is a magical dream show without a screen or conjurer, no thing called a me to be or not be this dream, as all there is, is dream, and there is no one to be found, …no actual knowing exists, no solidity, no liquidity, no conclusions nor place to rest can be found inside or outside this edgeless ballet of wonder, as there are no sides…
this feels like love and there is no knowing or wondering why.... this seamless dream spell and the inseparable dream of things appear to self arise and simultaneous self release, to blossom and wilt without ever flowering, …the blossoms can never be plucked, yet there is a scent of echoes, a continual atemporal flowering, a brilliant aliveness…
this love seems to know itself, there is a recognition a kiss without sides, ...and we twirl and arise in the dancing, simultaneously falling into and through each others arms, but it is always this infinite intimate embrace, the song of sunset’s colors bleeding…
love ravishing itself is this vastness this emptiness, this without other
only in the heartbeat of time do these wings of sky soar through sky as
love crashes and burns in in her own terrible embrace, exploding time and space and …everything and nothing at all
ocean of sky flowers fall through my eyes,
kissed from the inside and out, love dissolves into itself,
an exquisite melancholy pours through the empty places that felt like lack, yet there was never any love that was lacking nor any thing to be empty, simply love flooding its own overflowing, warmth in warmth, tears in tears, wet in wet, ….we are the wetness in each other’s eyes…
we are dancing reflections that no one can capture with this symphony of poems that whirls through its own meandering,
echoes bloom and the softness of their petals cuts deeper than deep in this placeless place of sourceless wonder
it is all love, yet love cannot be found or lost in these words as they pour sunset reflections through these tears
~~~~~
poems seem to slide through these fingertips into a murmuration of wind and wings and the delicious rippling of sky and space and love
sourceless substance-less psychedelic waves caress their own colors, their own absence, and tumble through this ocean of thought that paints it
sigh of silence sings and twirls through the utter hush that consumes your world as it forms, but neither sound nor silence exists outside of these very words and can never be captured or held as they are and are not everything and nothing at all….
yet there is no need to hold this magic as our hearts know the music the love they are…
poems sing themselves and the words that paint starlight in your eyes leave a trail of echoes, of stars exploding and imploding in this
edgeless center-less incandescent brilliance…
moon songs beckon and you follow your heart into the utter devastation of light and dark, and all is unsung, all unravels, melodies have no destination nor do these words….
there is no time to fall into into tomorrow,
no rhythm in which you sway, yet there is this dance of time and space
the dancers are the dance
…we are lovers that have dissolved into love
in the swirling thought dream of trying to capture ideas like happiness or enlightenment or understanding, an imaginary center is born....
chasing your tale, you become the story of seeking a solid center that does not exist… the circle can never be completed, it spirals out of its own melody, …the symphony listens to itself and weeps at the majesty of weeping….
there is nothing out of place
nothing is missing
there are no things
~~~~~
she loves me she loves me not…
and the fallen petals are the velvet rainbow carpet where love spreads her wings and in this soaring love song sometimes we find words that suggest the feeling of dissolving into love…
trying to peer into the words the endless poem of life, the love song that sings you simply reveals meaningless symbols that dissolve in the looking….
how could there be a method or path to love when all is already love?
ancient songs pour through this watercolor dreamscape and paint our hearts in the colors of resonant wonder... without any reference points, all is shimmering, as we bathe in the breath of tides where moon less oceans pour through us and we are the waters weeping and dissolving on the sands, as the sun slides under the horizon where hope and fear used to lie, now echoes of a vaguely remembered past, like an echo’s dream, where razors sliced your heart into shreds and you felt separate from love…
words are waves of light and dark painting colors without a pallet or paintbrush or canvas, not even emptiness exists without words cascading so wondrously in this dream dreaming itself… light wings of wind pour through the garden… as morning begins her love song, doves alight on the feeder and I can feel their soft warmth in the palm of my hand, in this heart that was never mine…
life is its own echo, infinite bliss without other, utterly ungraspable is this ocean pouring through itself, currents without direction or place or time flow through their own flowing, forever unknowable and utterly astoundingly mysterious, impersonal inexplicable joy exploding constantly into itself, you are love recognizing, loving itself,
joy bathing in joy….
the idea that there is a reality that you could be separate from in order to know it, or a love that you are separate from so that you could grasp or hold it, ….this joy this bliss of seamless being cascades through itself…rainbows wash through you as you, love has no words yet soars in every word...
this pseudo reality this worded world is all we can 'know' as we are this dream of separation, yet there is no actual nor non actual, no reality nor non reality, no solidity nor liquidity that can be found or lost, or any love that could be found or lost, when all is love…
poems flow through you and sing your arteries and blood and heart
beating
wings
soaring
love
soars through itself
through her own echo, your heart beating, rainbows slide through their own colors, love slides through love…
~~~~~
endarkenment and enlightenment are not two, nor one, nor none
all is magical illusion
illusion is illusion
the hallucination has no conjurer nor anyone who is transfixed
the enchantment cannot release the spell,
it is all enchantment, there is no enchantment
why does it all feel like love?
this passion play, this watercolor dream slides through its own colors that are not painted on anything or with any thing or by any one…
tossed and turned and melting into the spiral of love pirouetting through itself, without inside or outside, there is nothing but love... there is no love…
sky slides through sky…
yet here we are… sky deep in love
we are imaginary dancers swirling into the twirling dissolving in our own light
~~~~~
and you are as real as me and tomorrow and love...
you know that this what ever it is cannot be captured and held, you know that there is no 'outside' to this, and therefore no 'inside'.... so if there are no edges to this, is it a thing? as there is no getting outside of all this, what ever it is, then who or what could ever know what this is…. but there can be an intuited ‘knowing’ that this is not an it or a this,
that there are no ‘its’ outside of the languaging, these words that seem to lasso a bit of ‘this’ unknown unknowable, and create trees or skies or you or me or love… as every word seems to create a thing and all else that is not that ‘thing’….
and if I ask you to tell me of your lover, stories arise of what you did together and the stories he told, of the dew filled morning when you dissolved into the sparkling…
and these liquid memories will seem to caress a person into being but they are only a fairytale that also seems to caress a you into this story book world of things and time, and love….
how can a story know it is a story…
love caresses itself through imaginary separation... of words of notes of sound and silence into this musical light show
this ballet of lovers swirling through a dream of love…
it is our own love that slays us and embraces us back into the dance
as we hover, suspended, between time and timelessness....
this ever arising ever dissolving kiss…
~~~~~
echoes slid through echoes and left not a trace…
you cannot locate or capture the magic, as it is everything and no thing, everywhere and no where ....this feeling of a kiss that once graced your lips as it smiled and consumed you,
and dancing madly unravelled your heart into its own infinite embrace…
into this mad untamed exquisite love that pours through my fingertips and arcs across the screen, explodes in our chests as dawn graces the frozen ground, light pours shadows under the tangling roses, and my face in the window dissolves
the swirling words, the very description, the adornment that has nothing underneath or inside, seems to create a center, a persona surrounded by a world of things,
as all things and others are painted simultaneously, with these imaginary lines that create us, also separate us…
so the seeing and feeling of no separation, no things to be separate or joined and no one big thing that cannot be separated, leaves this astounding unknowing, the feeling of being suspended between time and timelessness, hovering between love and nothing at all…
there is no looking for things to gather into a bouquet of understanding… all unutterably beautiful… flowering and wilting simultaneously…
not looking for any concept like happiness or love… the seeker disappears, she never was anything but the illusion of other better more and next…
the longing for solidity, for knowing, for certitude vanishes along with the one who longed for it, yet somehow I am still here, etched with poems that slide through my fingers, seemingly longing to touch you, knowing I never can
and who can say where my story begins or ends…
we are indeed each other
~~~~~
if you light the end of a stick on fire and whirl the stick around, is there an actual circle of fire? is there a center if there is no circle? is there anything captured by thought, or is there simply this fleeting flowing description, these words that continually create our world, this is a shared dream of separation, same leaned words, the worded world where we live and love and die…
and as life happens can you say, ‘now’ is the beginning of a thought, and ‘now’ is the end, or ‘now’ is the beginning of a moment, …or is there no beginning or end that you can find as you cannot step outside the thought dream that you are? time is an illusion of separate events painted by thought.
‘tree’ is a wonderful idea, a label that creates things called trees, and indicates an entire world of things that are not trees, including an idea called you separate from this tree. the word contains all kinds of trees, all sizes, deciduous and evergreen and cactus trees, it contains more ideas like bark and roots and elegant branches reaching for the sky, or maybe the sky is reaching down sliding in-between your fingers, into your eyes, into your heart where love waits…
how marvelous that this languaging creates trees and wind and sun and sky and you and me and love, as we appear and dance only in this world of things, yet we feel we are separate from other things, and as we are words this is so… and this is the great aloneness that you perhaps have tried to run away from your entire life…
there is also a feeling, a gnawing dissonance, that there really is no solidity, no actual things under the web of thought, no unchanging screen upon which your world is painted, no unchanging thing under the description, the memories that paint you, no ‘ground of being’, no core, no identity, outside of thought.
and what would that mean if there is no you, and all whom you have loved are also ideas, memories that paint the story of you and love?
and what would it mean if love were an idea, if meaning is an idea?
clouds soaring, echoes softly pouring through my eyes my fingers these words that paint an edgeless heart beating, reaching out to touch… we are tattered remnants of a sunset dreaming of colors it left upon the sea
all stories seem to have a beginning and end, but beginning and end are part of the story the fairytale that has no substance, yet is simply the beauty it sings, the flowers it paints, cascading through rainbows blooming and receding, yet no actual flower remains, nothing can be plucked and held and treasured forever, the magic enchants itself, it lies in the impermanence you fear and long for,
there is only a tale of separate flowers and colors, and petals gently falling into the softness of your touch… or is it the sky into which you fell long ago, with one foot on the ground, you are the longing to let go but you cannot, how can a dream release itself?
the recognition that all these words, all this description is utterly empty, empty even of emptiness… is sublimely bittersweet, and yet it feels like love unravels the dream it paints, and there is floating as this perfect kiss, a constant union of what was never apart…
love sliding through love, as it is all love, and there is no love
and no contradiction is felt, all is seamless being-ness, there is no all…
a sublime perfection of there being no perfection or imperfection
~~~~~
and you reach out to touch the shimmering and reflections pour through your fingers your eyes your teeth your tongue your heart and the thunder of your nakedness explodes the barriers between the song and the singing, between the listening and and the music, between the seen and the seeing…
and all that is left is the shimmering, that is all there ever was, baseless sourceless reflections like a magical illusion, an enchantment , a dream spell of words, substance less echoes pouring through their own absence…
and you may look for this seamlessness, this love, this magic that seems to elude you, this wondrousness of which I sing, but you will never find it… it is not hiding in deep secret places that only your heart can touch, it does not wait for you, just underneath this very breath, it is this breath this heart song these tendrils of meaningless words that vibrate an illusion, a story of seamlessness, arising and dissolving simultaneously…
~~~~~
love sings and we cannot help but listen to our own heart
it pours sky into sky and floods the hills and valleys of our bodies with a feeling beyond sound and silence, a kiss of heaven swallows the depths of our aloneness… enunciating the words that brought us to the edge of madness… and leaves us naked, stripped of all knowing, all solidity,
all ideas of more and next drown in this seamless being-ness, this love without other, this space without space…
at the edge of time and timelessness your heart skips a beat and wind takes your your breath away… sky falls into the wind that plays on the shores where sea birds swoon down to kiss their reflection and we twirl and play in the flight of our own echoes…
~~~~~
looking to discover what is true and what is not, there must be an assumed starting place, a vantage point that is solid, or true.... and as there are no two, nor one, nor none, and no separation is felt, there is no way to say this, or that…
dancing on the edge of the Milky Way last night felt just as real as these fingers sliding across the keys, and there are no right or wrong notes in the key of life which includes all voices all songs all hearts …all love…
I am an imaginary point of view, a shard of an illusory brokenness, around which the rest of the dream of things swirls.... yet looking in the mirror there is no one here, or there, there is no here or there or in between... all lines are drawn by thought and no thought is believed or not as there is no one to believe it... like fallen leaves that are still golden and others which are brown, the wind slides down the sidewalk and all is blown away in wild wonderment…
feeling like a slice, a shard of a swirling prism of sky longing to become sky, simply hurts... yet there are no pieces of sky, it was never broken, there is no sky without the word sky, and the blue plunges through your chest and rainbows explode…
there is no capturing what is going on as the trying to gather the flowering and wilting beauty is the beauty... the magic that I longed for and feared is this very ungraspability… even plastic flowers fade,
as your hand, your heart melts into the longing for that which can never happen, as nothing ever did...
there was never a lover that you found or lost, never a life that you could have and treasure and put into a book of poems to open on a rainy day so sun would slide through your openness and a love once hidden would be revealed….
as all is love all is magic all is this unknowable aliveness this love that seems to know itself, to dance in these words these songs where we share our stories and slide into each other's memories, truly we are each other… there is no separation between us other than the words that paint us, these songs that swirl yet contain nothing… we are the adornment, the dream spell, the enchantment the love we long for
looking for a place to stand, the last waltz twirled me into the drawing on the sidewalk before the concrete dissolved...
~~~~~
I am a ship of echoes that sailed into a dream of sunset reflections
hovering between a sky and sea that are simply shimmering echoes of memory soaring through a pallet of thought
relishing the lushness of this impossible beauty resting on everyone’s lips
in everyone’s heart
without pause,
I am the memory of dancing with you, and sliding into you as we disappeared… of ancient songs of endless sea and forever skies crashing in a tsunami, a storm, a whirlwind without a center ravishing the empty beaches where I used to wander longing for other... and finding myself sky deep in love…
love sings and we cannot help but hear our echo
what hears, what sings this song? perhaps love is listening to itself through your heart, your winged beauty, this heartbeat of this and that, that appears to propel the dream of sky through sky, but is inseparable from sky, inseparable from the soaring, inseparable from love… between the in between, love soars through all edges, slices the sides of your heart and pours through itself in waves of joy and sorrow until they merge again in love as she rests softly in the tides of moon floating in the palm of your hand
light pours through light and burns the clothes of light and shadow
love removes her nakedness and reveals her terrible beauty
blinding all ideas of perfection and imperfection,
all ideas of a home and someone to leave or return, someone who can clothe herself in beauty and dance upon the wild waves of freedom, hair adorned with starlight, and moon exploding from her chest, soaring on winds of golden, weaving the banks of sunset where lovers walk and gaze into impenetrable dreams where love may one day die…
dreaming of music that will burn the edges of love, so they can finally merge in a dance of one, where there is no final kiss, nor first…
sublime ecstasy is the merging of joy and sorrow… all chords sing this perfection, all music is in the key of life, all is your heart song echoing across tall cloud hidden peaks, and deep deep canyons where the sun rushes out to meet you when you feel there is nothing but darkness, and soars across the shimmering deserts dancing in a mirage of unutterable beauty,
and there is no answer to your crying out for love, but she pours through your outstretched hand your quivering lips, your empty breath, your devastated heart, and reveals the death of all tomorrows....
when your pockets are empty of hope and fear your body turns inside out and your heart pours into endless sky
whose heart is not weeping, not for sadness, or any one thing, for everything, for nothing, for the bittersweet beauty of our shared aloneness, our shared humanness, and the longing to touch, knowing we never can…
~~~~~
and I am this cascade, this crescendo, this waterfall of words like waves like water like wine slipping through the taste of taste, erasing the line between the music and the listening, the dance and the dancers, between love and the lovers…
every word ignites a flood of memory of stories that swirls us sweeps us into a lover's dance where we sing and press our hearts into each other's book of memories and truly become each other…
we are this longing to touch to dance and dissolve into each other,
…words that paint us are as thick as thought… love dissolves the lines that sing us and when we finally meet we are no more…
~~~~~
there is a terrible feathered grace that consumes you with her softly petaled wings
the sharpness of her teeth her rapaciousness her desire is your own love,
in looking for love for other, love is chasing you …perhaps you are really running away…
love slides into love,
love is an ocean without a shore, or surface or bottom, …deep currents, warm and wonderful pour through each other, shimmering reflections seem to appear and dance, and ripples bloom and recede and this beauty these feelings can never be caught as there is nothing but ocean, nothing but love
rivers of words overflow their banks of meaning and love floods her indelible wetness into your eyes…
waterfalls …water …falls …tears slide into these love songs and through their own wetness, the wetness of your eyes reflects this lover’s song, illuminating the tall trees waltzing slowly on the distant hills cascading down into the burning desert where winds have no branches to hold their breath
your breath is mine your heart is mine
we emerge and merge in the singing, the sharing of our tales, the stories that spin this dream scape the magic spell of love…
words ...suspended... a slow motion love song gently …softly…
falling into and through our hearts… feathers of wind sing your name and you find yourself soaring…. and morning pours through its own reflection on the window and floods my eyes …love falls in love with love... as we merge in the golden
this love we share this love we are this love that burns all ideas of love... in the tears in the smiles in the deep deep grief of love singing your broken heart, love bursts all boundaries, explodes into herself, sings her name through your beautiful lips your tongue your heart that was never yours
it is these very words these very lines that never divide the page the screen but appear to paint a backdrop of time and space upon which they flow and dance and twirl all things and their absence into songs that pour through their own letters and melt the lines and squiggles into mountains and endless sky and clouds and a someone who wishes to soar and dissolve into sky and remove the clouds of heartbreak and feel the sun cascade through all shadows, but only with light can the shadows seem to hide in the deep recesses of your heart
nothing is hidden and nothing can be revealed... as all is always only as it seems, what ever feeling and thought seem to appear there is the simultaneous inseparable recognition of it, and it can feel like there is a someone separate from the seeing and tasting and feeling and it can feel like there is not, and there is no chooser of feelings, is there, so how could there be a separate one who feels?
what illumines the dark?
what makes the idea of dark but the idea of light?
what makes ideas but thought, which even paints itself….
thought twists and twirls and dances and what beautiful dreamscapes it paints
there is no me to be love and no love to be… but in this dream scape this worded world this enchantment, dancing... yes,
here we are loving each other and that is most magnificent!
~~~~~
sky lace weaves the trees into wind songs that pour through the horizon, dissolving the moon and sun into a crescendo of breathless beauty, hovering on the edge of sound of madness of nothing at all…
bottomless tears melt the earth, and rip apart light into shards of brilliance falling into spirals of incoherent murmurings the sea left behind
love unravels her nakedness as life crochets itself into a serenade of love cascading through waterfalls of colors that used to clothe the world in a crayon box
coloring in a child yearning to learn what colors were
she swam through whirlpools and floated down the stream of wonder as the longing to capture the clouds and paint the longing with rainbows receded into tides of moon songs,
and words of distant clouds and thunder gathered forgotten rainbows that painted her into this dreamscape drowned and adorned with love’s gentle embrace
there are simply no things for names to stick to, the worded world is all we have, all we can know, as we are the dream of separation,
but when separation is not felt and seems to arise only in the languaging, not being able to and not looking to pinpoint a feeling (the idea of there being separate feelings seem ludicrous, but this is not the absence of feeling, as there is feeling deeply, magnificently, humanly, but unowned and not separate from the symphony of perception) as there is no feeling that there is a separate person who feels...
I have no idea what I am feeling... yet the words, 'I love you' arise when ever I am asked
~~~~~
who would want to capture love?
reaching out for love... to understand... is what seems to perpetuate the illusion that you are separate from love...
the belief that life, that love can be understood, that there is some solidity to find... and always missing it…
it is the belief that there is an ‘other’ than what seems to appear that creates the illusion of a door, a gate, an ‘other a next’, a place to be, an enlightenment to attain, and you are that belief, you cannot erase it…
tears slice the sky into prisms of color bleeding through the lines
the pages of your life dissolve, they could never be held in your hand so you could pluck this elusive aliveness and press it in between the words, these love letters hide no secrets…
what is whispering these words?
your heart sings in this murmuration of thought
sourceless echoes twirling across the shattering sky
colors bloom and wilt and yet no flower can be plucked…
no petals hold their light and softness
there is no background upon which love dances,
and no love dancing in this ethereal dreamscape of thought
love eviscerates you and burns herself in her own fire... and yet love kisses you back into the dream and sings your name, and you cannot find any sounds separate from the symphony... no note can hear itself…
we arise in the chorus, the interweaving of words into songs into a dance... hovering... suspended… a dream of clouds forming and dissolving without a back ground of sky... suspended on the edge of sound and silence... floating on the tip of a feather between love and nothing at all
velvet dreams its own softness and cannot touch it
light cannot bask in its own brilliance, it is it
love cannot gather itself into a bouquet of unutterable beauty
tears fall as petals of gentle velvet tendrils slowly unravel all ‘knowing’ of softness…
there is no mystery, no ‘unknown’ or ‘known’ as there is no knower and no things nor their absence…
sun slides through echoes of moon and leaves a fingerprint of light rippling across the surface-less sea,
and it is all shimmering illusion, a mirage where rainbows flow through you, as you are rainbows flowing
we slide into and through the sides of colors into this very breath
we arise in the sharing of stories and dissolve into the liquid dreamscape of love
~~~~~
I was listening to a scientist explain how he had thought the universe to be understandable... how he sought and learned and learned and began to see that the world did not act in a rational manner, that it was wild and unknowable... all the lines his mind threw into the water never caught the wetness, the magic the 'something' he had sought his entire life...
yet instead of his world unravelling, he said that he began to see the divine... and his new 'explanation' his new 'understanding' was that god was the intelligence, and he, as a puny self, could never know.
why for some there is an unravelling of all belief, and all handholds, for others there is not, and as this doesn't happen to you, as there is no you separate from the dream to understand or to choose belief, the piano plays and ripples stream across the moon and sometimes there is howling....
the other notion we find is that enlightenment is a disassociation... and that to feel un-embodied is the goal, becoming a non self who (or that) is not these thoughts and feelings...
when we are indeed these thoughts and feelings, no one exists as a non self, we exist only as selves, what happens is the belief and feeling of separation dissolves…
~~~~~
dawn erupts in the canyon of dreams
empty breath of echoes sings my heart into this ocean song
softly purring currents plumb the bottomless,
cascading upwards in a rush of sky falling into its own collapse…
no knowing can be found underneath the words that paint the rippling
no water can be found that could reflect your infinite beauty
no beauty can be found, or lost in this tsunami of love resonating deeply in places you cannot find or separate from the dream of this and that…
as love saturates the dream as it dissolves the imaginary lines between sea and sky and you and me and love
love is blissful to itself,
the depths and the highs rip each other’s heart out,
or is it your heart that has broken and scattered dreams of love across the rippling?
love floods this tsunami of ocean song pouring through itself
I love this infinite intimacy of life exploding and imploding without a center or edge or any actual 'thing' ever appearing... some say there is no self ad nauseam and it makes the listener want to become one! a non entity who somehow drifts through the dream without care…
it is more like there is no one to care or not, yet caring happens, love happens, and yet love is made up, and that is wondrous, that all these words seem to paint all these wonderful things, sunsets and blood and tears and longing and well, also the feeling that there are no things under the clothes of thought... there is no feeling of a disembodied persona floating... simply no feeling of separation whatsoever...
is there ever any reason for tears? need there be?
~~~~~
sunset burns the last threads of color
night hides in the echoes of yesterday’s clouds
shadows bloom and recede,
weight of darkness drenches your heart drowning in the absence of color
and light
where is the spark of aliveness but in the extinguishing glow of memory you cannot find, as you are this very blooming and wilting twirling thought dream pouring color and light through itself, the intoxication of moon songs that seem to linger on the tip of your tongue
trying to to figure out the world, to decipher the universe, is a life of trying to find the key to a door that exists only because there is a belief that there is an other side... a next... something better... something more, although a next has never been found...
trying to find love, to capture this elusive rainbow, to dance the magic of color, is the magic... but can never been seen… or heard or tasted, as it is in the seeing, not separate from the seen, …the listening not separate from the song, …the tasting, not separate from the juiciness of life pouring through the tips of your fingers, the delicate wetness of your eyes, …you are not separate from the liquidity of life, the seeing and the seen are separated by words, merely lines drawn on water by thought which has no substance or weight, nor does the river of life, a water color dream dancing in you as you through you….
and it is beautiful, this passion play of life which has no actually solidity or liquidity, and no one who it pours through... it is indeed a dance a ballet a pirouette of words that seem to circle around a center, but there is no center outside of the word center, and there is no edge outside of the word edge, and no you or me outside of these words gently lapping the empty beaches in this dream of love, of endless oceans and forever skies plunging through the weight of light, and burning itself in its own flames...
he looked for the flower of life in books in stories in ancient songs, in petals bound into rosaries of prayer, counting the days until he would finally find what he knew not, but felt was on the tip of his tongue, in the tips of his fingers, waiting for the words that would pierce his heart so deeply there would be no returning to the dream he desperately wanted to escape…
when the beads and his fingers were worn and tattered, the petals fell, and there was no counting them anymore... his world fell apart along with his heart, and love streamed through the empty places erasing even itself... and tears fell into the petaled softness and his heart never stopped weeping
there is no inside or outside to love…
spinning through itself, tears drown in their own wetness
the net of neurons, dancing chemical electrical patterns…
such tender delicate beauty weaving my heart into an explosion of love
~~~~~
tears cascade through their own wetness and wash the universe with love as it anoints and erases its own absence
the kiss falls into and through the kiss…
infinity loops around itself and shatters into a dream of no tomorrow…
echoes of fading fall through the bottomless
the end of belief in the heartbeat of this and that is not the end of love,
it is the beginning of a love song shimmering in the wind
joyously surfing the mind waves of its own demise
the purr never leaves, as it unwinds all rainbows, melting colors into the wind, tossing reflections into a paper cup where lovers drank a book of poems and sailed into each other’s hearts,
losing themselves they lost each other…
thought circles, spirals into itself, there is no way out or in to love as love has no center or sides…
prisms shatter the kaleidoscope of poems
dreaming light reflections into the scattering sky
rivulets of song flow into and out of the words
that never touched the sky they painted
light and color slide out of the soundscape of clouds
pirouetting into sky…
reaching into a book that slipped out of its covers
and the night felt so cold…
stars lost their fingerprints
and whirled into your heart
and words tossed hand fulls of sky across the golden
the curtain closes and footlights dim
shadows dance across the stage and sing your name
but you cannot answer
it is all a love song
this breath
this heartbeat
this kiss
~~~~~
we are liquid crystalline surging and receding without solidity or emptiness bleeding into each other’s dream,
and in the waving… the looping, the cascade ascending hearts explode into this rush this zing, this amazing hello goodbye of life
you are the seeking and the belief in that elusive next... there is no letting go, or holding on… the belief unties itself and the imaginary knot that held you in its grasp disappears, you never were…
all things exist in the naming of them, even the idea that there is an 'outside' to the languaging is an idea, …that there are words is just words, that there is thought, is thought…
singing about something that has no words, indicates that there is a thing that has no words… talking about some thing which cannot be described, or sung about, seems to create an un-sing-able thing,
there is not even nothing beyond description, as beyond is description, as well as nothing, and description…
thought dances the morning through the clouds it paints…
no one is wandering along the thought stream thinking about thought,
painting starlight in our eyes, blinding us to the light that is everywhere are no where at all… thought becomes part of the beautiful dream scape, an undermutter of love, beating our hearts with feathered grace, and our breath with a dream of wind…
we are the stories, the imaginary trail of thought, of memory, leading no where, beginning no where… and in sharing our stories we become each other, but we can never be separate and touch...
we dissolve into each other and disappear as selves…
words paint the heavens and stars pours through their own light... dissolving the words, we and our world disappear…
nothing is as it seems, nor is it not
~~~~~
I see you
I love you
I am you
~~~~~
crystalline ships sail into endless sky, their bellies empty of cargo and light, …reaching the end of no horizon, sky falls though the sea and bottomlessness erupts through the tempest of forever plunging…
diving deep, cutting through the knife, the absence of incessant hunger shines in the tale of before and after the storm…
was there ever a longing for cloudless skies, and warm gentle waters lapping, or is this an old time movie burning, cellophane liquidity dissolving the stillness and the songs that projected a dancer on the canyon walls, enchanted with the shadows sliding…
invisible, now, the hunger to be filled, drinking in the mirage, the mirage drinks me…
a slow motion whirlwind unwound the rainbow
collapsing through its own absence… it simply takes my breath away, yet I breathe the universe at it breathes me…
and these fingers paint the world as the world paints this softness that erases itself, softly colors breath, the exhale paints pinwheels spinning wind songs into the dream…
petals fall, was there a flower? dreams collapse, was there ever a world to which we could return? Or are we this dream of distant flowers blooming across the vastness where galaxies collide and love is the sparks flying through your eyes your heart these words that have no meaning, yet are not meaningless… they ignite the memory of stories to be told by the campfire, and we emerge in the sharing and watch the shadows of our lovers dance across the night time forest enchantment…
how could I erase you from myself?
~~~~~
The Fullness And The Hunger
gulls hang under the gathering storm
clouds pour the memory of night into the looming
sunlight splashing from under the horizon
diamonds in a darkening sea
mending your heart with autumn leaves, tears sliding into open, breaking
love explodes into the golden
sliding along the rippling
the belief in a pure consciousness or awareness is a substitute for an imaginary self, an imaginary unchanging thing, it is like a place holder, like the number zero, which seems to fill in the emptiness
so many long to shed the clothes of self, which self is, as there is not even emptiness underneath the beautiful adornment of thought, of memory, and when teachers tell them that they are timeless awareness it sounds like the ultimate escape… but there is no inside or outside to run to, no horizon to cross, no place to reach where you will become a non self, a silent pure awareness, as there is no perception without a perceiver, although these are not two, nor one, nor none…
wrong and right are stories, as well as true and false, real and unreal, changing and unchanging,
there must be imaginary separation to have a reference point, and if that point of view is believed and felt to be solid and unchanging, the rest of the dream appears to be happening to that person, and it feels like that imaginary center to the swirling thought dream is actually moving through a background of time and space
what makes the day time dream feel more real than the night time dream? does the night time dream feel more real than the day during the night, when owls loom on telephone poles and call into the darkness that you cannot hear... in the day time dream there can be memory of the night time dream, especially upon waking, and a feeling of, 'oh my! I am happy (or sad) that was not real'...
so it is the belief in separation dissolving, which somehow erases the feeling of separation, and memory serves to tell the story of before and after awakening, yet the story is known to be a story, as well as this…
trying to find a thing like truth is like sky trying to bite a piece of sky….
infinity rips, words lose their letters as silence slides through sound,
your heart is left breathing love songs in the darkness
cat on my pillow
morning dawns
the belief in a vessel of thought or awareness breaks, and the content inside is not different or separate from the outside, so nothing is added or subtracted to the dreamscape of things when ‘thingness’ is no longer believed, as there were never any things, nor anyone to see or not see this… there is nothing to see…
but it feels like love has flooded all horizons and collapsed the battlements, the castle, and unearthed the ground of being as it dissolves in the absence of solidity and liquidity, an ocean of love without drops or water or ocean
the river slides into its own wetness
and weeps at the beauty of weeping
we are imaginary winds sliding through our own imagination
and it seems like we emerge only in this whirl pooling ballet of nothing and everything, a gypsy shawl of mirrors falling out of the cloth…
crystalline tears are prisms of love pouring colors into a song familiar and new, where love dons all words and spins us into her aching heart and splashes us through deep wall-less canyons, shimmers us into the desolate desert where we meet at the oasis, and drink the sublime ecstasy of life and as love swallows us we are the taste of taste, the swallowing, the fullness and the hunger…
~~~~~
she wanted to tattoo the silence on her tongue, so that only her heart would speak… as her heart longed to burst through her chest…
but only words fell through her breath, echoes slid into the windy night and moon reflections poured through long slender branches, dancing shadows on the garden…
tiny dried blossoms hovered on forgotten stalks, crumbling bit by bit, night by night, petals bleeding the colors of summer into memory, where rainbows and all things emerge and fall back into the meaningless…
songs flow through these liquid words that pour through my fingertips and there is no source to the love that I long to share, but cannot as this love is not mine, nor yours, nor anyone’s to hold or let go of, as it is the longing, the grasping and the memory of laying in the long summer grasses, weeping at the wonder and beauty of it all…
what is so special about silence, when it is a thing that exists only as a word, as all things, even sound, are bites of sound or thought… all thought references other thought, and memory seems to weave an imaginary web, the oroborous spins and seems to create a circle with a center and edges…
echoes bloom and recede on the evening tides, sliding into dreams of moon songs slowly eroding the cliffs of time as space dissolves into the waves of thought from which it never emerged…
golden tongues whisper and words seem to linger, hovering in the thought stream like a treasure that can be captured, but the the thirst to drink the music explodes your heart and it cannot hold even one word, one note, as all songs are played in the key of love, …when the door is realized to be as substantial as thought, all is open… spacious… edgeless… center less… and the division between love and not love dissolves…
~~~~~
galaxies of neurons spin light into the dream, tossing nets of ripples across the shimmering, never catching what it paints, colors exploding, weaving stars into the galaxy and neurons into your brain,
waves cannot surf themselves, but fall, constantly, into their own deliciousness, …words cannot express themselves but fall, constantly, into their own nothingness …the wetness of your eyes, iridescence sliding, rainbows cascading, this untranslatable language of beauty whispers your name, and there is no place to pin it, no golden key to the magic, it is all magic…
empty net of jewels, of reflections dissolving into openness, …a skeleton key of words flowers memory into this universe immeasurable
utterly naked, love is always complete, blooming and falling into petaled softness, …neither real nor unreal, there is no place or time or endless space rushing roaring streaming soaring through the wings of your heart, falling gently softly into sky into wind into the emptiness of these words bursting exploding emerging and dissolving into the flowering preciousness that you are, that love is, simply this wondrous humanness
~~~~~~
there is no looking for answers, there are no questions… there are only love songs streaming from my fingertips as there is no wondering why love, why beauty, why these tears….
tears leave no echo, yet we can hear them in our heart... or is it the distant ocean weeping, longing to taste its own saltiness?
transparency washes away the horizon, sea falls into sky, and moon drifts through its own reflection, ...stars hover, burning in their own radiance, and the last rays of starlight fall into your tears just to dance in the kiss the of their own refection…
she was the dream of moonlight enchantment rippling, as she dreamed of starlight falling, drifting through a sea of naked moon
even though they appear to be decipherable transmissions, words and letters fall apart into dissolving patterns as your heart reads them,
…silently echos bloom and recede into the darkness of moonlight’s last breath, …there is no need to find the words that breathe me, ache me into this dream ballet where we long to touch, but never can…
and that is inescapably excruciatingly beautiful, and I can never tell you why, there is no need to sing the wonders of sunset dissolving
the sound of ancient sea dreams lapping on an empty beach leaves echoes twirling into the taste of words as they melt in your heart
words fall, one by one, erasing the word before it
there is no going back, as back is forward, and forward is a word…
~~~~~
the taste of taste melts my tongue into love songs
there is nothing but wide awake openness... nothing to say or not, yet the dream dreaming itself sings softly, a melody that wanders along the thought stream bleeding memory into colors bursting and dissolving... there is no goal or achievement, there is no one to gather flowers, to hold love, it is all love blooming… utterly empty and within and without, there are no sides to love richly bleeding into the great divide erasing all sides and the middle, …falling into itself, love sings
we are echos of poems scattering light across the universe, sky lace falling softly in the pale moon garden, trails of memory forgetting where the steps were supposed to lead, a dance of reflections spinning light and shadow across the canyon walls, sliding into the river splashing, cascading firefly songs melt your eyes into morning,
we are poems that erase all sound and silence, weaving love into every breath every word, the staccato of consonants clicking and vowels that form our mouths into vessels that hold the explosion of forgotten tongues, as we sing, alone, together, along the meandering…
~~~~~
her heart was an open wound,
…she was the searching to stop the bleeding, trying to scrape off the cells of memory, to rewrite her DNA, to unwind the pain into letters she could read and press inside a book of flowers, …she could not remember the singing she longed to hear,
…it seemed just beyond her ears was a song of homecoming, and the voices seemed to vibrate her heart strings, cutting the wound deeper and deeper… slicing the sky, the earth, the world into love and not love…
she could not stop the longing of every pore of her being to flower to burst, and with every step along this garden path, more petals fell, more tears anointed the sting of hope and fear and this longing for a never arising next… and the path led nowhere, never closer never further from this dream of love of peace of what she did not know, could not know or grasp, and the magic continued to pull her inside out, to unravel her…
emptiness swallowed the heart of love as she dissolved into the longing to flower, petals falling dancing flowing through her, …she was the petaled softness blooming and wilting, the scent of aliveness tasting her lips, the flower was the longing, exploding into a dance of wide open aliveness, with no parts or edges, no words were needed, no key was required to open the boundless, all words painted colors dancing and sliding into rainbows cascading …without source or substance, life continued to dance…
there are no secrets to the book of poems that line your heart
all is revealed, nothing is gained or lost, nothing is real or unreal
nothing is separate, there is nothing to join or be made whole, not even your broken heart which aches you into this song
~~~~~
and in the word silence, letters fall off the line and the image of a sound, stopping, paints itself..
that stories unwind or belief dissolves is a story for a someone to tell,
we and all things seem to arise in the telling, in the wording, such simple lines of thought that have no substance or weight or thickness, and are not there or not, as without another line of thought there can be no comparing, no weighing which thought stream feels more real, and to whom? in circles, all thought all words are defined by and reference 'other' thought, 'other' words, but there is always only one word exploding and dissolving, and isn't this a nice story about nothing at all,
…waves surfing, falling into their own falling, their own wetness…
and is the wave running away from itself or falling into itself?
all arises in the poetry, the song of this and that painting a world spinning around an imaginary point of view, eyes, hearts, reaching to find something solid, a place to rest, which seems to prevent the finding what cannot be found as it has never been lost, this ease this peace of no looking... and the dream remains but it feels like edgeless seamless love softly gently falling into love
the taste of words is like sky like rain like the scent of evening pouring through a love song melting my tongue, the universe dissolving into itself, the world that never was nor will be… flowering and wilting, drenched in the beauty of love… all is shimmering reflection without a sea or sky or clouds, drifting
nakedly colors blossom and dissolve, yet seem to hold light and illuminate echoes falling…
~~~~~
songs slice through their own words and get lost in their own melodies, breathing our hearts with a pulse of sensuous explosions,
waves of ecstasy scintillate as they dissolve into sand and leave no footprints where we once danced…
slip sliding around the edges and catapulting into the edgeless, disappearing into the center less... dissolved in waves of bottomless love
echoes of songs fade into the fading…
beauty unwinds all ideas of beauty... love eviscerates all ideas of love, and it is stunning, and beyond belief that there is no beauty, no love, yet all is utterly beautiful, all is love…
and this is not a mystery, or a thing to be held, as love holds you
there is no separation outside of these words sliding across the glass that no one reads or writes,
love paints itself and saturates the window, dissolving the glass, your skin your eyes your broken heart weeping
we are the enchantment, the beauty, the gentle spell of fairytales spinning, there is no no home point in this compass of wonderment, everyone is a trembling elusive rainbow soaring through my heart dissolving into colors bleeding, sunsets pouring into bottomless…
stories cannot be picked apart with a raven’s beak, nor extinguished with sky
fire illuminates itself
as you fall through my heart I fall through yours…
and there is no one, no place, no hand nor heart that can catch us
~~~~~
when you hear your heart song echoing across the vastness you cannot help but listen... you have never not heard it, somewhere, deeply, beckoning you to the fire of your own demise
many have the belief that I have something I can give them, or transmit, as my songs can seem to hypnotize... and lie under their pillows at night waiting until the perfect dawn….
sky breathes …wind sighs …echoes weep
oceans of songs pour through their own words and melodies sink,
slowly, into the embers and ashes and soft winds gently caressing your nakedness where memory sings you sighs you pours you into this song of reflections drifting…
tears cannot erase the shadows lining the deepest pockets of your heart that hold the secrets of dawn’s embrace,
you plunge your fingers into the darkness combing through the memory of light as the fibre of your being is ripped and shredded into meaningless words and the scent of echoes blossom into morning…
love falls in love with love through our eyes our breath our beating hearts, our lips tasting ocean songs through the saltiness of our tears
ordinary and extraordinary, sublime and mundane lose their compass as sails catch the sunset and we burn into the colors of moon
galaxies of neurons sing stars into our eyes, weeping, dissolving into the dissolving…
this poem holds no words, nothing is revealed or lost, nothing can, as there are no things and no hand nor heart to untangle this life, to comb the vastness into a completeness where stars never die and love will hold you, forever, in her blanket of moon
~~~~~
nothing rests under the tangling roses, wind has taken the leaves and blossoms, …shadows slide under the cliffs waiting for spring
dove floats softly through my open hand
love swoons through itself, leaving no trace or echo, no song can hold or free itself…
words tumble down the canyon of of joy and sorrow singing high cliffs and deep dark narrows into a lightly rippling melody, and a traveller of serpentine paths looking for the edge of sorrow…
all seems to lead to a lofty place where birds will lift their wings, open your heart, and the tips of sky feathers will fall into a forever petaled softness of sky soaring through sky…
but the path leads no where, it seems to traverse the mountain of agitation and ease, leaving no footprints… yet you can never erase the wind propelling you into amazing heights of ecstasy and plunging you again and again into the darkness of despair and the longing for flight,
as you are the winds of longing…
you are liquid portraits of clouds of hands, of hearts, reaching to escape their frames, colors slide through the curtains of memory, stories bloom and recede, …to whom do they sing? what is contained and what is spilled in the telling of the story?
oceans of rivers flow… never parting never meeting, currents of light suspended in light,
outside the tale of dark and light there is no darkness waiting to be born, nor light that is dying, there is no outside or inside at all…
love kisses itself through our beautiful tears, oceans of salty sweetness dissolving on our tongues…
wings of ocean songs pour through our open hands
hands pour through the depths of sky
~~~~~
I am not seeking to toss your heart into a song, ...will words and music and dance and colors pour this love, this wonder into your beauty?
love is, with or without words or music, or any special key, ...hearts need not be tuned or unstrung, …we are resonance soaring through the keys of life, and there is no door that can be un locked or opened to the sheer nakedness of love
a single note has no sound as it dances across the horizon slicing the distance between love and nothing at all, there must be two notes for imaginary distance to be crossed, the music of life is not separate from the listening, the dance has no dancers… you reach out to grasp the magic and a vast emptiness blooms and slides through your fingers, burning the last rays of midnight moon, …the grasping disappears…
the last leaves fell acres ago, and when were the trees not naked?
when did I not love you?
where is the sound of distant roads traveling, songs of my childhood streaming through the open windows dashing words and notes into the streaming deserted farmlands, roofless barns filled with tumbleweeds, eons of sky leaking into the silence…
taillights singing in foreign tongues as cars unravel the highway, …there is no one trying to decipher the magic of sound, this heartbeat, this breath, this cold winter morning pouring through the frosted windows, grey cat curled on the crochet yellow blanket, my fingers still lingering in the knots, a blue boy dances across the screen and all is blue, all is boys playing with their video games enchanted with the speed of light, bursting with wonder, bursting with songs buried deep in my heart, …does anyone become a grown up, has anyone left the child behind?
shadows of morning caress the dawn, doves float down, naked branches bend and swing when they land, all is this hush, and there is no waiting…
all is full all is empty there is no all… or not
footsteps and the sound of thunder roll underneath the door, never opened never closed, the spaces between us are as imaginary as the words in this poem, it may snow today, or there will be sun, and all is distant, all is close, …buried in autumn, the garden sleeps
