thunder of the universe

 doves rush up from the frozen garden, streaming rays of shadows soar across the grey cat, silent in the morning sun

I am shadows dancing in caverns of light, rivulets of memory pouring through the shimmering that dances between sea and sky and nothing at all…

ocean songs are not wet, yet they drench us with waves and stillness, soaring through underwater skies…

we are winged transparent membranes of thought in between the breath and the song, oscillating visions of wonderment, of liquid eyes and lips, the feeling of wetness on your fingers, sliding through the skin into the blood the heart, the emptiness inside, the emptiness outside, the summersault of love on the ocean grasses…

no one knows what wetness is, or what it feels like to another, that there is a thing called water or wet or another is a sumptuous thought dream, liquid skies streaming, thought pouring through its own liquidity, the word wind dissolving into not even nothing, as nothing is a word…

everything that seems to appear is as real as the imaginary perceiver

a chorus of echoes sky writing across the universe of dreams

you have always been alone, there is no time, nor you… the scenery seems to change, to flow, as well as thought, but that is a thought, there is only what seems to appear, a magical illusion without substance, a mirage where you are no more real than these words sliding through the thought stream as love sweeps through memory and paints liquid wings of innocent wonder in our eyes, feathers of mourning softly falling onto the frozen ground

~~~~~

and morning splashes our faces from underneath the horizon, and we are spun anew into the day dream, adrift in acres of endless skies pouring through cloud scapes, worlds forming and dissolving, intricately infinite in detail and yet without measurement or dimension, or time or space, …people I seem to know greet me and we seem to dream together, in this song where words fall apart into meaningless symbols, letters dance and fade, and melodies are memories of notes cascading through our mouths, …my heart has exploded, my face is your face, there is no one behind the mirror or inside these reflections, the mirror is illusion, illusion is illusion, no echo has a source, and it is all echoes…

there is no space to hold them, no screen upon which they appear, no one is dreaming, …simply this streaming pulsing murmuration of thought, that cannot grasp itself…

there is no question of real or unreal, thought seems to form its own anchor, yet no one is lost or found as the swirling has no sides, no center, no one can land there is no harbor or safety, no net of words can capture you or let you go, as you are this net, this constellation of thought, no separate thoughts or stars can be found, yet they seem to form patternless patterns that tell a story of galaxies…

no one wonders why or how as these fingers slide across the keys, stories of stories bloom, and one perfect leaf that still hangs on the tree of roses flutters in the canyon breeze…

what is the meaning of these words that taste the morning with poems, drifting… constellations unwind themselves into starlight pouring through her, as she is starlight pouring

and she no longer could pinpoint the stars that swirled inside or outside the galaxy that spun her

it feels like love kissing my lips into this song, tasting itself in this indelible sweetness that fades, …as soon as the butterfly is pinned, colors run through the open fields of memory and love blooms, just like this…

all separation all measurement is imaginary, fleeting, thought seems to throw nets on the stream of perception but can never catch anything as the things are created by thought, including things like perception, and thought

~~~~~

all horizons collapse as seas plummet into skies and shatter into a murmuration of wind soaring through wind… our eyes are transparent prisms whirling holograms in and out of focus, …no place of rest is sought in this exhilarating aliveness, still soaring silence breathing wildly in my chest, exploding into songs bleeding out of these fingers …as the grey cat prrrrrs, the taste of morning swallows the darkness and I watch these hands, softly caressing the keys, …I appear in the words floating across the screen, my world is made anew with every word exploding, liquid memories paint my world and this dancer asking for a dance… waiting for a partner, as real and as unreal as this love that swirls and tumbles and bleeds into the morning… 

just… waiting on the other side of darkness

I am echoes of ocean tides blooming and receding on the banks of no tomorrow

~~~~~

there is not even nothing under or inside the apparent net of belief, or thought, who learns or adopts belief?

belief is thought that feels real or solid somehow and is the same illusion of solidity as the imaginary self or you… there is nothing that you really are, you are not even nothing… there is not even nothing under or inside the apparent net of belief, or thought, who learns or adopts belief,

belief is thought that feels real or solid somehow and is the same illusion of solidity as the imaginary self or you

this is not, ‘oh! now I merge with everything!’, or dissolve into nothing, as everything and nothing are simply ideas, like you... ideas are ideas, how thick, how substantial is thought, can you catch a concept?

all these words, a sliding thought stream has really only one word at a time and an illusion of a continuum when there is the feeling that there is a thinker, or a someone to whom thought happens… and that thought, or the story is going somewhere, and must have come from somewhere or some thing, seems to weave a net of jewels, of all these words referencing other words, and spin a mental fabrication of you and your world, every word conjuring memory unique to you, placing you in the center of this whirling swirling thought, but it is like whirling a stick with the tip on fire, it seems to create a circle, with a center and edges, a you and all these things that surround you, like sky and trees, and me... and there is a longing to escape the circle yet you are this thought dream…

~~~~~

we are a monologue, an enchantment of memories, words exploding into infinitely faceted jewels cascading seamlessly without end or beginning, marveling at the sun streaming through our synapses, morning lights a bonfire on the mountain, the lightening is in us, we are the lightening, the marveling of it, and the amazement of these eyes, this memory, this amazement…

we are as real as each other, simply thought, memories, that seem to form lines like opinions and preferences, between you and me

...these lines that form us can never be breached, lest we disappear, we are utterly alone and we can never touch

all we can 'know' about ourselves or others emerges in this thought stream, a fingerprint of liquid memory which seems to paint our world, it is these words which define us and we become separate in the defining, yet these words which we sing to each other, these love songs, which indelibly write ourselves into each other’s story, ripple our fingerprints into each others, swirls and whorls of thought dancing, the scent of morning tea and the steam rising and dissolving, I spit onto my lips to ease the heat as it warms my belly

is this tea separate from the tasting of it, is this pearly dawn separate from the seeing? 

a million suns explode in your eyes, where is the line between you and the light that dances through the glass, across the kitchen floor, cascading over the grey cat sprawled on the flowered carpet….

we are tales of enchantment spinning themselves into a dream spell, softly

~~~~~

delicately deliciously love swoons into her own arms, …there is nothing but love’s embrace, …this is the magic we feared and longed to catch to swallow to hold so we would be in love's arms forever, but there is no time, nor even a now to swallow the sunrise…

we are this magic, this embrace of joy and fear and sorrow and despair and there is nothing to hold and no heart to hold it, all is exploding into its own explosion, smithereens of nothing rip your heart out…

exquisite tender grace of life falling into itself, ever emerging and dissolving, the beauty of blooming and wilting is unutterably magical…

rivers of love hover and plunge into a cascade of wonderment as we dance on the edge of echos fading into endless blue…

sky lace pours onto the frozen ground as morning caresses the canyon, or is it my eyes that caress the world into being, and is it ever, or not, just this seamless embrace effortlessly soaring through its own arms int this dance without a score or dance floor or a background of space or time or… nothing or anything at all?

~~~~~

and skies pour through us as we pour through sky…

how can beauty be owned, it is location less…. this is love, and love has no other, no boundary, no entry, no escape, no words that can circle it and capture it, and hold it in the palm of your heart, as our hearts are love, and there are no edges to our hearts or our beauty... love cannot hold itself yet it is always swooning into its own tender embrace... love weeps at the beauty of weeping …we find love in the wetness of our eyes, these reflections, rippling iridescence sliding into rainbows and suns and clouds…, rain in my heart is rain in your heart, we pour into each other's heart songs, we are each other

it is beautiful to not see my own beauty, as I am not, yet I find myself as I am lost in yours, we are but cloud reflections rippling, there are no clouds…

~~~~~~

it is obvious that there are no edges, no outside to what appears, no place from which life comes or goes, …no past can be found nor any tomorrows, no now can be captured, all arises naturally, effortlessly, spontaneously, and simultaneously dissolves, and never becomes a solid ‘thing’, …the reaching to grab to hold this magical appearance is the magical appearance…

and this reaching to grasp the magic, to ‘know’ it, to understand, also occurs naturally, as well as the recognition that as ‘this’ has no edges it cannot be known, and is therefore not an ‘it’, …there are no ‘its’, no things, all time, dimension, measurement, all qualities and characteristics, are words are thought, even ideas like knowing or unknowing fade into wonder… echoes fade and there is no source to this love song, reflections dancing on imaginary canyon walls pirouette into sky, sky tumbles into the purply shadows, sliding down into deep crevasses where sun never kisses the barren rocks, …yet drifting seeds seem to find a purchase there, rain falls, and they grow and grow, their branches reaching for sky, holding bits of blue in their fingers….

separation is the dream, no separation is the dream, there are no things to be separate or joined nor one big thing to be divided, …love is edgeless, center less and indivisible, yet love can appear to swoon into its own arms, to love itself, without anything needing to be known or unknown, found, lost, or gathered into a song of words sliding through your thought stream right now…

~~~~~

rainbows dissolve, was there ever a rainbow, floating, were you ever, are you now? in this rush of words, every word paints a tapestry of memory, people and colors that seem to hover and blend and dissolve into the next word, yet next is a word, word is a word…

murmuration of thought swirls and arcs and dissolves, a meaningless dance of unutterable beauty, love swoons into itself… a heartbeat a breath, a poem singing itself, words pour through our hearts and ignite the dream of wonder, of love, of waves kissing unseen shores, …the glistening sands, footsteps dissolving into winds rushing, sky sliding in and out of the racing clouds, …across the universe galaxies are spinning into this kaleidoscope of memory that seem to paint rainbows dissolving… 

it is impossible to say if this as it seems to appear is real or unreal, as there would have to be two reference points to compare, or two lines of thought meandering down the same path... but there is only this monologue of echoes, a concert of one note, that with memory seems to create a melody, a symphony... and words like dream or love may appear, naturally and spontaneously like all of this magic show, and simultaneously dissolve, blooming and wilting without ever becoming a thing separate from us, that we can grasp and say, 'this is it! yahoo! I have found the secret of life!" as we are this magic show, simply appearances in this dream without time or timelessness, without measurement or dimension or any 'things' or 'non things' at all.... and love seems to be a word for this seamless enchantment that has no magician, nor need of knowing or unknowing, …simply no need at all for anything other, better, more or next… just life as it seems to appear, looking and feeling like anything at all…

colors slide off the painting... and all is a rainbow dream

a soap bubble dissolves and as the inside and outside were never separate, only the shimmering iridescence remains... is it a dream, is it real? …as there are not two vantage points, only one imaginary center, and certainly no edges, there can be no knowing or unknowing, …the night time dream feels as real as the day time dream, or as unreal, …life only seems as real as it seems... language seems to provide binocular vision, but there is only one word, ever, and as there are never two thought streams, and word is a word is a word… meaning and non meaning fly out the window as the house collapses, the sky collapses, the ground dissolves and not even nothing is left, yet words seem to paint sky and clouds and dreams…

and it all feels complete, even the hunger, as there is no other… love has no other, love is what ever seems to appear… 

is there existence, is there non existence? is there love, is there not love? is there wholeness or lack? how could anything be missing when there are no things outside or inside the words? where would the missing piece come from when there are no edges, no ‘outside’ to what seems to appear?  the feeling of lack is full in itself, and somehow feels like love, born and dying into itself… love blooming and dissolving into itself, into nothing, into everything… into this magical dream, utterly apparent yet ungraspable, unknowable, as there are never two, nor one, nor none…

~~~~~

you are the looking for a thread (an idea, philosophy, enlightenment) to wrap your self inside, to hold on to, an imaginary solidity, …there is no one looking, no warm cocoon made of light wings to embrace you, or claws of terror to let you go… you are what you ran away from and towards, as you feared it would rip you to shreds and eviscerate the very core of what you are, yet this emptiness beckoned, clothed in your own love, your own tears, your own reaching… for what?

words ricochet memories into a wind song, waltzing whirling through ever blooming ever wilting waves running through fields of weightless ness… liquid love, suspended and exploding and imploding simultaneously… liquid sun pouring through its own warmth and light... an embrace of one, of none, a ballet without steps or stage, or dancers…

words are an architecture of fantasy, a choir of sensations stitching your portrait and pulling apart the colored threads on a fluid screen of memory, …you are a liquid mosaic, pinpoints of light melting into sky, whirling into galaxies, fingers, reaching, words, reaching, stretching a canvas and painting snapshots of time, burning the fabric and the frame

poems are tattered remnants of prayers that gather wind songs streaming pain and sorrow and overwhelming joy, brief and lasting glimpses of happiness and deep unrelenting despair, sublime peace humming and sometimes breaking on the rocks of turmoil, …all are the colors of love tumbling soaring rushing roaring falling through its own arms, erasing the embrace that never held a thing, as this symphony requires no arms, no instruments, …all is the music of love that no one plays, …love listens to its own song, and sings along… can’t you feel your heart beating?

there are no separate thoughts or feelings and no one separate from them, all is a liquid monologue of thought, there is nothing that can be, or need be added or subtracted in this all encompassing symphony of perception and its inseparable recognition, words only seem to bite a piece of music, but there is never just… one… note held in the river of time, as time is a word a construct of thought, of memory that feels like it is held in the banks, but it all overflows, there are no edges as edge is another thought, this river of thought washes you into and out of the thought stream…

all hearts break, continuously, as this magic that we are pours over and through us in heart breaking tsunamis and warm delicate kisses, waves of seamless wonder, and deep unseen currents of a boundless ocean…  love has sung us and itself into this chorus of memory as she simultaneously erases her own song

love falls through her own embrace, and all is a weightless tender joy… written with shooting stars burning afterimages in our eyes, scattering sky into shards of color, of impossible beauty that pierce your heart…

this passion play cannot be held or discarded, love is too naked, too hot, this furnace of impossible beauty could never be contained as love has no sides, and there is no one and nothing separate from this all consuming fire

and that this symphony of delicate winds soar beyond imagining is more imagining…

~~~~~

you cannot go outside of description, as you and your world are description, so what is this? is it nothing? is nothing a description? is it real, am I real? what is real or unreal about what is seeming to appear? yet this without other feels more wonderful than description, and that is description…

I often ask people, ‘what is a cat?’ …all that seems to arise is description, the claws, the soft fur, the prrrrr, the play, the mice they bring in at midnight, the slow prowl, the joyful romp across the yard, the crunch when they eat, the soft lapping as they drink, the nubby tongue and the grooming, how deeply you love them, how they rub their faces on everything in your house, and wake you up in the morning… how you pet them and brush them… the comb loaded with fur…  all the cats you have known and watched and been told about… the kitten the adult and the death…

the dream of the fullness and emptiness of love brushing through your life… how beautiful to love so deeply, the weeping is love, missing them is love, love is love…

the grey cat came into our hearts and curled up in love

~~~~~

wind shadows softly float across the canyon

ocean calls the river from deep within its wetness

love calls you deeply and you cannot ignore her song

within and without are lost in this magic where never and forever collide,

suspended without borders, drifting through the words,

you are this enchantment, you can feel your heart singing ocean songs,

it is love answering her own call…

~~~~~

poems are a dance of words, brushstrokes of love, coloring in a wordless vastness, …vowels spill into sounds, consonants stop and start the river of thought as it flows into and out of this tender caress of flowing shapes and colors, …hearts reach for words as breath rounds our mouths into a kiss and our tongues into a taste of the fullness of this most intimate symphony …infinite textures separate and blend into liquid pictures of this immediate sensorial ballet, inhaling echoes and golden, exhaling songs and reflections, …lovers leaving their last footprints in our minds, glowing sunsets bathing empty beaches where we danced, once, never forever …wind sails away in the wind, images explode and recede into the sparkling sands of memory…

~~~~

gazing through the window, into the morning, into the inside of inside, across the outside of outside, untangling the horizon, thought twists its tale and breaks the story into sounds and starlight pouring through endless echoes cartwheeling across the cliffs, …lost and found in the reflections that swallowed me and poured my nakedness through shards of rainbows, glowing softly in the shadows under piles of leaves and fallen roses… brown, now from the ravages of winter, curled up in the promise of spring… 

never blooming always blooming, love is this intimacy of life that has no other, holds me in this hush of unknowing, and ravishes me by ripping apart its own clothing, revealing not even nothing, not even love, 

yet love is this instantaneous spontaneity, this zing of undeniably radiant aliveness flowering and wilting simultaneously

light cannot be contained inside the glass that has no sides…

reaching out reaching in sliding through my fingers, soft petaled rain blooms in my eyes, feathered symphony of light plays softly in the garden, through the rain through the tears, through my reflection melting gracefully into morning

~~~~~

starlight falls through my fingers, into my mouth, searing my heart with indelible softness, weaving and unweaving this flowing luminous fabric of reflections blooming and dissolving in the wetness of my eyes

tears dissolve in the womb of ocean, I am born of sky, born of water, born of tears, born of this broken hearted beauty which is everywhere and everything… I see myself in your delicate eyes and watch a dance without dancers flood the sky with a sound that has no meaning or location, yet fills my heart with tears, and I breathe again the gentle waves of sky of wind of clouds forming and melting into endless blue…

we are reflections dancing on the canyon walls, echoes resounding across the vastness, we are this unbearable beauty that can never be plucked as all blooms and wilts simultaneously… our hearts know these ocean songs that cannot be translated or forgotten, they lie deep within us and sing us into a symphony with infinite notes, vibrations of starlight, and the howl of moon

love is a primordial dream of angels, wings unfolding waves of starlight, ocean songs falling into wind and the sigh of shadows dancing, enamored with their own light

tears fall through cascades of rainbows, ocean paints its own wetness as we taste the saltiness of heaven of hell of joy of sorrow …love wounds and heals… and we are this mystery of never knowing what love is, yet we are this loving deeply…

we are the enchantment of words, a spell of ancient tongues,  a story of water color dreams pouring through our liquid hearts…

~~~~~

captured in the long dark night between the stars, we listen to the thunder inside our chests, waiting for the final storm, while rain streams down in between the moon

storms of galaxies plow through constellations dripping light into my midnight tea, …tumultuous and delicate, thought is transparent as it paints a fluid fantasy that has no edge or ground or surface, with darkness and light, and colors blooming and bleeding through the quiet, …pale glow of a red salt lamp, bravely singing in the blackness, night swoons in through my reflection in the window, thought pours dark into sky and paints this liquid dreamscape of my hand, my mouth, this cup of tea, and warmth into my chest

hallucinations swirl in the glass as memory drinks the colors and spits out a taste of yesterday, the scent of tomorrow hovers while steam curls and drifts across the horizon and never kisses your lips 

words hover on the abyss, cascade down the sides of sorrow and leap into the mouth of joy, slicing the arpeggio of a surround sound and light show into bites of taste and touch and the fragrance of midnight

mirrors of flesh dissect the eyes into inside and outside, ideas that drifted across the horizon, and plunged into foreign seas, where languages murmur and hum, no longing remains to translate the universe into long strands of beads I can count, repeatedly, looking for imaginary why’s… unseen hands ripped the blinders off my senses and no one fell to earth or into the vastness of sky

~~~~~

searingly intimate and infinite, the obvious is ungraspable …words slide along a track of assumed knowing, and bloom into deep agony and unutterable joy…  love burns your echo into a song of longing, of never grasping love or joy or agony, as there is nothing separate from love, even the loss of love, is love…

wingtips slice through sky, leaving whirlpools dissolving, words slice through unknowing and seem to create wings and skies and whirlpools that dissolve, words slide through themselves, their empty skins are these indecipherable lines and squiggles, sky written with sky, dissolving into the dissolving…

empty hands empty hearts empty dreams empty words dip and skim the reflections they seem to create, and the wetness on your fingers is not separate from them, nor are you separate from this wetness, and there is no knowing what wetness is…

and this love exploding in your heart is not separate from your heart nor are you separate from this love, these tides of liquidity that wash over and through you and echo throughout the vastness calling your name, which can never be located, as there is no place where you are, nor place where you are not…

there no place where love is nor place where love is not…

~~~~~

strains of sunset bleed through the night and ignite the dawn, or was it your heart aching for just… another… day?

love’s deep throated vibrato melts the inner lining of your heart, waves of overtones and undertones crash through the fluid membrane that isolated you from the fear of this all consuming love and this emptiness that eviscerates you breaks you slays you, pierces you more deeply than you ever believed you could survive, …and did you survive the long dark night, and the terrible ache of dawn?

you can feel your skin tasting autumn golden, you were never an empty shell pouring tears into the rain, you were not hiding inside your eyes or contained in your skin, tender trembling leaves never held the wind, your  skin your eyes your heart never held you as you were nothing more than this ever arising ever dissolving flowering of sensuous aliveness never separate from the last… leaves… gently …falling, clouds slowly drifting into dragons, pulling apart the sky …wind kissing your tender cheeks…

these beautiful tears, this heartache for what you knew not, was never yours, it was simply an idea, a magician’s tale, a mirage of deserts dreaming of water, the long slow gait of a camel, sun pouring golden ripples through water reflections, echos of songs floating,  a herons neck gracefully unfolding as she gathers the wind in her wings and pours the beauty of flight into sky…

lyrics sway through these sensuous waves playing through long graceful grasses, waves of love and love lost sing this heart song, as your eyes caress the morning, slender leaves are heavy with dew, the jeweled wetness of your eyes scatters colors into the scent of morning, a scintillating fantasy that has no dreamer, the flowering has no flower, this love has no lovers, there is no other, there is no you

mind numbingly wondrous aliveness rises and falls into itself, love constantly falls into and through its own arms…

love drowns in its own beauty… you can taste its wetness in your eyes and feel it pull you through tides of joy and sorrow where it dissolves into its own colored reflections, bleeding into infinite unnamable hues, bathing nakedly in its own words

~~~~~

it has always been the magic hour, just before sunset, your heart bleeding into sky, sky bleeding into you, darkness sliding over the horizon, your broken heart a mirror of love’s exquisite beauty…

for you are already drowned, oh beautiful one, in an ocean of sunset, ocean of stars, ocean of tears, ocean of love, ocean of oceans rising, falling, breathing you drinking you drowning you dissolving you

~~~~~

nothing can fill your empty heart, nothing can fill your empty arms …you are the reaching... the emptiness, the longing …no longer looking the seeker dissolves, she never was… yet longing remains, super complete in itself, nothing need fill your empty arms, nothing need fill your empty heart …it is not yours …you are this empty heart, …without longing you are not

how rich and lush this sensorial display, never lost, never found, always lost, always found… always on the tip of your tongue, the taste of taste swallows you …swims in the magic of your eyes, seeps through your fingers, floods your body, drenches your heart …words sing with eyes closed, opening this magical world that listens to its own songs…

you inhale deeply the beauty as it consumes you, and drifts into its own sunset, fading into an imaginary horizon where time stops …it never was, you were not anything more or less than a beautiful dream of longing…

~~~~~

trying to listen to a sound beyond sound she found the cups of her ears filled with songs of stars, overflowing drenching subsuming the rustling of shadows through the darkness, the ache of moon hovering on the other side of the sea, an occasional car pouring down the midnight streets, a dog, somewhere, …and her heart, beating the rhythm of tides, of breath, of love and love lost beautifully entwined… unraveling a book of poems drifting across pools of echoes, floating in a sea of dreams

our eyes cannot hold the wetness of reflections sliding across the dreamscape, as our eyes bloom only in this sea of echoes …there is nothing painting this magic, other than the magic itself…

what flowers in the life of stars, what lies in-between the light, when light is all there is? love is the shining of itself, self illumined, radiant obvious ungraspable, unreachable, unspeakable…

~~~~~

a bouquet of words slides through your senses and blossoms into stories of flowers, the scent of the universe flavors you, wraps you in its edgeless heart, as it flows through your body, leaving no secrets to expose, this excruciatingly beautiful nakedness is unavoidable, unreachable undeniable …scintillating tastes and sounds cascade through your liquid rainbow body pouring through a swirling intoxication of light and dark and color, drinking you and pouring you into this dance of enchantment that has no other…

 

the rhythm of your heart is wind singing, tasting the beauty of wind, gentle and strong and waiting just beyond the idea of breath, and beyond the idea of beyond, it is simply breathing, loving, tasting the sound of words, …a pulse of moon on the other side of the horizon floods your open heart and it is your blood flowing pouring blood into the sunset, hovering on the tides of wind…

no gong was struck yet we swim in the resonance, …the hum of the universe is love, you can feel it in your bones your breath your blood streaming through ancient songs of memory, wind tattooing the wind with your name, clouds dissolving on your tongue, sky caressing your skin, the grey cat curled on the chair, listening to sounds you will never hear, you never heard anything, you are the listening, the sublime bliss of feeling touching tasting loving…

love is the open secret, love is obvious and cannot be attained or held…

love is super complete, edgeless, without time or timelessness, without dimension or measurement or any particular qualities at all...

it is the longing for it, the feeling of lack and the feeling of completeness, all and everything and nothing at all…

~~~~~

early dawn bathes the canyon, light swoons down the cliffs, sky leaks into deep crevasses and runs purples into the river, still dark with night, 

…coyotes are sleeping, somewhere, curled up in their softness,

shadows hide beneath the roses, leaves unfold into reflected light, and all these words seem to paint a dream of morning, but this is a cascade of ideas, never punctuating the seamless flow of perception or isolating a singer, …it feels like an inseparable flow of what I know not as there is nothing flowing, no outside or inside or place where there is not this edgeless sea dream, ….never halting, never moving, no one drinks this juiciness of life, intoxicated with all that seems to appear, …undeniable yet ungraspable, no one is enchanted by the taste of morning tea, steam rising, curling, fading, …tea is a word that seems to separate this liquid from the glass, glass is a word, separate is a word …there is no sense of a someone watching the morning or writing these words, no feeling that there are actual separate things, or time….

all dissolves, yet never was…

thought is just a part of this chorus bursting and subsiding simultaneously, ….light and dark and colors, pouring …shaping liquid memories into a tale of a girl who was ravaged and resurrected into this infinite and deeply intimate dream, bathed in the deepest mystery of love that need not be known as love seems to know itself

~~~~~

words form our lips our teethe our mouths, this …very …kiss, 

they skip nakedly through open fields gathering flowers in their mouths and dirt on their feet, waves of grasses brush their knees as light and dark and colors pour from their fingers, burning clouds and sunsets into infinite sky…

and the memory of rain, slowly, gently, pouring the wet off of raindrops and skimming echos off the ocean, tossing reflections of sky into sky, as sky blooms into songs of above and below, spinning imaginary horizons, into the fabric of your life, and dissolves the imaginary lines between you and love…

sipping starlight in your eyes I am the wetness and the light and the love shinning… there are not enough words to paint these tears these hearts exploding, imploding into tsunamis of joy and sorrow washing through the ocean of dreams, where silence is a word and love is a word and words are words... lilting across a back beat of wonder colors slide off the rainbow and into your eyes, form your heart into the three most beautiful words 'I love you’…

these songs can empty your heart of ideas of love and melt 

your empty hand, reaching for an imaginary sky…

ocean of love has no sides, no surface nor bottom… deeper than deep, than bottomlessness itself, swallowing itself, singing itself, pouring through itself...  wet in wet in wet in wet, tears are the hush of meaningless words, love speaks in all tongues, foreign and familiar, the heart sings rippling rainbow currents that cascade through the taste of infinite hues of love, …we slide through colors dissolving, and arise in …this …perfect …kiss

~~~~~

are these your wings, is this your heart beating? whose song whose words whose tears? 

words slide the steam off your bathroom mirror, as you watch your lips form kisses and sing questions about the nature of meaning and wonder how many more words until the end of my story…

yet end is a word and story is a story, …what are wings, what is sky? what separates the feathers from the wings, but words?

meaning and non meaning are words, playing pin the tail on the donkey when there is no tale to chase, as you are the story of seeking a safe place where everything makes sense… where there are things like truth, and a ground of being, something you can count on for stability… 

yet truth is a description, a word that seems to separate a piece of sky from sky…

what pours through your jugular of flame, what is it that burns you alive, but love, …whose love? what is love beyond the word, what is beyond? what is outside the words if outside is a word?

perhaps what you fear and long for, what you are seeking, is not a what? perhaps the very assumption that there is something to find and a someone to find it is a myth, a story of this and that and time… but you have never found a next, have you?

what you are seeking is already the case, utterly obvious and inescapable, yet unreachable, and unattainable as there is no one separate to reach it or attain it, you heart aching your empty hands reaching are not separate from this symphony of perception and its inseparable recognition, simultaneously blooming and wilting without ever becoming a ‘thing’, a flower you can hold and treasure,

…all is this magical show, this enchantment that has no solidity or liquidity

this is not an it as there are no edges or sides, …can you find an outside to what is going on? if there is no outside is there an inside? what sense what meaning lies in these words? what is truth? where will you hide when death is near? and it is always here, your beautiful death, although you never lived…

~~~~~

this exquisite sensuality, this rich and lush and delicious aliveness anoints your eyes with the wetness of scintillating prisms, and breaks your heart heart with a tsunami of desire to capture this obvious magic that you long to surrender to, to dissolve into

the enchantment has no solidity and that is the magic… 

this is the ravenous beauty you long for and fear, the landscape of sorrow and joy, rolling hills and towering peaks, and long empty deserts that have no mirage, it is all mirage and you can never drink the waters as you are not separate from these magical tales of love and love lost that pour through your fingertips, like rain, like tears, like time, when it was not…

but it never was, it is simply memory which colors in this seamless light and sound show, this surround sound of life, which has no edge,…

or middle

this intoxication requires no special drink nor magic words to read or repeat, there is no magician, no story teller, no ancient grains of sand flowing through an hourglass, dissolving the glass back into the empty beaches you wandered, looking for clues, turning over shells rolling in, rolling out… waves cannot be stopped, the sea has no other side, it has no sides at all… ocean has no drops, nor water, yet you taste the saltiness of your tears and fall… it is all falling into and through itself, these currents of love, that have no edge and cannot be plucked or discarded, as your hands your heart are not empty or full or separate from this river of oceans echoing in that empty shell, the blood the bones the heart the nautilus unwinds, all unfolds spontaneously as it dissolves, love listens to itself through your heartbeat, sees itself through the prisms of your eyes, love cannot be and yet love cannot not be...

when it feels like there is no one separate from the dream of separation it never occurs to struggle to surrender or escape, we are already drowned…

~~~~~

my fingertips caress this gentle rain as it flows into and through me…

I am drowned, dissolved, suspended as this softness, these tears, this rainbow hovering in the garden, …no one dissolved, no one is reaching to grasp the colors, floating, no one is trying to hold on to the magic that cannot be found or lost or saved for a rainy day, …rain is magic, as well as longing for a sunny day…

what is love, what is love not? plucking the petals one by one, rose petals pressed into beads flavored the afternoons and long dark nights of hope and fear, …thorns punctured my fingers and ripped my heart, bit by bit… the lines around love and not love dissolved, they never were…

what is sound, what is silence? is there anything between these lines, between these words, underneath these letters, inside this book of poems weaving and unravelling a flowing tapestry of lines and squiggles, patternless patterns cast into the long dark night, …stars tell your story, a fairytale of love and love lost, the beauty of a shooting star burning in its own heat and light… 

songs ancient and new are written with the same words, as are we, simply stories, unique and familiar, galaxies spinning in our own rhythms, arms reaching… never crossing this impossible distance between here and there, as these are words, ideas with no solidity or liquidity,

we are this running commentary dancing, …we are formed and separated only by these words, this breath held in the roundness of my mouth, spluttering out through my teeth, my lips kissing air, kissing space, kissing nothing at all, …this sumptuous aliveness, the emptiness and fullness of love

~~~~~

the tide left her signature on the long empty beaches, traceries of elegant script rising and falling, dancing across the sands… wind kissed the wetness out of your tears weeping at the beauty and the loss of it all…

your heart is the ocean and had no need to decipher the language of moon

no anchor was needed as there is no bottom, …wind and sails a distant horizon are the echoes of memory, as well as an ‘other’ shore, where the moon hid, long ago, in a fairy tale of never and forever, and the longing for her song to fill your broken heart

…yet the lullaby had no one to soothe, there was no empty heart, no brokenness to mend, no magic spell that would push the darkness away so you could dance always in unbroken light, …you have always been dancing as love in love, as light and dark and the serenade of colors, of all feeling, all sensation…

you are an imaginary center that seems to swirl and dance through a magical dream of time and space, but all distance and measurement are ideas like colors in a painting with autumn leaves in the rain, where is the wetness, where is the color?

there are no blanks until you get to the edge… what lies outside of the frame, but an imaginary perspective of outside and inside? what is outside of outside? is there any thing inside these words sliding through your mind stream, this monologue that has no end or beginning outside of the words, ‘end’ and ‘beginning’?

can you jump into the painting or are you already there?

there are no rainbows without you, there is no here or there, or both, or neither… 

there is no gap, or in between, as love is the words and the spaces, the song and the silence between my lips and this kiss,

love fills in the imaginary spaces between the water and the wetness drinking you, drowning you in a water color dream of love…

~~~~~

rose floating in water reflections, echoes of velvet petals suspended as sky, …and I am your world and you are mine, yet we can never meet outside of this kiss of everything and nothing, this collision of forever and never, this fatal beauty of love falling in love with love…

desire unfolds its wings and breaks open your heart, love sings and slides into the imaginary gap between infinity, …this beauty cannot be grasped or understood, love requires no translation, it need not be as it is everything and nothing at all…

the story of you and your world seems like a foreign movie, liquid tongues flowing, flavoring and tasting a water color dream of lovers loving, and dancers dancing and you and me floating in this perfect kiss…

~~~~~

who would get caught in the story?

we are these stories, sometimes they hurt! the story continues to tell itself in all its beauty and passion... so although there is deep feeling, there is no one feeling it, and no actual separate feelings…

this is not about becoming an unfeeling blob, or a selfless observer, it is about feeling dancing loving without a pause or gap in-between me and what seems to appear… there is no belief or unbelief to be suspended… no one is ‘underneath’ or ‘inside’ belief, there is no feeling of anything stable or fixed ‘having’ an experience, or a feeling or a thought…

thought runs along its merry course, a river splashing paint into a kaleidoscopic sound and light show, and the taste of moon on a winter day sliding through your fingers…

I am a story of ribbons of thought weaving rhythmless rhythms and patternless patterns into galaxies of neurons casting starlight onto the sea of dreams, waves surging and ebbing and echoes of tides floating through clouds and dissolving in clear open skies, endless blue fades into the dark of night, the crunch of morning traffic in the snow, this wondrous unknowing, simply beyond belief or imagination, all seems to pierce my heart and tears and laughter flow through the impossibility of this obvious beauty, and this limitless love…

love is everything and love is nothing at all, and that is enough

~~~~~

and why ‘should’ you smile or weep?

how could you possibly choose? tell me now with whom you fall in love

how beautiful your face, your tears, love's beautiful reflection adorns your eyes,

...this longing this love this emptiness is much too large to be inside of us, it is bigger than the universe, there is no outside or inside, and who is separate from love to say what it is, or is not, or even if it is an it?

tears are the ocean weeping, the wetness that drinks you, the longing that consumes you, is you, …the fullness and emptiness you run from and long to dissolve in, …love greets you in every breath, every heart beat, every tear is love’s longing painting this water color dreamscape with infinite colors drenching the pages of your life that could never be cut into paper dolls, as this aliveness pulses and dances all by itself, simultaneously self arising and self releasing…

the whoosh slides through the whoosh… leaves you breathless, enchanted, weeping and smiling, these tears these smiles that you are, that sing you into love’s song, your heart knows the words, 

…this has nothing to do with you…

emptiness and fullness are words, as well as love… there is nothing underneath or behind or in between the letters, all words are simply imaginary razors sliding up and painting endless sky… there is no backdrop of wholeness or oneness or awareness or emptiness…. life sings itself… love is this deeply intuited unspeakable knowingness of no thingness and everything-ness, inseparably unavoidably so

you cannot attain love you cannot reject this love, love cannot be divided… the longing for love is love, the running away is love, all is love, there is no love… simply words tripling through a painted dream scape that the words themselves paint…

~~~~~

you are this thirst this hunger this longing for your elegant feathered wings to unfold, for your tender broken heart to open, the rawness of love to rip apart all distance… you are the desire to unlock the secrets of this flowing rippling magic of sighs, to feel your heart rush up and dissolve into sky, to drink the magic, the love you can never hold, …for love to swallow you, to melt into the silence, the hush of darkness and the thunder of the universe announcing the dawn, the long slow fade into dusk, …galaxies trembling at the wonder of infinite suns exploding into colors swirling weeping swooning through rainbows blooming in your heart your eyes, on the tip of your tongue, …the taste of taste is always escaping these words that paint edges on rainbows and separate deep greens from the blues that sing all night plunging into the deepest corners of your being where love seemed to hide…

what are you without longing?

is there anything inside your beautiful mirrored garment?

what is your heart but a song of reflections, echoes dancing across the horizon slicing the universe into a love song with separate words and notes and voices hovering on the edge of silence where nothing waits or is hidden, this is the death of all tomorrows, the fatal kiss of forever and never, …love cannot be caught in the lips the tongue or the heart as it is always singing without time or timelessness…

you need not grasp love as you have always been in her empty embrace,

her head upon your chest, you can feel her blood pounding, pulsing, dancing, and it is your shadow you dance with, in this ballet of sighs

~~~~~

amazing this magic show, neither dream nor not dream, ...beyond understanding or the need to know why, the morning yawns and slides through the window... where is inside, where is outside, where is the horizon that separates you from tomorrow?

where is the space between you and this kiss of light, between you and the listening, here are the first birds cascading through the garden, the touch the feel of these smooth keys of the computer, the feeling of hot and wet in your mouth, morning tea, and the steam, rising, looping and curling and dissolving? are you separate from the memory or moon or the night dreams that are fading, now, into the dream of day?

your heart bleeds its rhythm into the day, the morning catches its breath or is it your blood rushing through the window painting the dawn?

~~~~~

softly, slowly, rain falls in the forest of dreams, slipping through your fingers, ripping apart your tender heart, drowning your beautiful tears…

…fiercely, gently, caressing every leaf, every shadow, …slender shoots and limbs bow and kiss the ground, pearls of mirror reflections gather and fall… thunder rolls across the canopy without rhythm or time, and your heart is pounding inside and outside your chest, as your nakedness has become transparent…

leftover trails of sunset burn, leak into the rainbow hovering on the tip of your tongue, the taste of taste is the ocean of love drinking itself, wet in wet, blue in blue…

clouds fall through the window, …there never was a barrier between you and the storm, or the calm that spreads through your bell as memories of lullabies cascade into this symphony of meaningless music that makes you weep and smile at the delicate sweetness of life, …every sound is a voice crying out, no one answers, love is its own answer… 

it is heaven to feel so deeply that your eyes are no longer broken, fingers of light erase the tangles in your hair, and all is smooth, even lightening cannot split up the sky or the sea of dreams dreaming itself, dreaming you, singing my lips into this song