Wind Songs
Nancy Neithercut
Copyright 2022 Nancy Neithercut
All rights reserved
words pour out of my fingertips painting morning into the garden, doves floating, their warm feathered grace filling the cups of my eyes, overflowing, colors spill through the windows melting my reflection, the grey cat dreams, I can feel his heart beat… a mirage of empty fades into bottomless echoes, oscillating into reflections of moon floating on endless oceans…
my heart was sucked out by the tides, I was drowned, …dissolved in waves of moon songs, not even my nakedness was left… and I find my self spilling into these songs that dance me on to empty beaches as I wait for your heartbeat to find mine, so we can float, together, in this sensuous ballet of lost and found moon
~~~~~
is the poem in the flower or is the flower in the poem?
petaled softness unfurls your heart into a song of elegant tendrils stretching into sky, …hidden thorns pierce and rip your skin into prayers echoing in dusty temples crumbling under the weight of sky, falling, …the heaviness and lightness of joy and sorrow, and love, a deep underlying roar that consumed you long ago when you were waiting to hear the next song…
~~~~~
hanging on the edge of words, …doves hover, …morning calls…
you back to the liquid dreamscape of scintillating…
the heartbeat of existence lies in in the oscillations of this and that, yet there is no this or that, or both or neither, as there is no unchanging thing, or things to change, …so do you exist without an imaginary back drop of time and space, and can you find time, or space, or their absence? who would find or lose your place in the passion play? what would be a book mark, a kiss, …love, love lost?
what falls out of the book when your tears saturate the cover, as the title slides into infinite wetness, and the pages dissolve into words into sounds into this very poem your eyes seem to scan and hungrily or lazily drink the words that pour through these fingers this heart that is looking to taste your heartbeat, this perfect sound this resonance this love… is it your heart beat or mine? who would recognize the flavor of love but love itself?
~~~~~
without two or one or none, where is the moon? where are these eyes that seem to drink the moonlight and where is this if there is no there?
we exist only in the dream of separation, of separate things and separate events, of time and space, this is the only world we can 'know'... there is no escape as wanting to escape this is this, is this real or unreal or surreal? it is as real as it feels…
we are not, nor is love, yet here we are and I love you
the feeling that this should look or feel a certain way can dissolve, as well as the belief in other better more and next.. and this causes the feeling of separation to leave, …there is a most wonderful feeling of ok-ness, of supersaturated wonder, of love... yet that is the dream as well….
life looks and feels like anything at all, for me for you for anyone, and we can never know what it feels like for another, …we are utterly alone…
to say that you have figured it out, the path to bliss or happiness is pure delusion, there is no path to nowhere, and who would arrive at this imaginary next?
you are not yet you will die... we are not, yet we love...
life is like a fairy tale that I heard long long ago, when I didn’t even know what words were, like being dropped into a foreign film, and it is unspeakably rich and beautiful and sublimely empty and it doesn’t matter that I don’t know the language and that there are no actors and no directors and no script
roses in my mouth
tears shared are the ocean of love, bathing us drowning us in unspeakable wonder, words color in the rainbows they paint,
we fall through the cascading
~~~~~
love has no name
love has no words
it is not contained
in shadow and light
it slides through our fingers
pours through our hearts
kisses us deeply
into this day dream of love
a dream of infinite heartbreak
love cannot be found
or lost
we are this ballet of tears
where joy and sorrow merge
there are no words for this love
this love not sung
sings itself
~~~~~
inside the sky
under the spinning stars
deep sea anemones breathe
in your chest
all of life is singing
galaxies are forming and dissolving into colors
you can never catch
your breath
it is not yours
nor is this heart
beating
wildly
no poems can be found inside these words
no love rests inside your heart
~~~~~
heart beat of life
rhythm of this and that
tympani of thunder
rolls through you
you are sky bursting
and the shelter of ancient love songs
scattered under the trees
poems strewn across the sky
above the clouds
there are stars
spinning
they can only be seen at night
but day cannot hide from its own light
nothing can hide
or reveal
love
~~~~~
words are but an empty net of jewels
reflections dissolving into their own light…
she poured herself into a book of poems so everyone could drink…
~~~~~
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, 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 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 does 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!
…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…
there 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
~~~~~
….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, 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 obvious, none the less…
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....
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, thought creating things like brains and bodies... with sense organs, and a universe, sun and plants to eat and ‘others’ from which it hears or reads or feels words, and this thinking results in 'things' and when enough things are created a self is born, somehow, which is not these things, but something else, and it 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
we are liquid dream songs of memory and some memory lingers 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 un-graspability… 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?
~~~~~
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 ouroboros 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
~~~~~
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 seems 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 is 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 teeth 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, your 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
~~~~~
all words lost their meaning, their weight, all at once... there were not two sides to the coin, nor a middle, …the coin dissolved in this magic of no things…
however, love stayed for awhile, …she darned my shadow and danced my light, slowly eviscerating the last threads of belief that seemed to hold her…
now there is just a forest flower poem of starlight drifting through the trees …a ballet of light and shadow that seem to form shapes and colors, rainbows hovering on the tip of my tongue, exploding and melting words that plunge through the dream of space and time they paint, melting into this undeniable taste that flavors my world, perfumes the dream of light and dark with an obvious aliveness that cannot be lost or found…
no effort or non effort is required to be the dance you are, as you cannot step outside of the dance, …there is no outside, there is no inside, there are no sides to the mirror you peer into every day looking for an answer to this song of why or when or how… you are the song of questions, of thought, that will keep on spinning the dream of this and that until the body dies…
~~~~~
and so what is left, knowing that there is no true or false, real or un real, (or surreal), without a solid reference point, when I am an imaginary referential point of view?
I could say everything is much the same, but... it is not at all, the story begins a new era, I have changed considerably, the thought stream is quite different without that constant self judgement and self correction, that feeling of lack is gone, that shoulda woulda coulda is gone... whoosh!
the constant longing for a never arising other better more or next is gone... there is a feeling of completeness, what ever seems to appear, even war or hunger or love
…and does it all seem like love? yes, an unspeakable love a love that has no boundaries or qualifications, …the goal was never reached, there was never anywhere to be, no perfection to attain, no love to grasp, as the grasping the seeking for love was also love…
and it all feels beautiful, even the things I would have considered bad or ugly before, and yes, there is no before or after, there is no one to feel complete or empty, and this all feels complete and empty and this feels like love…
the lack of perfection and imperfection feeeeeeeels perfect, the lack of freedom and bondage, feeeeeeeeeels utterly free, the knowing that there is no love or lack of love feels like love….
whether this is real or unreal loses its significance, as everything that seems to appear is as real as the imaginary perceiver, which is me!
and to call this oneness or wholeness or emptiness or fullness, or unicity or the big wow, or to say it is all love is utterly meaningless, to say it is all 'fill in the blank', to the listener gives them a goal to reach...
to say it is edgeless... what does that mean?
I constantly point out that no one can find an edge or outside to what is going on, and therefor there is no inside, no other, better, more or next, and listeners agree, yet the belief continues…
so what rips apart the wall of belief that they are, that seems to confine them, as well as their longing to escape, when there is no escape, the walls are imaginary… the looking, the reaching for that imaginary other is what forms your imaginary walls, it is what you are
where is light, where is dark, where is the in between?
is it out there, or in your eyes, or in your head? without imaginary lines between you and the world how could anything be known or unknown? as we are defined by this knowing and unknowing, and the longing to know, the certitude that there is a world separate from us to know or understand,
what happens when all division all edges all lines are felt to be imaginary? do we disappear if we never were? how could we become 'one with everything', if there is no one to merge…
do we exist, do we not, what is this thing we call life? what is the difference between being everything and nothing? utterly none... there are no differences, only labels that seem to create lines, lassoing a bit of thought into a 'thing'... yet you may cry, 'of course there is light and dark! just look!' but without you, is there day and night? without you, are there forests and trees and falling in a forest? you may look at a fallen tree and thought creates a tree that has fallen and a story about it falling...
and reading this where does it lead you? absolutely no where, there is no meaning nor non meaning to any of these words, they are just words, like meaning and non meaning... like emptiness like fullness, like love...
~~~~~
when the möbius strip you have been dancing along rips and the words slide off…
elaborate and subtle, thought mushrooms into swirling shapes and colors, and no edges can be found or lost among the damp heavy fragrant shadows lying in the grasses, prowling through shades of forgotten summers, …this crisp dawn floods the backwaters of memory, where I swim, and float, …and drown in stereophonic ripples soaring at the speed of dreams…
this apocalypse of sound and light is heaven and hell and the marvel of the in between, exploding and fading into the gaps that never were…
slowly, gently, your fragile dreams of one more day dissolve into the poetry of midnight waves softly brushing watercolors on to the sea…
your tongue begins to sing …is it your heart that is bursting out of your chest or the universe piercing all ideas of inner and outer space?
there is no place to land is there? you are the same monologue as your world… there are no two nor one, nor none…
there is no goal to reach, no end point nor beginning, no path to where you are not… no distance separating you from what is going on...
this singing seems to form these fingers gliding along the keys of life... to form this tongue, these eyes, these ears that taste the flavors, drink deeply this beauty, this love, drenching me, drowning me in this exquisite fire, this astounding shimmering ungraspable life…
~~~~~
the symphony blooms and recedes, the tapestry unravels, there were no separate instruments or voices or notes,
…the roses could never be plucked
we are the intoxication of the scent and the softness, as well as the thorns, …petals falling, embroidered with frost, fading into the bloom and wilt, waves of sunset reflection in our eyes… long languorous loops and swirls, dragon clouds form and dissolve, cascading through reds and oranges and golden, …where they begin and end is memory, where you begin and end is memory sliding through ancient seas like every sunset that bled into your heart, or was it your heart bleeding into sky? drenched in nostalgia for what ever seems to appear, love evaporates before it is formed, as does all and everything, …simply a dream within a dream, without outside or inside or even a middle…
the guard dog to the gates of heaven was the belief that there was a heaven, …your wings were never inside or out, feathers are your heart beating, sky sliding into sky, and the love and the rain… and the inevitable darkness, stars tripling lightly through the heart beat of night, and the moon on the other side of the horizon, where day light holds her opalescent glow, …all is burned, ashes of love cannot be held in the palm of your heart, this exquisite heat that sears a surround sound of love into this rich and lush fabric, the threads of your life weaving and unravelling…
~~~~~
clothes slip off the line into the hollow voice of wind, your silhouette is pulled into the murmuration of love, and there is nothing inside, nothing left to dance in the wind, to request this tempest or push it away…
you are swallowed by your heart beat, your breath, this ultimate intimacy, closer than close, infinite beyond measure, …songs of golden sorrow and rainbow light float through your exquisite tears as you fall through the looking glass, no sides can be found, nor middle…
your face, your empty eyes, simply beautiful sourceless reflections soaring through the rippling…
you are the breath of midnight moon and endless sky, never separate from you, surely you are sky diamonds, spinning, a center less jewel…
the earth holds her breath to taste your tenderness and waits to drink your tears, …the sea returns to itself, it has never left, …you have never left and cannot go back, there is no back…
you cannot hold or know this love you long for as it is unreachable, ungraspable, and utterly obvious, it is everything that seems to appear, and nothing at all…
~~~~~
flavor of sky is buried in its own innocence, hidden in the depths of earthen hues lies the scent of rain …long …gone
hearts wander, weaving cloud shadows into a song of leaves, falling, colors pouring through petals of moon and memory, floating… a fantail of butterflies explodes out of a mail box, hugs hover in the wind… empty arms waiting… tides embrace and release the sand, empty hearts with edges melting, love flows in between the pages, ignites itself, burning, smoldering, ashes of memory wafting, waning…
rain, again…
~~~~~
the scent of forgotten hues hovers on the edge of sky
so gentle, the waves, breathing in my open hands…
my heart, a secret labyrinth beneath the sea, twists and turns words into poems that bask and dissolve in the sensual delicacy of morning…
suspended between light and dark, words fall apart and toss themselves into love letters, strewn haphazardly into the night
a chorus of waves rushes across the flowered carpet, fingers soft with roses, cat on the window ledge, balanced in sky, falling
halo of evening strolls through homebound traffic, perfumes the windows with sky reflection
~~~~~
wind is a poem singing me dissolving me into her winged beauty
strong and delicate, vowels and consents held and released, breathe love songs that stream through these fingers, caress my lips with stories of fairies and moon songs that dance across the pages of ancient books, magic drifts and plunges into this tale that has no beginning or end or flowers you can pluck or press into the pages of your life, yet this undeniable flavor lingers on the tip of your tongue
and it tastes like love without words…
foreign and familiar, the scent of lightening paints a storm in the canyon of empty shadows dancing through the dawn, rain melts in windblown patterns through my hands, through my fingers, through the wetness, fills and empties your eyes your beautiful ears pressed against a nautilus blooming and unwinding, revealing its secret chambers, your heart blooms and unwinds, walls dissolving, petals falling, drifting songs seem to hover and pour through your blood, rhythms of ancient tides push and pull you through bottomless seas of wonderment, poems are oceans painting every sunrise and sunset with the wetness of your eyes, mirrored reflections strewn across this galaxy of dreams, this symphony of sensuousness, this life unparalleled, unreachable, ungraspable…
there is no other life, no other magic, no other love…
~~~~~
fingerprint of love is unique, undeniable, familiar and new, a dream of a lullaby that dreams you, dreams me into this elusive sensual ballet, twirling around and through itself without separate dancers, nor one, nor none, no dance floor, there is no canvas or background of space and time in which love appears to paint itself, …love cannot deny or accept anything as love has no other, better, more or next…
love may seem to hide in your heart, or dance across your face, forming your lips into a kiss of flowers blooming and collapsing… no root you can pull no petals to pluck, all seems to swirl, whirl and pour into itself, fading simultaneously, without ever becoming a ‘thing’
…marigolds weeping
forever beckons and slams you into the dance of no tomorrow which your feet have always known, your heart has always sung this song, yet you could never decipher the words… there is no need to translate the morning chorus, the first robin, the frozen ground, …doves …floating…
yet without words we are not, we cannot share and dissolve into each other’s stories… I am your lullaby and you are mine…
love sings itself, can’t you feel your heart beating, your breath, these words sliding along the meandering they paint?
there is no need to capture and hold love, nor know what love is, as you are not, nor is love….
the scent of joy merges with sorrow and perfumes love’s sigh
…love is, and is not, as are all things,… if all is love, what is left?
what are these tears that seem to anoint my eyes with your beautiful reflection?
~~~~~
light and colors are painted by this bouquet of words that cannot be grasped or held in the corners of your heart, as your hands and your heart are the sensuousness they long to capture…
mirrors melt into their reflections, all is liquid echoes blooming and wilting, waves of light and color pouring into a fairy tale, indefinably sensuous, sad and beautiful and wondrous
and in the lofty caverns where you tried to hide and longed to escape… nothing was waiting nothing had vanished, the pandemonium that rises from the other side of across the galaxy is only worlds of words colliding…
…where is the edge of reality when no other reality can be found?
what does 'really matter' mean anyway? nothing matters is the same as everything matters... without separate notes there is no music, without us there is no love…
and this is yet another song of ideas rising and falling, waves plunging through their own wetness.... there is no finding a solid stable self or other, or a liquid one... I am, you are, love is more like a flowing description... and that is a story, and that this is a story— is a story…
love seems to be the knowing and feeling that there are no things, nor non things, no separate events, that all time, dimension, all measurement is made up, all that you are and seek is a dream, as well as finding the golden ring… it is all gold, all treasure, all…
magic
~~~~~
there is no director and the film is burning
you cannot escape duality, as non duality is the knowing that you are the dream of separation and this is the dream as well….
life looks and feels like anything at all
life as a human is filled with great sorrow and joy
how wonderful we can feel so deeply
the pulse the swing the zing of this amazing life, this love song, which sings itself, no words or notes are missing, there are no edges to fill or erase, no beginning or end can be found… no one can awaken to this, as all that seems to appear is, well, all there is
~~~~~
and the day stretched into its own light, basking in the electric, a magical light and sound show sensuously dreaming itself, tasting the flavor of deep deep shadows hiding under the roses where reds and greens disappeared last fall, drinking the scintillating echoes flowing through my fingers, the rush! of wind and tides and starlight wandering across the disappearing horizon, the songs of ancient seas melt sound and silence into this hush, this kiss of everything and nothing at all…
~~~~~
there is no memory of a girl who felt separate from life, from love, but there are stories that arise about a someone sitting on a cliff above the sunset sea, longing to grok the sameness of inside and outside, and the nuclear explosion of when that became obvious, …the merging of infinite and intimate, the collision of never and forever, and yes, these are old scratchy records that play when people ask, old photographs seen through a melting mirror, like the ones my parents showed me of their lives, or that strangers show me on airplanes of their families (I always ask),... people I never met, yet I always seem to cry…
the inner surf is the outer, and there is no sea…
a lullaby sings me into the arms of my own embrace, and always, an ungraspable untouchable magic, an edgeless womb of bliss of love, of nothing at all…
~~~~~
softly …gently …rain
windows dissolve into tears, reflections pour through my eyes, colors slide off the memory of moon splashing wetness into patterns of naked trees and doves …floating …snow …falling …feathered beauty weaves this elegant tapestry of wind streaming through a silhouette of echoes… shards of moonlight buried deep in the ground, or was it my heart that broke the hourglass, acres of sand melting into glass into this sea of dreams that has no shore, near or distant, no harbor in which to hide, no bottom where you can plunge your anchor and wait for the freedom of a calm day, storms may appear to gather and currents flow, but it is all ocean, all love, even the longing to float or sail across the sea is a dream …sinking …into …itself
~~~~~
tears are echoes sliding though puddles, reflections burning
feathers of rain, delicately your face
how beautiful this sadness, this sky, sinking
sails are wind, water rising, …slowly …rain
~~~~~
river descends into moon
texture of light swoons into a symphony of feathers
winds stir the grasslands of memory, articulating sky and pulse of night
in the darkness, tea blooms into a crescendo of warmth, a typhoon of touch and taste and the morning waiting for her skin to peel into songs of light and shadow and paint the colors of day, distant chimes sing, slide into their own echoes, …where is this sensuous of life, inside or out? your skin never held you, life breathes you as you breathe life, love slays you and swallows you whole, …how would love recognize herself but through your eyes, your tears and your beautiful broken heart?
~~~~~
we are fingerprints of water …in …water
songs of tears and tears drying sing our delicate beauty, our eyes super saturated, overflowing with love’s reflections…
we are a delicate symphony of wet …in …wet, the whirl and swirl of life, the crest of a wave in wave-less beauty, life falling into itself, love falling in love with love…
memory seems to create lost and found patterns, …wind …in …wind
left over leaves scoot across the garden, my cat and I watch, amazed at the beauty, the sound, the echoes, the taste of life, but without thought he cannot sing of it, and seem to appear in the singing…
I am a liquid poem of sunsets bleeding on to this page
~~~~~
low slung carpet of moon slides under the shadows, shards of memory howl at the sky, …underwater reflections burn, dissolve, …was there ever a sound other than this? ever a fragrance other than this aliveness blooming and burning simultaneously? patterns of ashes slide onto the shore, traceries of what never was dance through the arabesque of footprints and wind, and ideas of moving of dancing of plunging your heart into the center of love and never coming out the other side, …you cannot enter or exit or merge with love, there is no outside or inside, nothing other or better, or more, no ‘one day’ when you will finally slide into a perfect pirouette of words that will reveal what you long to know or forget…
this is not a remembering, this is what ever it looks and feels like and it has always been and never was, and never will be
first robin song swims through the morning, anointing the dark with a promise of dawn, finches join the chorus of awakening, the dreaming of light swoons through the canyon, illuminating empty silhouettes, painting shades of softness into my heart, all tastes sublime, the fragrance of tears permeates this intimacy that cannot be captured or held, as the grasping, the longing for love would be simply love falling into its own arms…
~~~~~
love writes her name in your heart, and it is yours…
wave of love falls into itself, it is all ocean softness including these tears…
multi-petaled iridescence pours gently through prisms of light, symphony of flowers blooms and wilts simultaneously, life effortlessly sings itself, yet cannot grasp or hold itself, as it is its own embrace…
the longing for what is not, is what is… the effort to make the flower of life bloom is life blooming, all by itself, utterly unavoidably, naturally so…
you cannot accept or reject or surrender to love, as love has no outside nor inside, there is no other, …there are no two, nor one, nor none…
there is no next, no place to reach and no one traveling from here to there… life seems to meander along the meandering, a ballet of emptiness and fullness, sensually lost and found and in between, but there is no here nor there, nor both, nor neither…
there is no one to be free or bound by concepts like freedom or bondage, …life flowers and wilts at the same time, without time or timeless-ness, without space, or emptiness, without ever actually becoming, petals of your loveliness bloom in my eyes in this dance of echoes without a source, without sound or silence, love sings,
unknowable, un-graspable, inescapably so…
~~~~~
it’s all the big picture, there is no frame
~~~~~
I hear that many non dual speakers use the same words… I don't listen and I don’t care, but I love to sing, you can listen or not… I don't sell many books so they must not fit the religion… these songs are not hymns or prayers, …I am a song and dance man, …this is a call and answer love song, we are echoes and there is no source, simply scintillating reflections blooming and receding simultaneously in a dream of time and space, dreaming itself, singing itself, just like this
~~~~~
this elusive obvious immediacy swallows itself and spits you out in a tangle of memory, vines creeping toward the sky, roses and thorns and hints of blue shimmering inside these crumbling garden walls, …words tumble into colors, reds and oranges and fire on the mountain blazing burning all that you know, and rain… falling …how beautiful these fingers pricked by sunset, these tears cascading into ocean songs, murmuring echoes unwinding your beautiful nautilus heart, wall-less chambers resonate, beautiful sensuous echoes caress you from the inside and outside and dissolve your skin …I am the ache of the thorns and the roses bleeding, the ache of the robin song billowing through these spring leaves and memories of winter falling though the book of dreams
~~~~~
I am echoes of wind songs sliding through your horizon dissolving into the fade…
love’s ungraspable colors paint all and everything that seem to swirl and dance and sing, pouring a profound bittersweet loveliness into this tongue this heart that knows the words but cannot speak outside of these rhythms and rhymes that never rhyme... staccatos and smooth arpeggio'd glimpses of shimmering and the deep bottomless in between, and the subtle oscillations of moon
it is the looking for certitude, for solidity, that defines you, yet some look for liquidity or unknowing or emptiness... no one will find either, as they are the belief that there is something to find... which seems to create a barrier between them and it, but there is no 'it' or 'this' as there is no outside or inside to this magical appearance, as 'this' is not a thing, or an absence of a thing, it is ungraspable yet unavoidable, neither solid nor liquid, neither moving nor non moving without a background of time or timelessness, or space or spaceless-ness…
breathtakingly wondrous as there are no words, yet words still slide through these fingertips this tongue this heart that melts into the words as they paint them, this ballet is unutterably simple and unspeakably beautiful, ‘love’ comes close… but this fire of passionate beauty flowing through this itself feels like a sensuous lostness… yet there is no one to be lost and no location, no place no home to enter or leave, this love without other, this dream appearing and dissolving without a heartbeat or a breath or a moment in between
~~~~~
slowly slowly
the cat in the garden
I dream of sleep
thought is simply part of the wild and wonderful liquid dreamscape painted by thought, …truth and freedom and enlightenment and thought, are thoughts, all ideas are like pieces of sky, and you know even lightning cannot divide the sky… so there is no need to pick up the pieces and put the sky together, trying to do so or not is sky pouring through sky…
nothing can be out of place, as there are no things, there are no places, no here nor there, without an imaginary point of view (you) around which the rest of the fairytale revolves, …this is not perfection, as perfection is a word, word is a thought… yet it feels perfect… sublime…
this is utterly, simply, infinitely intimate and completely unknowable
you can feel this seamlessness, this emptiness, but you cannot ‘know’ or ‘understand’ or grasp it, you are not a piece of sky… there is no sky
~~~~~
left over roses drenched in petaled sun explode
the long long rains are burned in love, no ashes are left
no winds to blow the emptiness away
sailing through your heart
what is left when emptiness is gone? …everything and nothing at all
love without other, love dreaming of love
the dream of non separation is not separate from the dream of separation… it is all dream, there is no dream
~~~~~
broken daffodils, faces in the dirt, …the scent of wonder streaming dissolving pouring through these hands this heart that cannot gather beauty, all is beauty, …empty hearts yearning, broken shadows in the growing dusk, …kids running, echoes drifting, …clouds plough through the blue adorned with sunset, moon slides through the billowing and bursts into its opalescence, …nothing is hiding inside or underneath these words, nothing can be plucked and tossed outside of this sensuous dream scape, day breathes, night sings
love is the question and the answer, …nothing can be learned or remembered or forgotten, …darkness hovers, she anoints your life with a preciousness, that this cannot be understood and yet it will end, this is the scintillating gem, …shooting stars burn and drown in their own light
~~~~~
robin song in the dark, cat sleeps
breath of dawn sweeps elegant shadows through fingers of light
which way does the day flow, in to out, or out to in?
tears and laughter, …and the hush
symphony of silence within the song
cascading arpeggios, rippling sky, ocean falls through ocean
bottomless sky
~~~~~
wings of sky soar through sky, …there is no where to fly, no where to land, …every feather tastes sky as sky listens to the dream of soaring, …wind pours and tumbles through the tips of wind, swirling in meaningless patternless patterns, whirling through your fingertips, pouring through your edgeless heart, an echo chamber unfurling its secrets, hiding them in discarded shells scattered across the desert sands waiting for you to listen, to taste the beauty that you are, to touch what you cannot touch, to kiss what you can never kiss, as you are life kissing itself, singing itself, …there is no need of words, …or silence, …love is singing and her song can never be understood or grasped and that is the beauty, that is the love… that is this, whatever it looks and feels like, …love is this without other, edgeless seamless beauty, …nautilus unwinds, …ocean pours, …love sings and answers itself, you may feel your lips move, your heart knows these songs, they are written for no one, for everyone, and just …for …you
~~~~~
we are stories, monologues of memory, 'one word at a time' seemingly spinning a tale like a whirling stick whose tip is burning, memory paints the appearance of time and a circle with an outside and inside,
and feels like the center is solid and unchanging and yet, somehow, broken, until the story changes, the circle is no longer chasing itself, as it breaks free from the imaginary center and runs through the forest and streams and somehow knows that it is imaginary, yet somehow it feels free, knowing that there is no freedom and it feels like love, knowing there is no love, …and the story is full and empty, love is full and empty and these are empty words, as word is a word, and I am these words that jump fences and sometimes my skirt gets caught on a piece of wire and rips into marvelous shades of water... leaving psychedelic trails that no one can follow…
~~~~~
moon slides across the windshield and into the gutters, night splashes sky into my eyes, handfuls of yesterdays rip open my empty pockets, slash the imaginary sides of my heart, love turns inside out and outside in and unwinds all ideas of meaning and meaningless-ness, …nothing is looked for, nothing is found, …we are a lost and found melody, trickling streams of memory, rushing roaring surfing soaring supersaturated sea dreams dissolving oceans and skies into bottomless…
we are seas of sapphire moon ache burning the deepening sky
radiantly obvious aliveness, profoundly wondrous, like a magical illusion without a sorcerer, indescribably delicious, the breath of morning and the dance of wind and light drifting through the blossoming trees, …is it sad is it beautiful, is it any ‘thing’ at all? the magic is that this is ungraspable un-figure-out-able, utterly un-knowable and utterly obvious…
not knowing, nor looking to know or to pinpoint or capture this elusive obvious aliveness leaves a deep and immediate recognition without confusion, blossoming into the utter awe of seamless freedom beyond freedom and bondage, as there are no things and no one to be free or bound... unthinkably so, simply this seamless edgeless utterly infinite intimacy, this symphony of perception and its inseparable simultaneous recognition, …there is no separate sight or sound or taste or smell or touch or thought, without words, there is no inside or outside without words, can you find them? can you find a someone who is looking?
self arising and simultaneously self releasing, no one is pushing or pulling life, …THIS, just as it seems to appear is magic, enchanting, wondrous without measure, …all measurement all dimension all separation is imaginary, it is not an ‘it’, or the absence of an ‘it’, neither full nor empty yet somehow both and neither
~~~~~
sea winds soar through the abandoned carnival, piles of sand gather in between the fallen ponies, painted now by memories of twirling, …waves of dust and faded confetti swirl across broken sidewalks, settle in the cracks of mirrors, broken reflections sliding, melting, return to sand… to empty beaches, …we are memories, of wind tattoos dissolving in wind, sensuously pouring through the eyes, the skin, the fading…
spontaneous natural perfection, infinite patternless patterns drawn by words like touch and sound and love which seem to lasso a swirl or a whorl of your fingerprint on water, yet the swirls and whorls are words as well, …no actually solidity can be found, no point when you can say, ‘this’ is, or not… there is no liquidity, as without memory creating a continuum of time and space, you cannot find anything, not even emptiness, …and what does this have to do with the flavor, the taste of moonlight sliding through the darkness and the naked trees growing where you once stood, waiting for the dawn?
~~~~~
we are reflections dancing, …no one began this ballet of light and shadow and colors rushing through our limbs out our fingers and into sky, echoes plunge infinite shades of joy and sorrow into our bottomless hearts that thirsted for what we knew not, …we are the hunger, the thirst and the drunkenness, we are the magic, the taste of taste, the enchantment of our imaginary edges overflowing with tears and laughter and meaningless words that can never capture this indecipherable feeling of aliveness that bursts and explodes all boundaries between you and me and love
…and infinite shades of darkness ignite the dawn, as we dance in each other’s footsteps in the tango-ing dream
~~~~~
and I am but an echo in a dream cast adrift in a fairytale of echoes, suspended between time and timelessness, …between never and forever love is singing, …sourceless baseless untraceable reflections ricocheting on the canyon walls, overtones and undertones with no pure sound, …yet this sublime music wafts and winds and weaves a tale of light and dark and infinite shades of rainbows sliding …roses bloom and wilt simultaneously and there is nothing in between, no petals to count, no colors to paint, no velvet softness to wear, no fantasy to peer into and capture the magic of flowers or the bittersweet beauty of love, the grief and the joy of this unspeakable wonder…
lost and found in a ballet of echoes between love and nothing at all
~~~~~
liquid mosaic of mirrors slides through its own reflection, shards of scattered sunlight dream of falling, softly, on the patterned ground, stab your heart with golden…
beauty twirls the knife deeper and deeper as you drown in your own amazement, …there were never any sides to the reflection of beauty, no separate voices in the chorus of morning breaking, breathing singing caressing you out of your shadow, dancing you into scintillating iridescence where you melt, again and again, into the golden
~~~~~
pierced by your own nakedness there is no place left to wander, nothing to gather into your empty heart, a river, now, overflowing its banks, flooding the desert with wings and wind songs, …secrets unravel as inside and outside loose their place, you cannot find your feet your voice in this chorus, yet all the notes are sung, steps are taken, kisses and tears fall, liquid light pours into the cracks of broken mirrors and erases your brokenness, your eyes, your mouth your face your heart were never separate, ….there is no place where love does not bathe this contrapuntal madness of sadness and joy in a magical beauty, …this enchanting wondrousness of life singing itself without a before or after or in between, …wind cannot capture wind, it slides through its photograph ripping all ideas of wind into wild tatters streaming, like all the prayers you sent into heaven, now just beautiful tender colors dancing…
…all fades as I watch the spring leaves tremble, and long trees slowly waltz across the canyon skies… tinsel wings shimmering in a make believe sea
twisting and twirling into the horizon, wrapped up inside the dance, it turns inside out, no dance can be found, or lost in the sweep of never and forever coursing through your heart
all of life dances itself... there are no steps nor dance floor, nor a background of space and time, yet we are this dance, this heart beat of this and that and it feels like love blossoming and falling, plum blossoms racing across the garden through my heart into yours, through the streetlights, fading, dawn casts her shadow on the window, darkness hides under the roses, wrapped inside the darkest night a mourning dove sings
~~~~~
I am a song of sunlight bathing in a forest dream, fairy tales and hidden springs sing, the taste of plum blossoms hover in the shimmering, echoes pour into a river of words, …there is no knowing or unknowing and no need to know to capture love, …playing in the ripples dancing, weeping, laughing at the unassailable beauty of love of life, of what ever seems to appear, reflections soar through the falling…
consider the total sensorial display, which includes thought, …it is unthinkable, and not even an it, separate from perception, …attention seems to drift and scan and land on what will help the organism survive
…words seem to lasso and paint a ‘part’, a photograph of a note or a single voice of this symphony, which may include the feeling that there is a right or wrong way for attention to dance, or that there is something missing, or a trying to focus on the immediacy of plum blossoms and the beauty of spring, or to not focus on thought, or this, or that… or other ideas of other better more or next, but it is thought that writes the story, neither wrong or right, neither true or false, as all these mentally fabricated ideas are simply part of the story, …spontaneously naturally happening, all by itself... how could there possibly be a better when there is no other?
no other better or next can be found, there is simply the obvious magic of what seems to appear, this atemporal blooming and wilting momentary that never becomes a ‘thing’, …call it life call it aliveness call it love, there is no need, as this is all there is, no word or river of words will ever suffice to embrace this, when the embracing of this is it,
yet, poetry seems to escape its own words
~~~~~
this magnificence ache
like love like grief like joy
what is not wounded by the first robin song
by the slippery morning
fading,
the power the madness the absence of moon
and the plum blossoms
falling
my body
a river of poems
reaching
day blooms within the hush
we dance through invisible starlight
alone
behind closed eyes
night is dreaming
I can only know my colors
my reds and blues, my sapphire skies
that I long to pour into your eyes
~~~~~
words paint a brokenness that cannot be healed
poems slide out of their words,
reveal your naked beauty
rain is no longer needed to hide your tears
~~~~~
fire of grief and beauty
rake your heart
until the sides are gone
echoes reverberate dissolve in trails of memory
colors slide off the confetti into their own drowning
tidal wave of words drowns in the sea it dreams
poems are prayers in a foreign tongue sliding into the fade
where dust never settles, nor fire
dreams do not die they are simply dreams
vaporized tears
steam curls from my morning tea, drifts to the window
through my reflection
hovering in the dark
grey cat sleeps
in the dream
of sleep
~~~~~
how can a river taste itself? …tears require no stethoscope in this scintillating liquid of sky reflection pouring through your eyes, drowning a thousand sunsets into the sea, …words meet on the other side the horizon as they melt into a symphony of moon, …stillness breathes, ribbons of splendor rise and fall, spiraling into rippling starlight hovering… and plunging into your night time dream, you are held in the wings of angels, bathing in waterfalls of stars
sensuous loom of memory weaves dissolving patterns of light and shadow, lace of colors pour hidden streaks of scarlet into opalescent skies, cobalt arches into cerulean, waves within waves neither done nor undone, worlds tumble inside the swirling, bursting into a sapphire undertow as it unwinds the clothes of thought,
tattered colors cannot hold the shape of morning
carnival of dreams twirls an illusion into this silent heaven, wafts through the new leaves unburdened with the memory of autumn, …a monologue of the senses, taut horse hairs pulled tenderly across the strings, sunset hovers beneath the night and paints the dream scape with a lace of scarlet, fading
riding waves of dreams, sighing into the ease, you are the essence of beauty the essence of love, tasting itself through your beautiful lips, your delicate tongue, these words sliding through the breath, dissolving as they emerge, nothing can be found inside them, yet this monologue continues, words defined by other words, …nothing in the middle or outside, words sail through the loops and swirls of sky they seem to capture, …empty handed, this empty heart, this grief, this joy this unassailable wonder, these tears…
and underneath the footlights, ideas of inside collapse as ideas of outside explode into the scent of coffee, watching ink pour out the tip of this pen, words like fluid and liquid and magic magically stream from the tips of my fingers, the tip of my tongue, the unfindable and un-looked for part-less part that seems to rhyme and evades reason…
and how marvelously life sings itself and melts into its own echo, never meeting or parting into separate colors, the hues of life paint subtly and boldly, timidly and fearlessly, rushing and tip-toe-ing into a kiss, a pirouette that needs no separate steps, yet requires a stage set and an audience to fall into the twirl, …this dance of one of two, of many, of none, …this ballet of lovers is our breath our heartbeat, and the evening bird song fading into the dusk, …the pages of our life turn as we awaken and thought paints a howling darkness receding into the tides of memory… which night, which day is this? which dreams are these that flow across the flowered carpet? …the scent of yesteryear lingers, flooding the taste buds and my eyes with a sumptuous melancholy gracefully adorning the discarded clothes of midnight
~~~~~
when the rose blooming inside your heart can no longer be ignored, you are eviscerated and swallowed by the thorns and velvet fragrance, skinned from the inside and out, sky flows through your loveliness,
tears melt in love’s fire, and the shine of crow black glides back into into the day dream of night where poets sing, burning stars into the sky with fingerprints of infinite magic
meaning and meaningless, truth and untruth lose their assumed solidity, not even liquidity can be found, or lost…
it never was, I never was, yet I love you and that is the beauty, the magic I longed for yet could never find as love includes the longing and the looking for love…
this is not separate from not this…
love is not separate form not love…
I was the looking for love and found no one looking
~~~~~
deep in the seashell of night, a pearl in your heart sings luminescence into underwater skies, erasing your edges, as you softly slowly gently bloom into poems only your heart knows
~~~~~
love hovers, embraced by her own wings and feathers of sky, dreams a bittersweet fragrance of un-sculptured memory, …raw, unfiltered by sunlight or moonlight or the death in between…
a tempest sails just under the horizon, music is sleeping under the waves, …love songs clothed in a subliminal envelop dissolve into my tongue, into my invisible eyes, …I drifting down the river of song that sings me, I slide into the intoxication that I am, …dreams spill into and arch above the attic of clouds where memory is simply ideas flowing, morphing into other ideas, a liquidity without space or time or form or emptiness, or anything outside or inside or in-between, and I am this flowing dream scape of memory, burning
~~~~~
alchemy of words blooms into an elixir of light
is the beauty in the poem or the words left behind?
there is no inside or outside to this passion play where we fall in love,
this world of aching hearts is a fluid watercolor dream painted with ocean song pouring through its own wetness, dissolving
deep feelings that have no name nor number or anyone inside them
here there is no stress, but where is here?
what are tears but endless ocean?
where is that safe harbor you longed for…
how long have you wished to simply
float…
and gaze at the stars and wonder…
and is the beauty in the light or the dark in between? where is the dark, where is the light in your night time dream, where is any ‘thing’ but in the word? How could any words be more or less true when true is a word?
and we are all symphony of fairytales, spinning in each other’s light…
~~~~~
lace of falling light skirts the edge of time
thoughts and feelings and sights and sounds and the taste of memory play in the swirling that they paint…
this infinite edgeless tapestry is not made of anything or nothing,
a twirling center-less illusion with no magician, or spell that was cast
no stone skipping on the water through its own rippling reflections
no water…
no reflections…
we are the enchantment the magic the wonder the love
this utter completeness can look and feel like there is something missing... yet that feeling that there is something missing is complete...
there is no separation to extinguish, there is no wholeness to attain
no you to dissolve, no emptiness to reach
I love you and there is no finding who or what loves, or what love is…
or is not
~~~~~
heartless sun, cold moon, crows
love songs beckon…
warmth of your own caress drifts through dream shadows,
soars through a dream of stars, scattering the universe with tales of love and bravery, and grief and shadows hiding inside the darkness
trails leading nowhere dissolve into endless sky…
a broken shell holds the universe in its broken-ness
sky falls through you and plunges your heart into that darkness you fear
we are all utterly alone
together
the feeling that this needs to change arises naturally and spontaneously, just like all thought and sensation, and are not right or wrong, …yet ideas of right or wrong may also spontaneously arise, …nothing is excluded, all is this passion play wondrously magically singing itself... this edgeless vastness is not a thing, there are no separate things nor one big thing, and seems to look and feel like anything at all, …ideas of better or worse arise all by themselves, the feeling of un-ease arises just as easily as feelings of ease
no one gets off the carrousel, the dream continues to spin…
the enchantment is seen for what it is, pure magic, and we are it
~~~~~
neither sound nor not sound
wings softly
brushstrokes
moon in eyes
eyes in moon
no eyes
no moon
~~~~~
wind purrs through the ruffling clouds
softly gently kisses your beauty into a poem of wind
floating
falling
through wind
~~~~~
there is nothing inside the clothes of midnight
no one inside the ache of love
no one who wears these beautiful tears sliding into the memory of moon
blossoming through your wetness
no one can see or not see that there is no one to see
empty moon
empty sky
empty tears
~~~~~
streets are sleeping under the petticoats of night
rainbows hover
just
beyond your eyes
soaring flying falling
half asleep in watercolor dreams
ancient tides breath ocean arpeggios into the shells
you abandoned on the beach
while you were waiting to forget
~~~~~
faces slide through a carousel of tears
who owns these eyes inseparable from rain?
drunken moon falls down the mountain
tumbling into dawn
whose voice beckons your heart to plunge into sorrow
and drown in oceans
falling
~~~~~
we are poems sliding through each others hearts
winged hills of rolling thunder cast adrift in sky
scattered trails of windy light
lace of clouds seems to hold the sunset
but nothing can hold the day
falling
into night dreams of lovers sleeping…
softness of moon drifts through their eyes
tales of starlight pierce their hearts
rivers plough through the canyon of dreams
rippling into dawn
~~~~~
I slipped through my nakedness into a fragrance
of stars and their absence falling through the feathers of night
infinite intimate vastness rushes through memory
gathering tales of wind to swirl into a song of empty shadows
blossoming in my shattering heart
~~~~~
I was an empty dream song waiting for a dream
a cloud shadow racing down the sidewalk toward the sun
the starkness of no distance, shredded my nakedness
the ground collapsed
my life was never contained in this book of poems, nor was it outside these words
where are the borders of nothing and everything, when never and forever collide?
~~~~~
the horror of absolute grief merges with infinite sky, ignites the darkness and the mirage of wasteland blooms…
yellow flowers hover in waves of grasses flowing, and the elegance of wind…
drinking the sky through my hungry fingers, I was the longing to taste the sunset, to drown in exquisite turquoise and sapphire rippling through golden, …to surf the ancient scarlet to the edge of sky… long tale winds parted the clouds of memory, plunging me through the bottomless, …without wings, without feathers, without any skin or substance at all…
simultaneously the reflections dance on the window through the world ‘outside’, my long flowered dress, and yellow blossoms falling, wind sweeps petals into the carpet of sound…
the push and pull of moon patterns kiss the rivers flowing, unavoidably, beauty scintillates, not caught or captured, drifts in waves, and sings the memory of moon and its kiss…
no portal need open for the ocean to leak in or spill out, you can feel the rushing roar of your heart bleeding into sunset, …the last, the first… there is no in between where you can pause and gather the sparkling magic into a song of wonder, it is all wondrous, even the longing to gather it or let it go, …it slides through your fingers and the fingers are the sliding, there are no reference points or frame to your liquid portrait, …wind is painted with wind, there is no wind, it is all wind…
ink on paper glides through the spilling, you are the magic key to your unique universe, drifting as a cloud inseparable from sky…
transparent ribbon of thought spirals inward and outward simultaneously, painting all and everything, revealing nothing, nakedly intimate, infinitely faceted center-less jewels spin, …melting in oceans of fragrance, cascades of yellow roses, golden fountains surf the evening winds,
last robins finish the day, gather with the twilight in the fingers of naked trees, …buds waiting for their first kiss…
afterimages play across the darkening…
thought spins our autobiography
we are sliding poems of metaphor and simile, bits of left over tinsel, floating, just… above… our eyes… we can feel the sparkling but cannot see it, a synchronous illusion bound and un bound by imaginary horizons crumbling…
the chord is not the notes, vibrations resonate a fantasia of cricket songs into a magical seduction of unknowing…
symphony of wings and the scent of dusk…
love, an elaborate pantomime, with no actors, …like a moth to a flame, I fall into your shimmering and drown in your splendor,
we are a labyrinth, in focus, out of focus, …simultaneously hovering in the drifting wind, inseparable, but not the same,
…wings of air, floating, and the taste of taste,
…subtle and lush, rain unburdens the clouds, …lanterns floating…
architecture of thought separates the cloud dream it paints from sky… dreaming… of… sky…
turquoise waters reflect in the girdle of hanging clouds, heavy in the fullness and emptiness of sky
images stream on a million different screens, a mosaic of memory reveals and conceals its filtering of movement, …and rest, …and the hovering in between the between… a young girl smiles and waves timidly, swaying in her rainbow dress, delighted with the swirl of colors, and I am this enchantment, this wondrous mysterious elusive obviousness I call love
magical terrifying ecstasy, perfumed by sighs and the deep hush in your heart, …wind whispers your name and its absence, …fluid silhouettes dissolve casting indecipherable patterns we… almost… recognize,
a floating illusion submerged in a song of colors, reveals the richness and lushness of the inside of a poem blooming inside your heart as it weaves and unravels you and your world
frozen water melts into lace, patterns the sunrise reflection with crystalline shards dissolving into the flowing and the scent of the thaw, breaking the ground, breaking your heart, dissolving into the wetness it was never separate from…
a fluent feast of sound and light, incandescence burns the brushstrokes of sound and the shadows of words
liquid glass melts into echoes of forgotten violins, the feel of the horsehair drawn across the strings reverberating inside your chest, we are the harmonies, the weight and fullness of sound,
…love is infinitely wondrous to itself
~~~~~
how deep the sky wind
soaring blue
how close the ache of midnight hue
sweeping shadows breath ripples into evening song
plunging your heart into the receding horizon,
leaving not even an echo of where or when you used to wander looking for the end of time and the beginning of love
~~~~~
sapphire Iridescence shimmers and sings through scarab wings of tree tops bursting, showering cat prints of liquid light on the shadowy river below
deeply deeply your heart is this song of delicate and ungraspable beauty
there is no distance between you and love, no veil that needs to be lifted or erased, love is no separation and no thing at all…
~~~~~
dew wind of midnight swirls through the hush, adorning the dream with prisms, …just, waiting, for the light
what is a dream without waking?
who sees this moonless night?
what colors in the shadows and fades into the sigh
~~~~~
nothing is captured in your savage and beautiful wings, not even your feathered grace, as you float, gently, into and through your own arms…
twirling in naked abandon with the wind you were never separate from, sunset dances on your reflection pouring through your eyes where echoes bloom and pour back into the coloring sky, saturating all and everything with the dream of soaring into and through the dream…
wind is caught in a möbius strip of wind and rips the chain of paper dolls you hid underneath your pillow, hoping to capture love,… one day, …but that day became all days and nights, the circling hands caress themselves, rising, falling, into a tale spin that has no beginning or end…
I am a tale of make believe wonder… and there is no looking for an imaginary reference point, …all is lost, all is found, …nothing is lost, nothing is found, nothing is playing me, I am a character of beautiful colored shadows swirling through my reflection, and seeing your liquid face, your liquid love, I bathe in your beauty and drown in your love…
~~~~~
bottomless greens and unfathomable blues slide into your reflection, right… before… night rips a lullaby into sky
windswept stars punctuate the darkness with a rhythm you cannot hear or understand, evoking a perfect beauty you do not wish to define…
you recognize the songs, they are written in your heart with daisy chains, and tears and smiles and the last days of autumn…
they sing you, dance you twirl you into a fantasia of languorous arpeggio-d currents, …a palpable breath of rising and falling echos and the lushness of forgotten winds…
I am the longing for this… very… dance…
lost and found in the twirl…
~~~~~
dazzling hypnotic blaze of sun sears the sky, breaks a million hearts into shards of shattered suns and it all breaks your heart in places you did not know were hiding, waiting to be broken… this terrible beauty pierces your eyes, and it is your own light, your own love, that ignites your tears that gather wind swept diamonds into coloring sky… melting into a million shades of kaleidoscopic sparkling…
your eyes are liquid jewels of brilliant and un-namable hues singing sky into the very atmosphere you breathe, casting stars back into your eyes and across distant galaxies, plunging deep into your lungs, breathing you eviscerating you, penetrating your very being, more intimate than your corpuscles swimming in a sea of dreams…
…who wears the cloak of night in these leftover days, a veil of sound resonating a crystalline rainbow that collapses the sound barrier into edgeless iridescence… like ancient temple bells, never struck, whose echos spiral and pulsate and radiate pure brilliance into a song of heaven… floating… just… under… and above… and through the sky, erasing the layers of light where you longed to hide your colors, as you ran toward and away from what you knew not, …your heaving breast the in-breath of feathered sky pulling you inside out, …you watch your fingers trace this brush stroke of voluptuous edgeless-ness, …all slides though liquid sky, liquid suns melting into their own light
~~~~~
lost in a dance of mirrors, no longer looking to be found, or lost, …waves of velvet flow through their own softness, dive deep into the bottomless, fall through these words and find not even nothing on the other side, …there are no sides in this sideways glance of reflections…
words are fluent in their own tongue, erasing the silhouette they draw
words blur into a sliding flow of memory, …the taste of aliveness nestles on your tongue, the flavor of a moonless night rustles in the garden, under the newly blooming roses,
earthen petals rise… and fall, as seeds escape their tombs, nakedly plunging their heads into spring, …and all is a poem, a fantasia of words, a world of things… dancing… separate and together simultaneously,
we are liquid poems, words streaming, reaching, listening to other songs, whose words collapse into our own rushing scintillating dream scape, this ballet of echoes sings itself and drowns in its own sound…
~~~~~
robin hops through the wetness of morning, listening to the long grasses, branches bloom long legged buds, green wings that will grow into clothes where the robins can hide and sit out the rain,
words… slow… into morning… they paint my mouth my lips my tongue into the chaos of unknowing and seem to cast patterns into the kiss of life, but paw prints on the concrete dry, words recede into echoes into lost and found memory, the beauty of nothing captured, nothing gained, nothing lost in the swirl, …even the swirl dissolves as it begins, no beginning or end can be found as there is only swirling…
words seem to gather under the banks and sing of long shadows and hidden currents whirl pooling, but it is all words, suggesting nothing more or less than a tapestry of ideas dissolving the banks, the water, the sky and the shadowland where you lay your head, longing to exhale, terrified of drowning, but you are already drowned, dissolved in the waterfall of words
longing to hold on to love and knowing you cannot, is the heartbreak and beauty of love, inescapable, this life that has no edge nor center where you can take a stand and say, ‘here, love is, …and here, love is not’
and is love not this intense feeling of loss, this feeling of un-graspable-ness, unknowable-ness is the preciousness, the magic you truly long for…
a portrait of life, or even a movie, has a frame, but life and love has no frame, no edge, no outside, and no inside… you are not separate from this intense intimacy of what ever life seems to feel like, and you can only ever know what life feels like for you, no matter how close you may be to another…
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