Clock

The years passed through me

like ghosts,

Brushing coils

of time,

That never started

or stopped.

Verbs circled,

Nouns grew,

This happening,

A vision

worthy of Michelangelo’s

hand.

The chair holds me now,

yet I’m not even touching it.

The stars draw me in,

twins that we are...

It’s okay,

something whispers.

But I already know.

I have not moved.

Not once.

I have not moved,

Since forever.

Play

P assion
   P eace
      P lay
P lease

   I
m e
   m ine
y ou
  i t
i s

N ow
    S leep
      S ee
W hy
         w e
   W ake

R un
  H ere
F ear
   N ot
      T hings

Fair Play

Hi readers
if you're out there,
I want to hear from you.
Send me a word, a sentence,
a shape, a blank space,
a poem...no matter.
Let me know where you 
are with nothingness and
everythingness.
We all know there is 
nothing to say about it,
so please,
say nothing
in your own special way. 
Let me see you, 
in the comments.
It'll warm my heart.

Streaming

The river of experience flows
like a bloodstream
pumped by Being, each
scarlet tendril reaching back
like a finger toward Self.

I am untouched by the rains
that saturate the growing 
grounds, and yet, 
the sweet taste of berry
I know well.

I am Love loving itself, 

constantly, rhythmically, 

over stones and rocks,

sand and dirt.

Nothing can mar my 

unyielding glory.

Death is a cool pebble 

in my stream, 

romantic love a colorful, 

slippery fish that somersaults

for my amusement. 

I rise above all, and descend

deeper than anything.

Beauty is happening,

and it appears without
my interference, yet
only exists as me.

The act of personhood 
is my most elaborate 
unfolding, precious and
meaningless, reflecting
profound delight 
that has no reason.

Life is my spilling over joy, 
and needs no one to be. 
The deep acceptance that I am 
splits cells and pushes them
onward to their destiny 
of appearing and disappearing.

I remain, pure, 
the cosmic smile,
watching Life move through me,
the fathomless mystery,
basking in the only ever now.

Life Is

many of us
want to feel better
we search for
something
someone

when it doesn't work
we look for enlightenment
hoping
for permanent bliss
no more pain
big love

when stories arise
and swirl into solids
we think we've lost
something
we always are

peace needs no
happiness
joy doesn't discriminate
against sadness

this is the embrace
of all
including what we
don't like and
don't want and
try to push away

we can't push away life
it is fresher than
waking up

while we're looking for
a better time

life is

beating our hearts
gently
lovingly
whispering

"this"

Meaningless and Beautiful

Trying to live life is
like trying to write a poem -
totally fruitless.

There is no secret to life.
Living is the secret, 
and that is enough.

We can let lines
gently perk up 
from their dreamy soil,
and write them down,

likewise allowing life to
do its thing - you know
it will anyway -

so no need to grab
and rip the shoots out
like weeds.

Perhaps writing and 
living can both be
tended kindly,
with a heart

like that garden of
rainbow blooms 
whose names
I don't even know.

I don't really know 
about life either, or 
about dying or loving.

I only know 
that this tiny seed
is also the decaying log, 
deep in the green forest 
of hanging tendrils,
billowing softly
in the breeze 
of silence.

The mystery of what is,
incapable of being written,
nevertheless shines 
in the marriage of letters,
in their offspring - words -
like windblown
dandelions,

senseless, meaningless,
and beautiful.

Sweet Spot

When did a single deep breath equal ecstasy?

When did the tender aches of the body
become sweet comfort?

When did the fatigue of personhood
transform into fathomless gratitude?

When did imagination bow
to universal truth?

When did *I* rise up as nothing?

When did love have no meaning
and was everything?

Now.

In between starting and ending,
I am.

What If

Were you on your knees?
Was hope a puddle on the floor?

Did you drown in the story,
or fly away to the non person?

Have you found the softness of
your deepest being?
In other words -
the velvet of your skin,
the crinkles at your eyes
when you smile,
the heat of fresh tears
falling,
       inside,
              outside,
and is there a difference?

Are you looking for you,
and finding other,
or maybe -
the other way around?

What if

This is the journey to
nowhere.
And this is all there is.
And it's okay not to know.
And you haven't done anything
wrong.

And

What if

You are literally made of
vibrating goodness.

What about that?

Maybe we'll all be on our knees,
amazed.

Here

          don't move   

stay right here    can you?

this is where it is    right here

don't go anywhere   if you can

this is it    there is no way around 

everything you want   is here   now

nothing can replace   you   a no thing

if you are looking   okay

if you aren't looking    okay

but there's no destination 

no satisfaction   ever 

away from here    nothing's going to happen 

though   it may seem to   move and change

it's just here    nowhere else

forever  now   is the savior 

         stay with me

can you?

Embrace

home again
   and again
the place I never left

people die
hearts get broken
the bumps and bruises
of life have their way

it's all so profoundly embraced

there is nothing that
wants it to be different

as it is
so it is

full on engagement

even as I move
   to change
   to create
   to mourn
   to ponder


no preferences
doesn't mean
not caring

unattached
doesn't mean
detached

deeply accepting
whatever appears
is my nature, no
on or off switch

nothing wrong
with the dive into humanness
the rise from ignorance
the blissed-out nothingness
or the dogma of no one

it is ALL saturated with love,
steeped in assent


there is no one
and

here we are
   living and
   loving and
   hurting and
   healing

   wondering

have I got it yet?
am I ok?


who
I ask you,

would want
   to deny
     that
       beauty?

Aurora

She ripples and taunts,

she slides and shimmers,

a moving foundation,

ungraspable, intoxicating.

Speaking in indigo, she

comes without warning,

silent shining grace.

The color of wonder,

she looks like hope

dancing.

We want to touch her,

but cannot.  

She swallows our eyes,

and we thank her, we

ask for more, try to 

capture luminous

presence in a box.

She twinkles her approval,

then disappears, leaving

us drugged with violet

anticipation.  

LIke an oceanic flower

she emerges, new, 

and we remember 

who we are, again.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Neptune has moved house.

The purple green sea is

upside down, dotted novas

 lighting  his new kingdom.

Love Letter

When it comes to
the question of you,
the answer is always

           yes.

And sometimes your no
is the biggest yes
of all.


You are held,
in all ways,
in tsunami tears
and rolling laughter,
emptiness spilling
over your edges.

You are that full

   of no thing.


You can never
be denied love -
never !

Because love you are.

Every ache, every contraction,
every resistance
is the cosmic embrace,
spouting warm
velvet tears -
or maybe
fiery raging power bolts.

No matter what happens,
you are the preferred,
      the accepted,
              the beloved.

This deep, deep sustenance

is simply itself,

through you, as you,

beyond inseparable,

so that

saying "you" simply becomes

a shocking smile, 

the explosion 

of gushing

fragrant isness.

Your music is tasted,
your colors heard,
danced to, each
texture of you
nuzzled, taken in.

There is nothing wrong

         with you.

You -

are so, so right.

Jumble

I am the discomfort
and the desire to get rid of it

I am the welcoming
turning to face myself
again and again

I am the letting go
and the tenacity of lingering
echos

future plans ride on my coattails

satisfied and unsatisfied
I hunger for what
constantly feeds me

twisting myself inside out
knotted or lithe
I find myself unchanged
in my delight

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

what isn't?

we could say the story, maybe

a label slapped on an illusion,
it is, and it isn't

what isn't?  can we find anything
that isn't?

all isn't
and yet, there only IS
-ing

so what isn't doesn't exist,
because there is....

           some      no -    thing

                       here

what is it?

what isn't it?

all our knowing of what is
and what isn't
collapses in being
unprovable truth
shining

Unlove

When you came knocking,

brandishing sharp pangs,

I thought I had to ignore you,

deny, or destroy you.

At best, I thought I had to 

make you disappear,

willingly and softly, 

trailing rose petals.

What can I say?

Beliefs are hilarious.

Instead you were welcomed,

as none other than

this Love.

Gut wrenching and heart aching

your way through the mist

of certainty,

finally listened to, accepted

as my own -

shame and glory both

invited to the party.

Instead of rose petals,

you dug in deeper and

gifted me with wildflowers- 

indiscriminate bloomers,

sudden sun saluters.

What is this peaceful 

meadow, but the resting

place of the unwanted?

I used to think that pain

said something true about me,

but it doesn't.

I used to think there was unlove,

but there isn't.

Deeper

Time moves in me,

but I don't move in time.

Life expresses in me,

as me,

and I am more than Life.

The ocean flows in me,

I am the ocean, too.

The ocean cannot be,

without me.

I am this flowing, this

vibrating love, and

I don't move an inch.

You come to me,

and leave me,

in me - so

I am with you,

always,

as me.

I never go anywhere,

anywhere comes to me,

and I am anywhere.

Beauty shines,

and I am that, too.

And I am more.

I never stop

I'm eternally fresh

I never move

I'm always here

What is

deeper

than

what is?

Rock Solid

The peaks are covered with

the softest white blanket,

the baby blue heaven is

streaked with cotton candy,

then slowly, like red peaches,

sun slipping into sleep.

How long have the mountains

been here?

When did they arrive, when

will they leave?

Silent sentries, steadfast,

moving ever so slowly,

with conviction.

And we have been here longer.

We will survive the survivors.

We are anchored to the very

center of the earth, rock solid,

while at the same time birthing

the furthest constellations.

The peaceful snow scene,

the tiny sparkling mirrors,

the thin, luminous arc of a

moon, like a quick brushstroke-

these lovely, silent messengers,

reminding us.

What we are is deeply,

inevitably

and irrevocably

what is.

Wanting What I Am

This is not dry, barren

or indifferent,

unless it is..

This is also bone-crushing,

tidal waving desire.

Storms of want,

raining in torrents,

mysterious, wonderful, amazing

shocks of feeling,

dragging us, dumbstruck,

into the well.

Walking in the desert for so long,

it is tempting to miss the water,

to forget to drink.

Diving deep,

travelling down,

into the beginning

of nothing,

up is down,

out is in,

body breaking,

tears pouring,

earth splitting,

quaking open,

and nobody cares

what happens

next

because

there is

only

the

dissolving

into

thisverynow

containing absolutely

everything and anything

we never knew we wanted.

Self,

the origin and

fulfillment of every

imaginable yearning,

the balm for every

hurt, the silent answer

to every question.

A wildly precious

offering,

this is what Love

gives to Itself.

The desert can be beautiful.

So can a hurricane.

Story Time

Tell me the life of your story,

and I'll tell you mine.

Tell me about love, happiness, and heartbreak,

chocolate, science, and rainbows.

Tell me about One, looking like two,

or about One being nothing,

and everything.

Nothing doesn't stop something from appearing.

Does Being prefer a smile to a tear?

I don't think so,

not unless you do..

Whatever you want

is wanting.

Whomever you love,

is already love.

Whenever you hurt, Being is there.

The very fabric of your story, my story,

is the sweet breath of Being, loving to be.

No possibility of wanting something else,

unless you do..

No desire to alter what is,

unless you do..

The "me" and the "you" are the absolute

perfect

expressions of what is, right now.

Oneness loving to be, as you, as me.

Cherished, welcomed, loved and desired.

Not as an object, but as the very essence of

Self-love,

unavoidable, irresistible.

There is no escaping.

However Beingness appears is exactly how it must appear.

Until appearing as something else.

In the swirling kaleidoscope of what seems to be,

nothing is really happening,

what seems to change is changelessness.

Inside of that secret, the life of the story might

churn and burn.

It's really all right.

No one wants to stop it,

because we can only BE it.

No other choice but

absolute freedom.