One Heart (2)

Spirit dons a cloak of illusion for obvious reasons.
Do we really need to go into details? If so, then
here is one story which lovers love to share:

It’s a shutters-shut slice of late afternoon swoon-time.
We are happy, smiling – two bodies shining towards
each other, each of us nearly blinding the other.

We mirror the happiness of mindless embodiment,
consciousness surrendered to its own bliss in a timeless
place where we now exist as the radiance of emptiness.

I kneel before you. You are the one I came to worship.
You are propped against a cushion of sun and shade,
adorned in the form of the particular Beloved.

Ripe as Rasa’s fragrance in the sunrise vineyards,
once again animating these forms of irresistible attraction,
there’s no difference between us save in the angle of fusion.

Choice or choiceless – the sudden surging of God’s
own blood clarifies any confusion. The three times tilt
on the cusp of our rapture as everything becomes us.

What presses so urgently through these shimmering forms,
like waves of pure moonlight flooding through the crumbled
portals of some ancient temple, a temple of our patient longing,

or like summer-sewn winds through red-rust nets on long-ago
forsaken fences, stretching over the rounded ridges of pastures
passed on a journey nobody has ever embarked upon,

a picture-perfect pathway to a mythical Lost Coast, we can
never explain, but only marvel at in the intimacy my awe shares
with your delight, my “Ah” with your “Aye”, one sigh between us,

one sacred syllable ever rising in the sensuous spaciousness
of our synchronous penetration, the matrix of our reunion
in life after life, one heart after breaking heart.

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Murmuring Into Light

You deliberately move towards yourself, yet disappear
in the moving. In this way, only the light itself arrives.
If you imagine nothing happens, you won’t be mistaken.

Only the light waits expectantly, like a lover at the gate,
for light to disembark. What follows is a joyous reunion
of that which has never actually been divided from itself.

We are all bewildered wanderers here, looking everywhere
for our own light. Everyone comes from that singular light
which glows like embers smeared across the god’s forehead.

You called to me from within that light. This hothead answered.
He came to your door, covered in the burning ash of my desire.
You were laughing right out loud as that crispy clown ignited!

One quick kiss – all of our holy ideas were scattered like ash!
When the light awakens to itself, we can surely expect a lot
of laughter. Why would we want it to be any other way?

Whoever imagined our immolation would be such fun —
reclining in bliss on our own funeral pyre, mindlessly
murmuring back and forth all through the night:

“Darling, Darling, Darling!”

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No Boundary

“Emptiness here, emptiness there,
but the infinite universe
stands always before your eyes.
Infinitely large and infinitely small;
no difference, for definitions have vanished
and no boundaries are seen.”

~ Seng T’san

My Love, to attain this present birth we died into life –
our exuberant wake attended by countless rejoicing beings,
all happy for the ones who never were, those impossible
children of a barren woman, miraculously appearing
here in the virtual forms of you and I and everyone!

We perceive no boundary on where that is
or what this is, nor any place to pause or retreat,
no advancing to the front, nor re-grouping arrears,
no regretful past nor hopeful tomorrow, no fear at last
nor any rumor of it, no elegant armor of cool resistance
to the unceasing interpenetration of soul and Supreme –
just the innocent nakedness of life as it is — this suchness.

And if the brilliant body of our diamond being, suffused
with a supernal light and pregnant with all seeds of possibility,
were to become fully self-aware in the midst of this majesty,
then such dawning recognition would lovingly unfurl itself
in warm glad tidings of streaming blessing for the children
borne in this womb of wooing emptiness, now afloat
in the amniotic fluids of primal divine ecstasy.

Just so, my Love, how can we dare speak of this
in any tongue but one? It is the tongue burnt to a crisp
by the lovely fire which swept through our mind,
blissfully reducing it to fragrant ash.

And my throat — my throat is filled with my heart!
Where my heart was, you are dancing euphorically,
laughing that infectious laugh which no being
born of flesh or heaven can resist.

Ah, see now what you have done:
feeling, flowing, flowering into some boundless
blossoming, the Mystery reaches into itself, flooding
me into you at last who are myself in a passion play of Love’s
alchemy, wrapped up in this embrace, stars whirling through us,
whole histories of sunstreams curling quietly like necklaces,
like the dear prayer beads you once placed around my neck
so that I would remember you – as if I could ever forget —
those laughing beads of your rapture, ripe with the Great
Heart Mantra, the sweet music of Remembrance, Song
of One Love, one heart, free presence, present perfect,
perfect peace, This, Beloved, Yes!

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The Announcement

Dreamer, you are watching movies in your mind. You don’t even need to close your eyes. Thoughts, memory associations, bits of soundtracks, ephemeral emotional states, ambivalent images of yourself that keep changing, fantasies of interpretation on perception — none of it has any substantial or enduring reality.

“Whatever”, you say to yourself, mildly amused at the invisible person you seem to be talking to. You think, “I’m no different than anyone else, aren’t I?”

Perhaps you commute to work. Upon arriving at your usual destination, you don’t recall much about the actual trip. There were cars, you were driving. Now it is a blur. What do you remember of last week, last month? You suddenly find yourself in the office kitchen. You are pouring yourself a cup of coffee. You look for the creamer, but nobody bothered to replace the empty one.

In the midst of your annoyance, you will not pause for even a moment and ask yourself, “Who am I?” Really, you don’t know who you are, although you have mastered the art of pretense. Pretty much. Maybe mostly. . Well, maybe not. “Whatever”, you mutter to that person with the cup of coffee in their hand, the one without any creamer.

The person who lay dreaming in your bed last night has evaporated. The dream is over. What was it anyway? You are standing smack dab in the midst of your enduring struggle, confidently clueless. You can say things that will get you by — your schooling provided you with a host of workable facades.

You don’t think about Jesus, but you are a good Christian. God bless you! Nevertheless, to determine what it is you truly want in this mirage of a life will require some serious down time, and who has time to be down? You go to your cubicle; it is just as you left it. It is always that way, like at church, like in your bedroom, or any of the usual places where you dream.

You turn on the computer and check your mail. Before long you are totally asleep again, but simultaneously awake. You are probably a little apprehensive, but you can’t put your finger on it. You never can, maybe you should take a tranquilizer? You are on the verge of slipping into another waking dream, so you make a phone call. Make a few. It’s good to reach out. You are not alone, until you hang up.

This must be a dream, because now you are in the company parking lot again. How often has this scenario played out? You go to your car, you unlock the door with your clicker, you get into the front seat and turn on the engine. As your engine warms up, you close your eyes.

Now you are on the highway. You grind your teeth unconsciously and speculate about what you will eat for dinner. You know that you will watch the same characters on the same television program say the same things over and over. In that way, you become clear about what you should think and what you should believe, what you should be fearful about, and what you should buy. Especially what you should buy!

After a moment, you realize that you are complete asleep but simultaneously awake. The traffic is creeping. It is always creeping. Perhaps the cars at the front of the parade are purposely driving slowly. Perhaps that is the problem. On the radio, there is an announcement. You are not sure if you heard it correctly. You must have been dreaming.

You turn up the volume on the car device. Everyone in their cars this evening is listening. The whole highway becomes one snaking parking lot. In the midst of the collective dream, there has been an announcement. It is brief, but to the point. Slowly it begins to dawn on you, nothing now will ever be the same again.

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Lovers’ Pantoum

White light infiltrates me as I expand into it.
The interpermeation of self and supreme —
there are no words with which to say this.
I am the one who writes down words.

The interpermeation of self and supreme —
you are the one who makes up words, I am
the one who writes down words. You asked,
“Who is there?” I replied, “Your Darling!”

You are the one who makes up words, you
wanted to know what I wanted most, I said
“Everything, nothing. I am your Darling!”
Somewhere, a softly glowing silence.

You wanted to know what I wanted most.
I responded, “To see you happy!”
Somewhere, a softly glowing silence.
I claimed an unconditional love.

I said, “I wanted to see you happy!”
We whispered as lovers across the pillow.
I claimed an unconditional love.
One love was playing as if two.

We whispered as lovers across the pillow.
I had no patience for a waiting game.
One love was playing as if two.
You wanted to know where I had been.

I had no patience for the waiting game.
I replied, “I have been within you!”
when you asked me where I had been.
What did I see there? “Only God!”

I have always been here, within you.
There has never been a speck of distance.
What do I see there? “Only God!” I say.
You replied, “Then why is it so empty?”

There has never been a speck of distance.
This is the essence of our timeless truth.
You inquired, “Then why is it so empty?”
I answered, “Only to reveal our truth!”

This is the essence of our timeless truth: pristine
feeling to infinity, boundlessly expanding space.
This is how I would answer to reveal our truth.
You asked, “Can it be done?” I answered, “No.”

Feeling to infinity, boundlessly expanding space —
“Where can one safely live then?” You asked.
You wanted to know if it could be done.
“Only in that silence.” I replied.

“How can one safely live then?” You asked.
“Only by resorting to the guidance of the Heart,
Beloved, only in that silence.” I replied.
“Where can such silence be found?”

Only by resorting to the guidance of the Heart,
can one transcend any threat of disaster.
You asked, “Where can such silence be found?”
Only by relinquishing any resistance to the Heart.

One can transcend any threat of disaster, by seeing
the uncontrived presence of things as they are.
Only by relinquishing any resistance to the Heart,
can the truth of everyone and everything be revealed.

The uncontrived presence of things as they are
is the effortless state of our own true nature, where
the truth of everyone and everything is revealed.
After this, words themselves could go no further.

The effortless state is our own true nature.
There are no words with which to say this.
After this, words themselves can go no further.
White light infiltrates me as I expand into it.

If I tried to say more, listeners would hear
their own heartbeat . . . there would be
no flesh, no bone, nor any limit.
Amen, Amen, Amen.

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All Stop the Streaming Mind

The raw screech of the Hawk as it tears
from the Hawk’s throat instantly
unites the whole forest.

Outside of that piercing cry,
in that startling moment,
what else is there?

Likewise, big bang, wind chime,
thunder clap, baby laugh, twig snap,
breaking glass, dog bark, bell ringing
in a ghost temple at dawn —

all stop the streaming mind, leaving
nothing to desire, nothing to petition
the god for, nothing to worship or abhor.

There is a framed picture on the mantel.
The family is smiling for one eternal moment.
In that moment, there’s no past, present, future.

Nobody is breathing, sweet silence has prevailed.
There is just a frozen camera flash, rendered
forever in a square piece of captured light.

No one or no thing occupies this light.
It may be sufficient unto its own luminosity.
It is neither existent nor non-existent —
such categories don’t apply here.

Meanwhile, notice how the smiles on the faces
ripple out of the picture frame, go out the front door.

They’ve set off together through the forest, subtly
affecting those whom they encounter, but in ways
which everyone is at a loss to adequately describe.

I will rise up in the story, gather each one of those
dear traveling smiles in the same way that I might
catch falling leaves before they reach the ground.

Look, the eyes of the leaves are turned towards me
in my madness as I raise my hands in the breeze.
It seems as if I am trying to catch the wind!

All around me, the wandering smiles have arrived
to comfort me — it is just the way things work.

I realize that somewhere, a family once gathered
in an indefinite room and posed before a camera.

At that same moment, in the nearby forest, secretly,
the Autumn leaves were softly falling, but with no one
to catch them before they reached the ground, until now.

Just as I stretch to snatch one from midair, the raw
screech of a Hawk as it tears from the Hawk’s
throat instantly unites the whole forest!

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Duet of One

I rise to mate my voice with yours, Darling Poet
of my heart, but in the gentle devastation of your
presence, all my simple songs melt into silence
and I stand here mute, lilting softly off balance
against the background of a perfect balance
reflected in the brilliance of your shine.

The listening born within this silence,
the intimacy of the sky with the horizon,
the way some meandering streams just end
in the middle of nowhere in particular, exhaling
an invisible secret that every light-eyed creature
bathes in – all of this is evidence to anyone who
imagines some distance from their Source that
there has never been a trace of separation.

You are closer to me than I am to myself.

Each luscious poem-sound we make
is carried on the breath of some glad god
whom no one has yet found a way to worship.

Such living poetry is our prayer of gratitude
and praise for the appearance of each other
in the midst of this mystery, this
utter astonishment.

We float, a golden leaf on that breeze,
blown far beyond any mythic archetypes
of grace-granting divinity by the loving grace
of a divinity for which none can account,
any more than for this touch
we blissfully share.

There are beings of exquisite radiance
who let their love flow through the universe
with no limit or recoil, no fear or demand.

Their True Sanctuary is none other than
our own Abode, as we come to rest
in this touch at the Heart —
your Touch, Beloved,
my Heart!


Each morning, musing,
I sit at this drifting continent
of thoughts moving forward,
a slow-motion leap.

Always arising inside
are islands of me, of You,
of the whole squirming tangle
of humanity’s Heart heaving sighs.

Some wildly flapping bright bird
of words cries out.

Oh, this streamer of Dawn,
this trailer of Light —

Winging across this page,
feathered fingers caress each moment
of Your life with great gladness.

Some fine finger of Light
begs to paint in Your Heart.

The choices are fragrant,
like winter bittersweet in bloom
and I am become all
open-mouthed poet, a koan moan
spilling my blood-light, my heartbeat,
straight through your Soul-eyes,
and a million new poems
are brought to the dance.

Each single word
is a new country,
a revolution,
a full-circled Kiss.

So much sunlight
keeps pouring from You
that melons and figs are leaping
into the ground before
they’re even a seed!

Let this parade
of friendly mothers-to-be
just give that last push
out into Light!

Another Poem-Soul cries out
in the first breath of life!



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