The Burning Heart



All this beauty inside my heart

I would share it with you now

It tears me open

It invites me into darkness

Not as a spectator

As a lover, a mother

As the one in the heart of it all

Crying, wretched, forlorn

Forsaken by the world

Reborn as the world

Surrendering to ultimate death

Transcending death

Everything brimming with light

Touching the tender synapse raw nerves

Fire burning fire ecstatic

The most delicate hands

And everything burns away save

A single eye

Unfathomable fathoms

You are this! You are this! You are!

Zen swords pierce woven veils of self and other

Lightning like illumined mind pierces

And leaps without warning

And lands in the center of gravity

No floor, no falling

Circling the light that circles the dark

Slow spiral grooves smooth-ass jazz

Angels on sax

And oceans of warm feedback in a London nightclub

Everyone breathing in syncopated harmony

Without knowing

Not needing to know

Lost, blissfully lost

Awareness coming home

Takings its shoes off

Stoking the fire

Sinking into the recliner

And waiting for her to arrive

To come home


for Bird


Glimpses of Love

Her head on my chest, fingers through hair, the sunlight caught in branches, like dolphins caught on the shore of some beach in Big Sur, where we climbed the cliff ¬†wondering – will it be hard to climb down? No fear in her footsteps, there is no fear in her footsteps — unless there is fear, and she says to stay behind, she will go see, she will know what there is to know and share it with me — turned back by Grace, to love in the light of grace…

Two deer, two dolphins, signs of love abounding, the chorus is composed of angels, not critics and cynics, and that’s heaven, isn’t it?

We made our heaven by planting love in our vulnerability, love is the great strength, conqueror and liberator, love is love in every nook and cranny of this cliff, which seems shaped by a million hands and a million feet, and maybe that’s what God is, a million hands and a million feet.

God is two hands — hers in mine, mine in hers, landscape is fog, drifting shadows, hazy maze — not a maze, a labyrinth, where every step takes us closer to home, we’re already home, her hand in mine, my hand in hers.

How I used to hate questions, afraid of what was under the surface, rubber and steel and plastics a million uncompostables festering– now I love! I love to dig my hands into the fertile soil of the Self we share and the worms and spiders and other underground things are our friends, gatekeepers between life and death like mushrooms–

How can a mushroom be so much like a flower? Like a dandelion, a million seeds planted in the mind which later explodes–rapturous rupture sing-song purples and greens listen! The trip gets weird. The trip gets weird there’s nothing wrong with life it’s just a lot. Life is a lot but you are more. And so we fall in love, falling pain stumbling fear and all of that because we are more!

And we chase each other up to heaven–the stairs up to the loft–both of them, mirror images of heavens built on imaginary hells. Hell is imaginary. Love is real. Every kiss is recorded in every smile. Good kisses. Good smiles.

I smile, and she kisses you. Isn’t she lovely? Isn’t she a jewel, a timeless gem? Words, words, words, words, words. Words! Words… Mmmm I am drifting into the silence of her peace, the peace that comes when I talk the demons away, and counter every thought that rises with a pretty picture of a perfect now, and this is what our love is. We are so good to each other. We are not limited in our goodness. We are not afraid to fly–not to Big Sur, not to New York.