Category Archives: Poetry

What if I Lost You Tomorrow?

What if I lost you tomorrow?

What if you lost me tomorrow?

We are sand slipping through

One another’s fingers

We can be

Moments of joy

In oceans of turmoil

Or we can be

Awakening to the sunrise

Seeing ourselves

In the breeze

Immortal children

Meeting each other

Ever-new

We can be the light

That makes the whole world shine

Without leaving a trace

We are two lovers

Sitting in the auditorium

Seeing our love reflected on the stage

In ways too beautiful and funny

They take our breath away

On the stage is you

And on the stage is me

But if all the actors leave

The curtains come down

And the lights go out

I’ll still feel you breathing

Right there next to me

I won’t know where I end

And you begin

With eyes closed

I am your whole

And you are my whole

We are

Being

What if I lost you tomorrow?

Would you come find me?

Would I feel your smile

On the light of the sun?

Would I see you play

In the eyes of every child?

Would I hear your kind wisdom

Through a million voices

Ringing with insight?

Would I hear your voice

In another’s laughter

In some far-away music that strolls

Down a cobble-stone street

In a park somewhere?

If I lost you tomorrow

Would I meet you again

Everywhere?

What if you lost me tomorrow?

Would you cry until you started to laugh

And would you laugh so deeply

That your whole life became a laughter?

Would you keep dancing?

And, dancing, meet me

As the wind picks up

And a leaf brushes against your leg

And the sound of friends laughing

Shatters your lonely silence?

Would you walk in my footsteps?

Would you meet me in the meadows of Mt Shasta?

Would you meet me in meditation

or contemplation

in my favorite book

or movie

or song?

Would you trace my ending

To my beginning

And find

That I was a circle all along?

And that you,

You too are a circle?

And seeing this, would you find

That I am still sitting right there beside you

In the empty theatre

That is your heart

Where we can never lose one another

Because we were never two

To begin with?

I love you, my dear

Now and forever

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i am

i am prosperity

abundant perfect peace

love

and i must sail

the seas of danger

to kindle the fire of my

perfect immortal knowing

i must release the titans

to restore balance to the universe

i must

ride the hydra and unleash

its power

within myself.

i am becoming

i am the unfolding

i am the florescence of the world

as worlds themselves

are flowers

of different shades and harmonics

and the background

consciousness

blossoms

as good and evil and yet

I AM

this is the only answer

that lurks behind all questions

and all seeking

the hand of GOD

is a hand that draws

lines

in the sand

and washes them away

with the love of the Ocean

KNOW THIS THEN!

your holy scriptures

are only

lines

drawn in the sand

as you approach

the Ocean of Knowing.

your beliefs

and your

experiences

are only

the waters that

prepare you

for not-knowing.

your annointments

are only the sweet

fragrances

that relax your mind

with memories

of your mothers.

but here

you will go beyond

even the most

intimate

relations

to that which

is

altogether beyond

relating.

before

relation.

because the world of form

is pure

relativity,

perceptions birthing their

inverse

reflections, and here

you move

into

the nowhere plane

of the mirror

itself.

you are not on the side

of Earth or Heaven,

God or man.

you are within,

in the vanishing point

of the real–

the real that steals

the footing

of all illusions.

The Magic of Tea

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The magic of tea.

T is a letter of the alphabet. It is a junction, an intersection, a cross and a crossing. Two ley lines intersect and create a node where energy contracts and funnels into a vortex of introspection, across the event horizon and then… lost forever?

Moments are like this–intersections of dynamic energy that create a point of relative stillness, a space that is an opening for arriving home to here-now-ever-now-here. The magic of tea.

In the beginning there is emptiness. An empty pot, an empty kettle, an empty cup. The vessel is prime yin, the mother’s womb, the castle in the clouds. It is pure potentiality.

Then there was water and tea leaves. The tea leaves are in the pot. They are the raw material, the clay from which Adam was fashioned, the crude matter that must be awakened to its divine potential. This is the unrealized self, which has not yet released the fragrance of its divinity. The water is the life-force, the tao, that swirling, uncontrollable energy that takes the shape of whatever vessel it inhabits. The water is in the kettle, which is the mind and the heart.

To awaken the blessing deep within the tea leaves, we must heat the water. How hot the water needs to be depends on the quality of the tea leaves. With the tea we drink today, we must go all the way. The water needs to boil. This is purest magic, then the water is in a bardo state, between liquid and gas. Between the material and the immaterial. This is our gateway to nirvana.

The kettle is the mind, so we begin with awareness. We shift the attention away from the ego-personality and focus instead on the life-force. We observe intently its dynamic nature. We see that it is impermanent and impersonal. Water goes on changing. It follows the course of gravity. It takes the shape of its container. It does not have preferences or judgments. It simply goes where it goes. And as we fix our awareness on the water, it begins to get warmer. It approaches its immaterial nature.

The kettle is the heart, so we move into love. We surrender to the life-force. We move into gratitude, peace, and giving. Water gives itself to all beings, and all beings are composed of water. Water connects all life. Water is essential, and we learn to honor what is essential above all else.

We reach the depth of surrender, where life itself begins to evaporate. Now the water is boiling, and we pour it into our pot. The tea does not burn… another tea could have burned, but this tea appreciates boiling water. The tea begins its transmutation, as it releases its essence into the water.

The first steeping is a gift back to the source. The second steeping goes into the cup–it is for the world. We will let it cool for a moment so that it becomes palatable. And now, the work is over. Now there is nothing left to do but enjoy the fruit of our efforts. And share, share with all the world.

The magic of tea.

Being blossoms, ecstatic radiance, finding stability in universal love. Moving on the currents of grace, majesty is realized in awakening forgiveness. The all-seeing master IS! Exquisite.

An exquisite cup of tea does not wait for tomorrow. It is here-now-ever-now-here. Ceremony uses time to demonstrate the timeless. Tea is the magic of the mundane. The spiritual practice of enjoying nothing-doing.

Ahhh…

The Burning Heart

photo-23

~~~

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.

Little Island

Singing Winds

A soulful kirtan

Through laptop speakers

Windchimes sing

In approving harmony

The wind ebbs the

Breath of Ram

Osho says:

“Longing is divine

Until it takes an object

Then it becomes mundane.”

These waves of longing

Crashing on the shores

Of consciousness

A consciousness so vast…

This is where awareness is drawn

This vastness

Which contains so much

Joy and sorrow

Stories of self and other

Are too small

To contain such vastness

So I sink

Surrender

To the oceanic sound

Of the harmonium

The depth

Of the human voice

The soft carress

Of the wind

The aimless sauntering

Of bird calls

And here I am, here I am,

Stories help me to navigate

To hold a home, feed myself,

Communicate with others

(The real gem!)

But they are held lightly

So that maybe

In some miraculous moment

They will wash away

And leave me alone

With silence

And vastness

And peace, and love

With being

Just being

And some unknown power

Will see through my eyes

Reach out

Through my limbs

Think

With my mind

And explode into the world

Like those first rays of sunlight

Perpetually blessing all beings

In timeless ecstasy

Well, what do I know?

For now, I sit

And drink tea

And enjoy this little island

Of serenity

The Dark Queen

Last night the Dark Queen appeared to me

Blades for arms, twisted and sadistic smile

Her minions were everywhere,

We were on a boat of some sort

There was no escaping,

But I could try, I could run…

And I was running, but then

Some divine madness spoke to me

And I turned around

And I knew

I must go to her

I must face her

And so I turned around, and walked to her

And asked her, “Who are you?”

But she cut away my words

As her blades pierced my sides,

Penetrating me, opening me

I embraced her,

Though she continued to cut me

But at least

The running was over