“Nothing” is the disclosure of “Everything,”
in a perpetually diminishing state.
So long as we recede into Nothingness,
Everything has perfect and eternal existence.
To embrace Everything,
is to make ourselves diminutive –
we become a single grain of sand
surrounding itself with all the worlds desert dunes and sea shores.
Seek Nothing, leave Everything.
That which we enter and that which we exit
share the same threshold.
We are the door – and both sides of it.
A poem is a bird
in a gilded cage
a pining soul
on a weeping page.
Open the door
but still it stays
Close the door
and it flies away.
Our messages,
all of them past and present,
but an ensemble of One beckoning source.
It is true,
how wind – the pen,
and water – the scroll,
will lay a volatile couplet,
a brief fragrance,
a ripple, a wave and tide.
When the wind dies,
what?
The mountain on your chest
is just the summit of the heart.
our whole lives we talk and write and chat
and listen and question…
chatter…
yet it’s all divine expelling
of a single existence.
We think we chat in multitudes,
but it is merely God
dancing on our tongues and fingertips.
And these things we write and say
are so tenuous, fragile, fleeting –
like the wind laying a ripple on the water…
it could be a ripple, a wave or the entire tide…
it matters not…
because without the Wind (the one steady thing),
there is no mark or sound left to see, read, or smell.
That huge burden of mind-speak
that mounts on top of us,
this mountain of sorrows,
piles of vain-glory…
are nothing but the summit our hearts must mount.
The Beloved
enters like a mist
When in stillness
Lays a kiss
Disarms my words
eludes my eyes
No empty pages
the ink run dry
Hours gaze
from a clock with no face
free from the hands
of time and space
Pulsing chamber of light
that of a lantern
of a wayfaring messenger
She says
“I am not writer, I am written”
When the mind speaks,
wisdom puts a finger to its lips,
“Hush.”
That I fail to find order in my life
is evidence that I am seeking the means with my mind
rather than the ends with my heart.
So, I place myself in the path of wisdom,
with faith that “order” finds me
before each next step taken.
The mind is like the moon.
An illusion of beauty in the darkness of night,
and an eclipsing silhouette arresting the day.
Wisdom is interrupted by the constant quest for order.
The mind is thimble afloat in a vast ocean of wisdom…
filling up with rain from the heavens,
riding low in the water
until it disappears within the tide.
It is the gracefulness of presence
when present.
There at the node of a lamniscate,
a unity so beyond you and I,
that even a “we’ cannot be so fathomed.
Not here nor there,
nor now and never.
