Primordial

Every energy form has its own cycle. A sneeze lasts a second. A star, millions of years --  if you believe in time. Whether the form has its roots in childhood, in 7th grade, last week in the board room, or as a brand new pattern forming now, there is only one way to flow with life. Hold nothing back. Every form has its purpose in the immediate appearance. Even holding back doesn't come from you.  Its antecedents are universal, its consequences far reaching. Yet is nothing more or less than the weather of your awareness. Who knows where these clouds come from? Primordial dust.

Not One

Not one pixel of my monitor
Ever announces itself.
Ever calls me names.
No matter which image appears.

Not one friend has ever said,
You are the worst thing you can imagine.
My clothes are happy to be on my back.
My food is content to be ground to dust.

From where does this idea come:
That whatever we've been
Whatever we have done,
It could have been one micron better?

Even if the hair on my head
Leaves for a new molecular life
I can rest in that.
Be content with that.

Some teachers say
Switch allegiance from "me" to "Thee"
But there are those who say
Not even that.

Letting Go

Is it the pink slip for the ordinary mind, or
The final Advaita pointer?
Coincidentally,
The mirror says the same thing
my mother says after a long phone call:
"I'm going to let you go now."
We laugh at that.

House of Straw

Did I ever tell you my heart was closed?
Probably forgot to mention it.
But you didn't need reminding.
Why would a closed heart stop you?
Light as a feather with a piercing touch.

I held my shields, complacently close.
Guaranteed to protect all assets.
Though they came without a warranty.
Good thing, seen in hindsight, I am
A ridiculous house of straw.

Who Is Calling?

When that Joy peeks out from behind the world,
Something asks: "Who is calling?"
The answer knows itself.
Rest forever in the lightness
It permeates.

One Line Poem #2

Behind every smile, we return.

Turning

Like you, I have mistaken these dancing captions
For the life of a progressive mind.
Like you, I have thought that when one finger touches the ether
All knowledge would come pouring in for the final.
Like you, I have risen and poured forth streams of feelings.

What do I know that is not given, slipped in from behind?
Appearing first as love, then distain, then as laughter.
Finally as a surrender.
This human thing just turns and turns.

It is the delight of the stars to pour forth this.
Are we the gods laughing or crying? 
Where is that form when I close the door, close my eyes,
Shall you look this way, or move on?

The form dances only around perceptual fields.
So like the motes in the eye
That slide out of view when you turn your head.
It holds the depths of dying and the emergence.
But most of all, when it talks, I am. 

Tornado

Flash flood alert would have been too tame.
Tornado warnings would have been more true.
You got to love the hijacking mind
It wants to own the air and certain truth.

What function operates here?
Are you that good or not?
I attack and you parry. Are we dancing or fighting?
Get out of the way. Life coming through.

When terrible mock truth, has gone.
What is left of my certainty?
A bruise to the ego or a remnant of love.
Detritus perfectly describes the remains.

A cool breeze circles the whole of it.
Caring nothing for the individual movements
In the hard soft whipping energy of that weather.
Don't feel sorry for me. Keep moving. It's your turn next.

Velvet Moon

Behind the still motion lies a quiet moon.
Full, rich and heavy moon so firmly entrenched.
All activity seems to fall into it.
Were life not so demanding, I'd slip into it's pull.

After every moment, it calls, tugs.
Become diffuse, backup into velvet.
There, there. Never far from there.
Calling, shining, ever cushioning life.

A quick tug seems to detach the moon.
But oh no.. it always slips back in.
Whatever brings this beauty
Can have me too!

Spinning Way

A steep hill or deep rift,
Is the mind at work on a new construction.
How can the busy mind,
puffing out smoke,
know better than this life?

How do I take this news?
Wrestle and hustle.
I once charged myself,
with this formation.

No hands ever touch creation,
Though the dream spinner offers it.
Only the spinning
Knows the way.

Say Me

Even when dazzled by earthly object trails.
Don't be afraid to say "me."

Be sure to laugh at each self absorbed moment.
Whose life is this anyway?

All things to come, too will pass.
If not here now, will go.

Why not fill your own heart with the love of God?
Even my sister says,
"I know I'm here, and I didn't make myself."

Echoes

Today I heard good news, old news.

Echoes of recent wanderers; scribes.

But today, the sweetness of it penetrated

And made a heart so often still, glad.

All that passes within and without

Passes before my hands, not of them.

If you try to catch emergent thoughts

And wrestle them into bright subjects

You form.

But if you merely acknowledge what flies or spins before you

Whether a breeze or maelstrom,

You will know your Self.

Human Tides

Asking "Why?" is the mandate
Of that slippery mind.
Why believe it's quests?
Delight sends you up for a thrill. 
Are you that because it's strong?

Here comes that sinking.
Dropping to earth, full of dread, woe.
Sticky fingers pull you down; caught!
Take heart. These are our tides.

You are that in which all
things rise and fall.
But the ocean is not merely each thing
That floats to the top, then sinks.
You who suffer... allow it.
Are you not in human form?

Does the ocean object to it's currents?
Does the sky sweep away the birds?
Neither casting out, nor making real is right.

Have you a steady mind, rational thoughts?
Deceiver! Eight hours dreaming dreams,
Then sixteen hours lost in thought.
A lazy life -- all dreaming!
To wake up --  live.

Shift

Turning to beautifully spoken words,

As if I cannot speak myself.

Like one who listens to opera all day.

Appreciating the siren sound,

When I can sing my own song.

I wish I could say turn around.
And say, "See. There."

But even the turning of dervishes
Finds only release. Residues.

Sink back into the only known

The one constant in the heart, sky, and night.

Only, only, the one.
From which all love springs

And dances forth the worldplay.

Not an it, not a thing, only here in the being.

Springs forth luminous embracing silken threads.

Shining through every drop, every thought, everyone.

Fall back into the primal knowing.

You! I mean you! The common you.
The you that you mean when you say you.
You spring from it. See that.

It’s only a small shift of the I, and a tiny nudge from eternity.

One Note Sounds

What have we here?

None of past ideals,

Are rushing front and center.

Your path winds up, like mine, but

On different roads and waters.

You see what I thought I hid.

You make me laugh at clever lines.

You pull me in while I’m running away.

It feels like years of well worn steps

Have already been taken.

Ideas against, just falter and die.

Who can argue against the smooth,
workings of fate?

Ready to bolt. Ready to stay.
Ready to see what happens.

Oh so quiet, one note sounds.

The music starts, and we are dancing.