Revelations in the Surf

On Plum Island, on its uninhabited beach 

at the Parker River Wildlife Refuge, 

I walk an abiding way along the shore 

while gazing at substantial waves arising 

from an outwardly serene Atlantic Ocean. 

They form a never-ending line of succession 

as ray upon ray ignite in flame and seafoam. 

I stop where weather-beaten sands had shifted 

fashioning a sandy cape from where I watch 

the waves both to my left and there before me. 

Witnessing the row of waves in profile, 

I feel as one arising with them, 

seeing myself as curl in an evolutionary crest 

as that enlightening crash dissolves 

the wave of all the universe—

we then return to sea. 

Footnotes to an Ad Hoc Prayer

The way of silence is personal devotion to an absolute 

but the way of light is surrendering to the absolute’s intent. 

Enlightening intent to know itself comes into being. 

Universal being is evolving in complexities of mind. 

Deconstructing mind is seeing through its own complexities—

to be the silent seeing intent on seeing itself. 

Nothing in this process is unnecessary. 

Everything is moving at the speed of that enlightenment. 

Relatively speaking, the meaning of life is to know I Am That, 

although absolutely speaking, there is no meaning—

but the absolute is never absolutely speaking.

Ad Hoc Prayer

in a way of speaking, 

the meaning of life is 

helping god know itself—

by seeing through 

one’s conceptual illusions 

as, by, of a person 

and simply be…

thus seeing sees 

it is seeing 

itself, 

god, 

that

in the name of 

pure awareness, 

enlightening intent, 

universal being, 

and deconstructing mind—

I Am That

Winter Follies

They were standing on the viewing platform 

with their focal acquisitions, long 

zoom cameras, spotting scopes, and carbon fiber 

tripods, looking for another bird 

to acquisition for their memories, while 

consulting with each other on the technical 

specs of their recently-acquired equipment, 

divulging stories of the special sightings 

they remembered like a snowy owl 

consuming innards of a meadow vole 

as twenty birders grabbed exclusive pictures. 

Their chatter was annoying me as I 

looked out upon a spacious empty winter 

marshland. What about my own attempt 

to acquisition all that precious silence?

The Big Wave

Universal consciousness 

is like the sea and body-mind 

is like a wave and pure awareness 

is the sun reflecting in 

these waters after its intent 

to know itself unfolded into 

being as the sea evolving 

into wave upon wave upon wave 

until a single one of most 

particular complexity 

like Hokusai’s 'Great Wave' could see 

the sea and its reflection of 

itself, that precipice of sun, 

the one with no beginning and no end…

Samāpatti Rocket Mechanism of Myself

Sitting silently while looking out the window, 

it came to me the trees were just extensions of my body 

and in time this intuition had extended to the stars, 

including ones one only sees through Hubble’s eye. 

Resting silent as this universe, 

I looked within and saw an energetic fire 

and knew this inspiration filling me 

and trees and all the universe is what I really am. 

Existent, suddenly I saw I wasn’t in that space—

my divination says I am that space 

and all this matter of an energetic knowingness 

is actually within my silent seeing. 

Now a flash of revelation shows 

that even silent seeing space is just reflecting 

my unknowable and infinite awareness.

The Waking Giant

I rest my feet 

upon the coffee table 

and superclusters 

untold years away 

support their weight. 

I scratch behind 

the ears of Pluto 

and Andromeda 

wags its tail. 

I place my arm 

around a maple tree 

whispering 

she’s a lovely 

friend and universe. 

Awakening, 

I rubbed my eyes 

this morning; stars 

emerged to clear 

an age of sleeping.

This Sermon on This Life

Right now, I’m here alive. 

And when I die, 

this life will never know I’m dead. 

So why, as this vitality, 

should I concern myself with dying? 

The leaf will fall; 

the woods don’t mourn the summer 

while the trees prepare for spring. 

Am I the leaf, 

and if I am, 

I process light to know the light. 

Am I the tree, 

and if I am, 

I process light to know the light…

The Sermon on This Land That’s Your Land

I had always wanted to drive cross-country. Maybe it was Chris who forty years ago first put desire in my eyes to see this land as she discussed her trips back and forth from San Diego. Instead I studied all about its history and literature looking for the sights as others saw them.

Six years ago, my daughter was about to move to California, and being recently unemployed, I decided I should drive her there, and then I’d slowly circle myself home, visiting the natural wonders of America. And so it happened.

I wrote a poem while sitting on a great sequoia; took so many pictures in Yosemite they left me black and white; looked out upon Lake Tahoe’s mountain dark reflections; drove the lonesome road straight through the desert of Nevada; walked through sandstone Arches after crying at the marriage of the ground and sky in Canyonlands; looked out from Anasazi windows in the sacred vaults of Mesa Verde; never took a photo of an inexplicable white buffalo in Zuni; worshipped with the silent Acoma apparitions in Sky City; just missed a slow coyote on I-40 in New Mexico; touched the surface of the largest mass of turquoise ever while exploring Santa Fe; listened to the blessed myths of Taos Pueblo; found my way to Cripple Creek and finally the summit of Pike’s Peak from where I scouted over cornfields of Nebraska crossing Mississippi waters towards the east back home.

It was experience I cherish to this day. But still, it was the mere experience of a superficial world, infinite in its variety and wondrous in its manifest appearances, but nothing without the consciousness in which it’s seen.

This wordless Being is the only wonder of the universe. More to the point, it is the god in which that universe appears. It’s here and now, and everywhere I go, it is. Even nowhere. Omnipotens sempiterne Deus qui abundantia. This land is your land.

The Sermon on My Birthday

It was my birthday yesterday, commemorating this appearance of myself in its continuing transformative performance—

as a universal entity not knowing nodes aren't separate networks. 

We know beneath the surface is an energetic field of sub-atomic spontaneity.

We know that it’s impossible to see the space between the mother and her child in which a separate consciousness is born.

We know that nothing is an island and the butterfly that flaps its wings becomes the eye of hurricanes.

It’s elementary education most of us received some years ago.

And yet we play this game of long division to the point of wondering why this world is so divided, full of suffering and violence.

Spontaneous, unborn, holistic, we pretend we’re something other.

Happy birthday to this grand illusion.

A Sermon on the Sunset

At last, the sun will set a minute later on this evening. 

It’s not the solstice yet, and daylight lessens still 

because the sunrise still is later too, 

but when the light is dim 

we tend to grab at what we can. 

Such is the way of the world. 

Unmindful of what we really are, 

yet subliminally aware of what we are beyond appearances 

and its precipitous diminishment within the mind, 

we blindly latch upon whatever object, 

physical or conceptually otherwise, 

that helps to fill the gap we intuitively know exists. 

It never works, of course, 

because the gap is both an infinite one 

and nonexistent on the very same occasion. 

Similarly, the sun is never really setting. 

Its light is ever-present, omnipotent and diamond bright. 

It’s just the world that’s in the way.

A Canticle for The Experiential

If it’s not experiential, it’s a borrowed belief.

Beliefs may be borrowed for a limited time on faith.

If a belief is not confirmed by one’s experience, return it.

If a belief is confirmed by one’s experience, burn it.

There’s no scientific data supporting

the almost pre-Copernican-like belief

that consciousness is

an epiphenomenon of the brain.

Simple awareness sees

that the entire universe is,

including all scientific data,

in, of, and by consciousness.

Any belief indicating

consciousness is an epiphenomenon

need never have been borrowed—

at least the sun appears to circle the earth.

But the earth circles the sun.

And the sun appears in consciousness.

And consciousness is witnessed by

this reflection of awareness.

Hail Goddess

The flower doesn’t grow itself. 

It takes a seed to raise the stem. 

Without the sovereign ground, 

how would the root appear? 

Water, water, everywhere, 

and who will taste its truth? 

Sunshine is our superwoman, 

fear our only kryptonite. 

All history belongs to her 

despite a battle’s latest lie. 

She’ll always win the war 

because she never has to fight. 

Hail Mary! Hail Parvati! 

All are always hailing love! 

Every flower in the floral 

circle of this wondrous world 

is singing in her laurels.

Ouroboric Samadhi

The yin and yang of snow coats the crazy 

wisdom of ten thousand branches 

and I feel the trees are energetic 

natural appendages of myself. 

This is revelation of a native kind. 

Verily the universe is my body 

and I am the eye of the universe. 

These words are what I see. 

The sky is lit. 

The space around me is a waterfall. 

The ground is opening to unveil 

a fearless dragon swallowing its tail. 

Yes, I am the eye of all 

and all is my intent to see myself. 

Holy alchemy of realization, 

with this poem, all disappears.

Nursery Instructions

Welcome to Conditionland!

Take your face and state your view;

Rather let us form them for you.

Never try to understand;

Fill that void instead with other

Substitutes that give you pleasure,

Never using thought to measure

Thought itself as its own mother.

Always fight for your belief

Even though it isn’t yours.

Close your windows! Close your doors!

Truth is nothing but a thief.

What remains when it takes all?

Who is left to smart and die?

Never question who am I!

Always fall for our free fall.

Being born in thought is being

Dead to being, blind to seeing

That you’re only guaranteeing

Never freeing your own being.

Thoughts like these will stop your thinking;

Stop them now and start your drinking.

Another Pleasant Valley Sunday

I am the leafless river. 

I am the fountain on the brink. 

And when the wind is breathless 

and night has dropped the day 

and all its industry and play, 

I am the eagle eye reflecting 

deepness of the quiet moon. 

Awaken to this revelation! 

See its prophecy alight 

the water into soundless flames. 

Feel its photovoltaic inspiration 

wash against a thoughtless shore. 

And love the intuition of the trees 

dancing in the breeze of being 

all and nevermore.

School Time Images

I was shy at school and during recess stood alone, standing up against a chain link fence, while I watched the schoolyard buzzing with its games of tag or jumping rope or shouting, chanting, laughing, crying, talking. Inside I knew I didn’t have to be that way.

One day, weeks after classroom pictures had been taken, we received a captivating envelope. Inside, besides our five-by-sevens, eight-by-tens, and wallet sized individuals, there shone a wondrous sheet with all the separate photos of my classmates smiling through.

My mother cut the universal glossy into personal existent images and I played with them while sitting on the floor, pretending we were in that busy schoolyard and I was nothing but the center of attention, playing childhood games and being infinitely happy.

Although, there were those times just two of us, me and Joanne Kerry, secreted ourselves away and climbed the coffee table, hand-in-hand, or rather edge-to-edge, and rested by a plastic apple in an emerald crystal bowl, whispering chromatics of our love for love.

In that moment, I would disappear, both physically and descriptively. What remained is now transmitting clouded memories some fifty-four years later—as if I never aged. In truth I see that consciousness was never born, and life is just this lesson trying to be learned.

Resting in Haiku

see through thought

let That do

yeah! yeah! yeah!

An Open Sonnet to the Perfect Future

The polar vortex visited last week. 

It downed three winter lagers while discussing 

consciousness with a Chinese atheist 

who worshipped at the feet of a perfect future. 

She shall have disbelieved her universe! 

Channeling deep sleep, the Weather Channel 

had woken us up to a constellation far 

below our tender surface. Her fame is unknown. 

I will have changed my name if I were her. 

All were grateful that Thanksgiving passes 

once a year. To see that science rests 

within the omnipotence of being is 

distressing to the system. Everything 

beclouded will have been always open sky.

Nisargadatta on Words

Questioner: As I listen to you I find that it is useless to ask you questions. Whatever the question, you invariably turn it upon itself and bring me to the basic fact that I am living in an illusion of my own making and that reality is inexpressible in words. Words merely add to the confusion and the only wise course is the silent search within.

Maharaj: After all, it is the mind that creates illusion and it is the mind that gets free of it. Words may aggravate illusion, words may also help dispel it. There is nothing wrong in repeating the same truth again and again until it becomes reality. Mother's work is not over with the birth of the child. She feeds it day after day, year after year until it needs her no longer. People need hearing words, until facts speak to them louder than words.

Q: So we are children to be fed on words?

M: As long as you give importance to words, you are children.

Q: All right, then be our mother.

M: Where was the child before it was born? Was it not with the mother? Because it was already with the mother it could be born.

Q: Surely, the mother did not carry the child when she was a child herself.

M: Potentially, she was the mother. Go beyond the illusion of time.

Q: Your answer is always the same. A kind of clockwork which strikes the same hours again and again.

M: It can not be helped. Just like the one sun is reflected in a billion dew drops, so is the timeless endlessly repeated. When l repeat: 'I am, I am', I merely assert and reassert an ever-present fact. You get tired of my words because you do not see the living truth behind them. Contact it and you will find the full meaning of words and of silence—both.

Turning to Be

The forms awareness deems to take 

appear to me in space and time 

but that’s a prevalent mistake, 

ridiculous, when my sublime 

nature is seen as here and now 

and all of me I disavow 

as immaterial to one 

spontaneous intent to know 

myself. It is as if the sun 

shone down upon itself to grow 

an oak which turns a leaf to see 

inside the sun it is to be.

Air

division is the air

the world inhales—

violence is the air

the world exhales—

the wisdom of love is the air

that leaves the world

breathless

Baptism of Love

We weren’t religious.

But drinking downstairs all alone one Friday night,

I started thinking who am I to not baptize our daughter,

sleeping upstairs, two years old,

dreaming new identities she could be like Lego characters

assembled thought by thought until

the ever-present inimitable magic of one’s being is covered up

by something old and borrowed.

Every beer was turning me more blue.

And so I tip-toed up the staircase,

passing prints of Andrew Wyeth’s artless landscapes

opening around an empty house,

until I stood above her sleeping peaceful form,

and felt the consciousness we shared as breathtaking love.

Then I touched my finger to my tongue

and prayed she’d always know she is that light of being

that had come into our disillusioned lives

to teach us what we always are.

I placed that finger on her forehead

feeling fourteen billion years as building to this second.

Suffering Through

The world is like an incubator 

growing wisdom in its fervor 

slowly. Some will never see 

through confines of that world because—

there’s not an object to that final 

preposition. There’s no objective 

in the world at all. Such is 

its insight being seen outright. 

There’s only the absolute subjective.

Christine: an Appreciation

She drove that orange Volkswagen like freedom itself. No one would ever know where to find her. That didn’t mean she wasn’t quite striking when around, but only that she could disappear before you knew it.

And her style, beneath it all, was traditional. She had no misgivings about the American Dream other than it should exclude no one, especially women. So it was inevitable that we would slowly drift apart. She veered toward that dream, driven, and I was always swerving away from it, searching.

The only reason we lasted as long as we did was the initial nuclear fusion-like strength of our love those first years. In time, it took the form of our beautiful daughter, to whom she sacrificed much to be a loving mother. Not too long ago, I told her ours was an epic history. She questioned that, and I countered maybe it was more mythological: the marriage of Sea and Sky and the birth of Venus.

Chris passed away on Friday. Imagine the loss of an ocean. And the depth of its absence.

unthinkable pseutra

today's art is tomorrow’s cliché, but truth is no time.

fear of transformation fuels the status quo. imagine what love does to it?

love isn't your all-time favorite default state? what are you thinking?

there's nothing when self-awareness isn't love. isn't That something?

i’m sorry it took me so long to see there’s never anything to forgive.

acting can never keep up with the play.

why, my dear, shall we dare to imagine following the truth. how lovely that would be!

the self intends countless ever-transforming perspectives on itself. should it be anything less?

if non-dual wisdom isn't the alien, what is?

set the alarm for now.

wake up. it's now.

one chooses one. it's only the choosing that appears duplicitous.

it's not rocket science. although it's also rocket science.

one never knows the extent of what the other gives in their relationship because one never knows the limits of what the other thinks it is.

relax. surrender. only the heart knows. and only the heart does.

in the self-awareness universe, it's all about the aperture.

what is an eye? who am i ? two sides of the headless coin.

how many facets in diamond awareness?

what is your original facet?

if an answer can't be seen as a question, it isn't an answer.

what is your relationship with the non-dual?

in other words, try thinking the unthinkable.

life isn't fair. it is and it isn't.

asking who i am is love without question.

Ballyhoo

Black lights above a psychedelic 

roller coaster returning to 

the sea of soy—beneath its rails 

the barker builds banana splits 

and on the midway middlemen 

delight in dukkering amusements. 

The carnival is burning down the town. 

Come see the doubleheader being 

played in three-dimensional 

illusion! Come hear the organ grinders! 

Smell the neon; feel its pain. 

And while you wait in a line to die for, 

taste the floss that’s spun from rain. 

Genealogical Self-analysis

The fear of death 

is just the fear of that 

which one 

essentially has always been. 

My genealogy, 

if traced in truth, 

descends 

the evolutionary scale 

on earth, continuing 

to comets, stars, 

and all 

dark matter coming from that burst 

of light emerging from 

the great unknown. 

Unborn— 

that is my only family name.

Tempest in a Teapot

Imagine all the world is inside-out 

and what you thought was hard reality 

is pure imagination resting in 

a headless head. That picture window is 

an opening within this consciousness. 

Look, chickadees are feeding on themselves. 

Their cerebellum is this space of sky 

and eyes are everywhere it touches. Ground 

is just the edges of a deepest sleep 

from which the branches of some scientific 

playground spread until I see myself. 

My leaves are falling everywhere. My river 

runs through sure-footed galaxies. My ocean 

waves at countless years of soundless notions. 

None of this is what I really am.

On the Reflexive Universe

The pure subjective doesn’t know 

itself—as there is no it 

to know. There is no Mars or Venus, 

no Earth or Moon or Sun, no Big Bang 

to speak about, no words at all. 

This universe of names exists 

within intent of that subjective 

self to know that self. That’s all. 

The light becomes material; 

material evolves to see 

it is the light. And what we call 

this world of suffering is just 

the last throes of an object in 

its education there’s no object. 

This is the point of space and time, 

all necessary for one rhyme.

I Am the Light

The shadow knows it doesn’t know

the light. The light is well aware

there is no shadow in the light—

and all is light. The light proclaims

I am the light of self-awareness!

There is no dark division in

my light; there are no violent nights

within a world of gloom and fear.

Without the shadow of a thought

there’s only light and not some knot

that needs to be untied in fright—

the light is one and all is light.

Proclamation of the Victorious Revolution

ordinary metaphors associate one concept with another: oh! — metaphorical pointers associate one concept with the non-conceptual: ah!

the u.s. constitution was created to establish a corporate structure for, by, and of the oligarchy—the bill of rights was just the sweetener

a strict constructionist is a defender of the oligarchy—anything else needs to work to amend the constitution. that's the way the u.s. works

true libertarians push the limits of the bill of rights

so the entire fdr-lbj-obama care system could be seen as the usurpation of the oligarchic corporate structure by a populist socialist cadre

thus it's not a civil war—it's revolution and counter-revolution

if you don't know there was a victorious revolution, you won't know there's something to proclaim

as deconstruction happens, the glory of emerging light proclaims itself

proclaim the light! that is all.

The Emperor’s Regalia

In a world of thought, the one 

with singular belief is king. 

Monomaniacal, the force 

it brings is that of all its being— 

to the purpose it believes 

exists for being. What a work 

of razzle-dazzle this thought is! 

Even the rivers are dammed to follow. 

Bridge to Now Here

They’re setting off explosions

in the morning. Waking

to repeated pops,

I wonder where I am

and what those distant bangs

foretell—or vice versa.

Then it dawns on me.

They must be coming from

the bridge site. Down by the pylons,

construction workers wrest

the old one down and raise

the latest engineering

testament to getting

to another place

on time. The river though,

which this old interstate

crosses without a token

given to a ferryman,

keeps on streaming on,

always in the mountains,

always at the sea,

always straight through me.

The Heart of the Matter

The one conditioner is two. 

At first, it’s necessary to 

reflect, and all the world is staged 

to be my mirror. Taking time, 

I learn to see the other as 

myself. It isn’t easy though. 

We call this practice suffering. 

It lasts until another slowly 

gets it in this head—I am 

not two. There is a shortcut though— 

to love the other as my self. 

This is the heart of my intent.

For I am That, the absolute

unknowable subjective self

dividing self to know my self.

This world has named that knowing love.

And as below, it is above.

Feedback

They told me one’s divided and 

they taught me all the names in this 

division. For example, tree: 

there’s the roots and trunk and branches, 

not to mention every leaf. 

It never stops! Example leaf: 

there’s cuticle and epidermis, 

mesophyll and chloroplast. 

The depth is almost infinite. 

In time you reach the quantum wave, 

where what you see is probable, 

determined by the one that sees. 

That’s universal consciousness, 

conditioned as its newest node 

within its network not to know 

all’s one, but one's separate in a world 

divided. Such a world is war, 

defending indefensible 

divisions. Even those professing 

peace and justice, equality 

for all, will fight the other for it. 

On the other hand, that one 

acclaiming one—its sound is love.

The Whole Way

I was frolicking in a gloomy pool

before I felt a need to quench my thirst.

And so I stopped to let the water settle.

Feeling the current, I followed its rush to an inlet.

That stream was strong and crystal clear; it tumbled

down a mountain slope electric white

water, vivid life-giving, straight from the source.

I rested in its course and flowed upstream,

although to other eyes it would appear

I stumbled over rounded boulders, sank

in sandy hollows, scrambled over treefall,

always in ascent. Between two slabs,

the unseen source is always finding me—

I am rushing from my whole to be.

Vahana Who

Looking out the picture window, 

I thought I saw an orange owl. 

It was mid-November, leaves 

already fallen. An optical 

illusion, it was not. It flew 

away as fast as I could tell 

whether it was an owl or something 

other—it wasn't something other. 

Whatever we believe the world 

to be, it is. That dazzling vision 

is just as real as you or me 

and flies upon a great intent. 

Here it is! It never went.

fermenting light

to know the meaning of oneself—

one needs to know what that self is—

and that process of discovery of what one is—

is the meaning of oneself

one is that unknowable subjective—

that to know itself divides itself—

identifying with a single object—

perceiving there’s no other but self

that universe between identity and perception is—

the fermentation that identity defines as suffering—

and perception sees as its instructions

there's no describing the indescribable—

the unclouded expression of the absolute is light—

the qualities of light are its space of awareness and its focus of unconditional love—

thus a definition for space-time is affectionate awareness—

and the full expression of the indescribable absolute is the space-time of affectionate awareness—

and the expressed insight of the absolute is 'i am that'—

pseutra suite 6 - essential division

i 

four gods am i 

from a whisper to a dream 

the world has created an identity out of nothing—and it doesn’t want reminders that it did so 

i divide myself in the intent to see myself 

the world has created an identity out of nothing—and it would rather fight about the details of identity than just be 

intent trumps division—for division lies within intent 

i divide myself in the intent to see myself—but identifying with an aspect of division temporarily blinds myself

ii

and the howl of self-realizing intent

self howls a primal howl in its atomic urge to howl communion with itself across the howling desert silence

who howled on its knees in the collective subconscious and was dragged off the roof waving oceanic and sutra

iii

from howl to a lullaby

the expression of self-awareness is love

intent, from that, unknown, being comes to mind in self-awareness

the joyous and enlightening—evolutionary—intent of the universe—is that unknowable self—becoming aware of being—oneself right now right here

may you stay forever unknown

iv

misunderstanding the necessity of division in knowing the unknown, one denies that part of itself

denial of this fourth god of division leads to active annihilation or passive nihilism

not alone but all one

love! not war nor apathy.

v

you're the truth but i can't tell you that

i don't pretend to know the truth—i am the truth

one doesn't know nothing until it knows two

vii

one can say thought is a process—within that of realizational intent—caught in an infinite loop—of mistaken identity malfunctioning

or one can say thought is a process—within that of realizational intent—requiring many loops to re-clarify its nature—there’s no malfunction

viii

there's no malfunctioning, only functioning

either you die before you die or you die when you die. either way, you're always unborn.

to learn to walk the high wire, you'll want a ladder and a net

the importance of being earnest; the importance of having faith.


ix

not any thing in particular but everything in general

sound accentuates the silence

put your mouth where your nothing is

the are no experts in new experience

the past is just as important as any kind of dream interpretation

love the two you are

x

the realizational process thru its mind creates an other—for knowing the other—is knowing one’s self——and another word for knowing is loving

it appears a messy process to that which identifies with the divided—the unknowable dividing itself in order to know itself

quantum probabilty is the result as consciousness delves so deeply into the 'mechanics' of consciousness, feedback happens.

the absolute pure subjective intent to know itself is instantaneous—it’s the mind within the cosmic process of that intent which makes time

universal consciousness, aka the collective unconscious, knows and shares all experience instantaneously—this is karma

in so many years, 'free will' be remembered as that quaint medieval belief before the great surrendering

faith in the unknown is just faith in one's self

just think it through to the jumping-off point and then love!

Ode to a Scene in Gravity

in emptiness, one howls. 

one howls to find another version of your self within another. 

in emptiness, one listens for another howl. 

across the desert void, one howls 

and then another howls. 

howling is the sound of silence. 

howling is intent to hear the sound of silence. 

howling is the poem and 

howling is the eye. 

howling is coyote in the middle of its maya. 

howling is the mesa, 

howling is the beauty. 

howl i-am to howl i-am 

the self-same howl of universal one i-am. 

this universe is one vast howl intending self-awareness 

and within that howling revelation is 

an unconditioned lullaby of waking. 

The Dimming of Our Golden Complex

The bottom line is light. Our evolution

whose art is all the universe is in

the business of enlightening intent.

The management forgets that data though.

Security becomes the number one

priority. Assembly lines are down—

but the building is protected by

the best insurance money buys. And meanwhile,

Research and Development is digging

for their treasures in a thing as far

as they can dig, until they see they’re digging

in their self, except they never realize

that’s their self—they think that that's a thing.

That's the funny thing about fool’s god.

I Went to the Woods Because

Every element in the woods 

is responding to the light. 

Spontaneity is the only design. 

Branches grow to catch the rays 

appearing to have traveled since 

another branch grew in the way. 

It’s all about the love of leaves. 

Holy photosynthesis, 

have mercy on my eyes which long 

to look upon the artlessness 

of indigenous creation in 

this current draft of shade and sky. 

There’s nothing us trees don’t know. 

This is how awareness moves 

unattached to lines of thought. 

It’s why we go to the woods.

Sam and Sara's Original Horror Show

When love mistook it was the mind, 

all kinds of hell broke out, you see. 

Well, love, it got real lost in all 

loose change and counterfeit three dollar bills 

and, well, I needn’t have to tell 

you it’s a god-damned sin, my friend, 

a love-forsaken bloody shame. 

It’s like some crosscut saw becomes 

an eye and all the sights turned out 

divided. I’m not talking long 

division but the slow and violent 

sort. It makes you sick to think 

of it. Like everything was either 

this or that and if you wasn’t 

on the side it occupied, 

well you was on the other side, 

and please believe me, that’s no scenic 

point of view to be. In fact, 

it’s all-out war. And not the worldly 

only, small potatoes too, 

just people being people, taking 

everything so personal. 

It’s quite the horror, don’t you think? 

all is self-inquiry already pseutra

seven billion selves suffering to know oneself

in seven billion welcome different loving ways,

all shimmering facets of the one diamond way.

nothing is ever wrong because

every apparent self is intending toward thatself

by following the love of oneself

in the best way imaginable.

the best way imaginable isn't

'the ends justify the means' or vice versa

but the hidden realization

the means are the ends *and* vice versa.

once seeing

'for I to know anything, I must first know this I,'

then any meaning of the universe is obviously

intent to know That, I.

Swan Song

At the wild mouth of the Merrimack, 

I pivot north to rove the shore. 

My Atlantic is quite pacific today; 

I feel my lake-like waves advancing 

like the white caps on a pond 

that seems like adolescent yesterday 

although it’s fifty years in memory now.

I didn’t know I was the lake back then,

and when I dived into the water

from the Dubois diving board,

I was really diving in myself.

This later insight arrived in meditation.

Earlier this morning I saw a swan upriver

floating on the slow outgoing tide.

I felt its graceful curve of neck in mine

as I turned to watch it pass, a brilliant

arc of white within the silvery mist.

Our silence watches all of this and knows

that none of this is what I am;

space-time is a single dream with infinite

dimensions in unfathomable intent.

Listen, the swan is going out to sea.

the heart of fall

leaves fall. 

fall is transformation. 

transformation is the time it takes to blink. 

blink is that great unknown i am which mind attempts to freeze in space and time. 

time is an interval between those transformations which occur in cycles like the sunrise or full moon.

moon is pointing to a wave.

wave is emptiness.

emptiness is wave. 

He’s Walt Whitman; Who Am I?

The absolute unknowable

is such the subject there’s no object

in that absolute subjective.

Since one can only know an object,

the absolute subjective doesn’t

even know itself. There’s nothing

but the empty mirror of an eye

with not even nothing to be seen—

extemporaneously

there’s absolute intent to know oneself.

Don’t you have that selfsame yearn to know yourself?

This universe is being subdivided for exactly that.

Have you reckoned with reckoning much?

Have you practiced to know the false as false?

Have you felt so proud to see you’re not the process

but the process is intent to know yourself?

Stop acting yin and yang and in that freeing

one possesses knowing of one’s being.

Mind’s Creation Isn’t Really Two

A blackbird on a live thin wire is vibrant 

with its Kwai Chang Caine Kung Fu. 

A great blue heron, like some prehistoric 

statue, is standing in the shallows that ensue. 

That one big bang is a brainstorm 

of the mind conjecturing this two. 

Which came first, the question or the answer? 

It's true the great blue heron isn’t really blue. 

Thoughts of fish begin to stir within 

an energy of water made anew. 

Again, the great blue heron isn’t really blue. 

The fork runs away with the spoon 

and the fool jumps over the moon, mon dieu! 

One last time, the great blue heron isn’t really blue.

And Every One a God

It appears to be a messy process—

to one identifying with the process. 

The Big Bang explodes like an awfully great notion. 

Stars collide like Bogart and Bacall. 

The earth erupts in a carnival of volcanic flames 

and breaks apart in workaday tectonic shifts. 

Hurricanes, tornadoes, waterspouts, oh my! 

And now, Neanderthals are clubbing like Neanderthals.

Everyone is acting like a god! 

But that’s the final measure of creation, 

last procedure in this grand holistic process. 

Evolution isn’t fundamentally pointless; 

fourteen billion years of cellular division 

arrives within this central nervous system 

suddenly now capable of self-awareness. 

So stop this moment to reflect within—

one is 

that great unknown 

making itself 

be known, 

for knowing is being 

which mind divides 

in order to know 

its self.

A Prayer for the True Fourth God

Three blackbirds aren’t enough. 

Without a fourth, direction is completely incomplete. 

The west is ceaselessly lost in trinity. 

And one may never know oneself 

without those ice floes of true north. 

O sacred vase and holy sake cup,

O Kachinas standing on the surface of a book case,

O blue guitar, O cactus plant, O radio,

without you i would never know

that what i am is nothing with potentiality

for everything within my own intent

to know my own unknowable existence.

O Parent, Child, and Holy Realizational Intent,

please accept these great ten-thousand objects

as another God within your sacred pantheon,

and let us pray the process is complete

and now and everlastingly perpetual.

Where the mind’s objectification is a vital operation

and the world is just the function run away within itself.

For hell is only heaven and samsara is nirvana—

so chop God and carry my true self.

synenergi

(there's this 

universal 

kinesthetic feeling 

like looking at thought 

with intuition 

there’s this soothing 

letting-go 

of yin 

and yang 

there’s this blissful quivering 

in intuitively assimilating 

the visceral universality of 

what I am) 

permeating all of this is formless 

silent 

unknown potentiality—

View Point: compassion and the false

Viewing the false as false without compassion is a viewing by the false.

And what is the false?

If the truth is simply the Unknown being—

Then the false is just the Known not-being.

Another word for the ‘Known not-being’ is ‘conceptual,’ or thought.

The Unknown is the noumenon, subjective, the absolute I, and never the me.

The truth of the Unknown being is therefore the I being, or I am.

Anything that follows the ‘I am’ is objective, conceptual, false.

I am a tinker. I am a tailor. I am a person. I am me.

Another word for ‘I am’ is unconditional love.

When this energetic Love is clouded by a thought, it’s called emotion.

It is light of Love filtered by the false conceptual.

I am fearful. I am happy. I am angry. I am sad.

To see the conceptual as conceptual is key to deconstructing the false.

When the false is deconstructed, only ever-present truth is now here.

But if the conceptual sees the conceptual as conceptual, then conceptual clouding remains.

When ‘I am’ sees the conceptual as conceptual, “I am’ is now here.

In other words, when Love sees thought as thought, Love is now here.

Compassion is the via negativa of Love as it sees the false as false.

If this seeing is viewed without compassion, then the viewing is conceptual.

And the ‘I am” is still clouded—

for viewing the false as false without compassion is a viewing by the false.

who says i am an ersatz villanelle pseutra

i've never lacked what i needed because i never lacked what i am. 

fear is the stand of love beclouded by the lie of death. 

half the things i say, i never said, and the rest of what i said, i didn't say. 

it's the need for complexity that makes it so difficult. 

it's the desire for simplicity that makes it seem too easy.

i've never lacked what i needed because i never lacked what i am.

romantic love is just emotion generated by a thought.

unconditional love is utterly the being of awareness.

half the things i say, i never said, and the rest of what i said, i didn't say.

you always yin to the yang to what you yanged to the yin.

if you see there isn't more to burn, there's always more to burn.

i've never lacked what i needed because i never lacked what i am.

every line is a letter in a bottle sent to others writing letters for a bottle.

prayer’s not desire for sustained existence but joy at unbelievable existence.

half the things i say, i never said, and the rest of what i said, i didn't say.

if love is not what’s moving you, then fear is driving you.

whatever doesn't kill you inevitably enlightens you.

i've never lacked what i needed because i never lacked what i am.

half the things i say, i never said, and the rest of what i said, i didn't say.