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.