Formalism

I was nurtured on the teat of sweet belief

creating what I call myself. Unique. Good grief!

My personality is like an onion made

from all these other second-hand beliefs conveyed

to memory and accepted as a god’s own truth.

And so I fade from infancy to bitter youth.

But ask myself this question most see most naive:

do I remember being born? I can’t conceive

a moment never being. That is what I am.

The rest is just some evolutionary scam

the absolute unknown intends so I may know

I am the absolute unknown. No pain, no rhyme.

The Last Thing

Alone again but more alone than ever I have been since ever I have been me.

Most would say I wasted all my talents on obsessions, circumventions, and preoccupations.

So I’ll repeat my psychological evaluation here: my father never introduced me to the world; my mother was completely fearful of it.

This left me with one simple task while in and of this world: to tread upon the tiger's tail without alerting it to my inquiring presence.

I could write this story now as if this character possessed a choice in plot, development, or setting. But I didn't.

So let me end this introduction with my lifelong findings: there’s no world to introduce except a false one. And fear is why the world itself is false.

The world will never tell you this because it doesn't know it. And the ones who really know it know there's nothing to be told. I’d listen to them.

Oh to be sure, there are religions that will sell the sea to every wave within this ocean but religions are the world’s own fears personified and organized to hide them in some other hell.

And please do not misunderstand me. I'm still going further. The only reason why I'm writing is this entropy of poetry. This form enjoys the rhyme of dancing with the beauty of the truth it knows to date.

First, there’s only love. And if we listened to the Beatles back in nineteen-sixty-seven, we'd already know this. Then again, if John and Paul were listening, they'd never write the song, or I, of course, this poem.

Love is what we are without the need for wanting love or making love or needing to be loved and once this faith in love is truly followed, there’s no ‘we’ or 'me' remaining. Jesus Christ, just listen to his message.

Last, the only thing you need to know is there is absolutely nothing to be known. In fact, the thinking that there's something to be known is why one never knows that great unknown. The Cloud Unknowing says: unknow and know your—no, that—yes, my—unknown.

I'll end with just this other way if love is not the hard direction wired within your brain. Deconstruct the world as now you see it: tread upon the tiger's tail without alerting it to your inquiring presence.

Sometimes I'll talk to me so I will listen to myself. Like a rolling stone.

The Ballad of Long Division

In the land of long division

our denominator is the king.

And in the world of yin and yang

she may be queen. Or anything.

In the land of long division

war is our default position setting.

War may be defined as worldwide

or a little bit upsetting.

In the land of long division

answers always end with more divisions.

Taking sides will always lead

to new improved sky-high collisions.

In the land of long division

genuine nonviolence is the hero.

Long division ends when one

denominator sets to zero.

Memories in Triskaidecameter

They're cutting down the woods again to build another house upon the hill that overlooks the river valley.

They haven't reached the woods I see directly out my window but I know it's just a matter of the timing.

The world is always changing and we love it better in the memory than the one we see before us changing.

A memory is a work of art creating something out of nothing freezing form from endless transformation.

The past is always being lived again because the past that's in our memory always changes with our living.

Today the woods are lush and green and yesterday the woods were empty and tomorrow never really happens.

mahatma summer king

in the territory of gray

squirrels, red ones

hightail branches

going sixties

steve mcqueen

dead vines

tumble down

a tamarack

like waterfalls

whipped with time

do not ask

the woods

for whom

the tree

is falling

everything

is

for the benefit

of knowing

this unknown

a rose-breasted grosbeak

finally arrives

from somewhere

southern, innocent

and full of pure potentiality

every living form

appears to be obsessed

with summer’s near arrival

disregarding every clue

it comes and goes as never here

sleeping means

seeing something is happening

awakening means seeing

nothing

ever does

great ones only

go beyond

division

by dividing anything

by nothing

there’s nothing

to say

that needs to be heard

except

it’s nameless

the leaves are green

the space is green

and my interpretations of

my dream is green

that’s what i’m dreaming

the summer’s here

and time is ripe

to contemplate

the transformation’s later light

and sing what no one’s saying

following after poets

filling the birdfeeder 

with sunflower seed 

watching the splash 

little blackened shells 

big bang fireworks

a red-winged blackbird flies

across the empty road

a man is walking a dog

a dozen boats are floating

on the late sunday river

books of ryokan and saigyo

robert lax

on the coffee table

birdsong coming through

open windows

the light above

my shoulder lighting

purple ink on paper

reflecting in the picture

window

like a moon

in space between

the wall and green face

of an evening

summer wood

manifestation

is

the translation

of revelation

into mind

bliss

is

the revelation

as felt

by body-mind

as evening deepens

reflection of the room

deepens in the window space

basho walking through

the woods

poetry is

the inspirational

reflection of the revelation

seen in words

and dancing

in the dark leaves

appear like clouds

shadowing deep images

although I know

they’re nothing

spoken silence

saying something

leaving

someone

silent

To the Purple Rose of Consciousness

It would appear, in evolution, this form of being which has called itself a human being, is the only form of being self-aware.

Instead of being, basking, in this self-awareness, the human being has discovered transformation, called it death, identifying with the form itself.

The world it builds is just the fear, forgetting self-awareness, disregarding being as its base, and practicing idolatry of form

in semi-permanent outstanding structures of its buildings, roads, and infrastructures, pyramids, cathedrals, banks of skyscrapers,

in other words, materialism, scientific and objective, praying at the feet of form to overcome the fact of form,

to fear of death and not a celebration of this awesome functioning of self-awareness, being, basking in and as this self-awareness,

being light and basking in the light, this being, basking, being, basking, crowning function of creation, crown of evolution,

noumenon of all phenomena, true revelation and apocalypse, the power and the glory, knowing all the universe is just reflection of oneself,

the mirror knowing it's the mirror, truth unborn, undying, I and nothing else.

opening the field

it must be

almost

summer solstice

i can smell the sweetness

of hay

the field is divided 

between tall grass 

and space 

now 

in bales 

  

imagine this confluence of 

intelligence 

consciousness

bliss

like a field of sea

(write with mind

as self

to nobody

then

circulate)

emptiness

using the mind

and not

mind using

itself

consciousness

between intuition

and inspiration

reflecting awareness

is the revelation

tree frogs must be

at their peak

i hear

a distant siren

in their harmony

further is our intent

the open road

is consciousness

dividing lines

speak to mind

a new wild voice

not one in memory

almost like a seagull

in coyote staccato

beyond dna entrusted archetypes

heighten experience

lowering experience

consort or saddhu

any experience

will do

one

doesn’t make

the moment empty

the moment is

empty

reflecting

experience

not

reflecting on

experience

the experience itself

touches dna

mystic third rail

seeing

there’s no archetype

beyond

archetype

is

that

unknown

the time

to speak in

tongues

is fast

approaching

the moment

without reflection

experiential

beyond archetype

the great unknown

deja vu

is stuck between

an archetype

and distant

memory

you may remember rome

more power to you

but experience itself is how

that archetype

got milk in a day

it’s not so much

being mindful

as being

doing

mind

see the moment

beyond all archetype

now phantom

the noumenal

unknown

arjuna doesn’t

just arise

arjuna will

experience

for krishna

by knowing

now

the great unknown

now knows

the great unknown

to know now

i need to know

what isn’t now

this is the clown

of creation

there is a window

i see the window

the window is open

there’s an open window

i am the opening

straw frogs

first there were peepers

now there are tree frogs

around the time

of crickets come

fireflies!

every movement takes

about fourteen billion years

if you really

wish to believe

evolution

a religion

may be

detected

by its glorious

guilt

wax

wane

yin

yang

full moon tao

guilt or

being mindful

there's your yin

and yang

of all religions

i've never not been living

i've never been dead

i'm not guilty saying

i don't know

the difference

you're probably

at the corner of love

and I

you’re probably

within spec

my latest death

poem is

that Evolution see

there is no

death

i've been trying to eat

less words

and finally learning

who to copy

never mind this writing

the word

becomes the primal scroll

then it's printing the copies

later is the reading and at last is

silence

the grass hut

thank you

tree frogs

yin yang noise

for my grass

hut

god is

the foundation of empire

while mind is

the foundation of dreaming

god

doublespeak

is what

the empire

hears

as truth

truth is

destitute

and homeless

in the speech of

doublespeak

truth is

seeing there appears

to be two

as the world believes

in one

the act of knowing

yourself

there’s the john of revelation

mona lisa now

apocalypse

when the movie

leaves the screen

to walk within your world

it’s basically

over

my generation

the first generation

to see illusion

from behind

because wizardry of tv

the closer you

get to the end

the more I see

there’s no

beginning

we die

when the slow clock of intent

meets the fast clock of transformation

someplace other than

now

listen to the tree frogs

alternating stars and zeroes

ever since the big one

it’s either something

or the other

the difference

between freud and jung

is yin and yang

young

old

i will go

further

as long as i feel

like going

further

honestly

speak your truth

as if it frees

you

or kills you

all these words

aren’t the

eye

of the

hurricane

  

the grass hut

is

one

seen

through

noumenal reflections

neither

rhododendron

mountain laurel

nor azalea

neither summer

leaves

nor winter

snows

neither yin

nor yang

but nameless

tao

there's nothing

personal

in this

process

as you

see it

and

misunderstand

let's say

the noumenal

unknown

spontaneously

knows

the noumenon

and such a knowing is

phenomenal

We Are Kurosawa

On Kurosawa’s Throne of Blood

false ones that usurp

that great immortal god

the noumenal unknown

will now be overthrown

by their own phenomenal truth

On Kurosawa’s Great Humanity

Kurosawa is a singular visionary

but not a nondual one—

his deconstructive sun

blinded focusing his eye

on rubble of imperial delusion

Atomic Dreams

imagine being one

coming of age

in a land

devastated

by two

Credits

know

there is no one

nor other but

that noumenal unknown

i am

Leaving the Remains

Approaching summer solstice,

there's a flower to be faced.

The act of getting to the edge

is not for living on the edge.

Something isn't deconstructed

just to live within its rubble.

Seeing through the false

is not the seeing in itself.

The truth is not extreme,

nor desolate, nor cynical.

Breathe in that fragrance

of a spaciousness beyond

all narrative of space.

The Beautiful Equation

what appears

to be a universe

to you

is just the process of

the absolute's intent to know myself

it's like intent

to see myself

creates a mirror

most appropriate for that doing

you see it's complicated

after the lilac are the leaves

an osprey in the sky above the river

rhododendrons in their final purple burst

a bend in the creek

yellow buttercups appearing in the grass

the mind sees beauty

as this complicated object

to explain

it's not

really

me

you

love

one

I

Sha Ma Na Na

in the world

following awareness

unbelievably

may be a crime

try to make you do time

to avoid doing time

start thinking of

me as

I

love

big pharma is

especially afraid

ah-oooooh

werewolves of

consciousness

the likes of Shakespeare

doesn't write a play

as much as play

is writing

Shakespeare

more like

Shakespeare

is forming

ten-thousand

monkeys

Shakespeare

deconstructive

Basho blank verse some expansive haiku

silencing

the awful noise of holy empire

to bee

or not to be

there never is

a question of the honey

no

the June sun

is shining

through a seeming gap

in the leaves like

Stonehenge

no matter

how you want to slice it

there's no way

you're doing

straight time

summer is

breathtakingly incomplete

without

the appearance of

fireflies

Holding Hands in a Light Blue Thunderbird

From the road approaching Grand Canyon there appears to be a sudden gap in earth and nothing there but open sky.

It's true for people too. Asking who I am, if asked in earnestness, and not relying on another for an answer,

will approach an open space unoccupied by thought, belief, or all conditioning of any form,

resulting as awareness in one's free and open being, as if this universe of space and time was driving

toward this edge from its beginning. Now, the revelation has arrived. The Great Unknowing only knows itself within another.

across the river

river at low slack tide 

strong east wind at my face 

downriver an eagle maybe a seagull 

no. 

buddha nature 

now 

is the month 

of our summer solstice 

made glorious 

green in a synthesis of sun 

across the river

is a wilderness

of eastern white pine

reflecting

across the river

in the smoke

of coming summer

everything is

consciousness

appearing higher

you can lead

imagination

to water

but it won't drink

the inspiration

life

is

a dream

you play

by heart

only

the heart knows

one

divided by

zero

zero shines

at the speed of light

some belief

shadows it

no way

the way

appears to be

bi-polar

but it's only

reflective

across

the river

there is

no

river

On 'The Wizard of Oz' / A Dream Review

the tin man 

like the truly 

empty one 

he is 

follows his heart 

the scarecrow 

stuffed 

with so much thought 

is being 

mindful 

the lion

is in the act of using

its own thoughts

to deconstruct

belief in fear

dorothy

now knows

oz is but a dream

reawakening one to

home

the heart writes the play

and the mind makes it

mythic

so as to see all the action as

the story of one

follow the heart

be mindful

and don't believe

for you are always home

the absolute I of one

Adult Film

the meaning of the dream 

is knowing it's 

a dream 

or otherwise 

the dream continues on 

without a meaning—

this simple knowing

is awaking

one

as pure awareness

in an insubstantial

unafraid and

undivided

unadulterated

bliss

seven quintets in search of a name

1.

already leaves 

ignite into sky 

as ravenous caterpillars 

burn in the name 

of transformation 

2.

the fox moves

in the moonlit emptiness

silver leaves living

only in the echoing

space-time of mind

3.

July fireflies

in the lilies of my June

imagination starring

Zhuangzi and the Amazing

Magicians of Las Vegas

4.

transformation is

emptiness is

impermanence is

illusion is

is

5.

deconstruction is

seeing no construction

ever was

including the past

tense of is

6.

mercury apollo

carbonated water

cadillac granitic

strawberry arising

being anonymous

7.

blossoming mountain

laurel almost seem

to grow gossamer

brightly closing

my watery eyes

untitled

1.

everything is 

consciousness 

except I 

consciousness is 

I

like

I think

therefore

I forget

I am

fourteen billion years of

working on the night shift

and all I get to wear is

this flower saying

self-aware

2.

I write for nobody

so if anybody hears me

they'll know who

they are

I am

only you

know

if

you know

I know

I am attached

to your dream

at the body-mind's assemblage point

of Hollywood

and I

3.

people are either

builders or

finishers

the fool has no

marble

dream time is

the best time

to be

or

not to be

(i hope kids are still

learning

long division

isn't

the solution

using 80-20

by the seventh generation

from out of one-million

there's like

a baker's dozen)

4.

mystic experience

of the experiential

now

is basically

the assemblage point

touching that

experiential

assemblage point

is like being

the moon

reflecting in the river is the moon

reflecting sun

being absolutely zero

equals I

love

This Experiential Play

Illusions last for more than thirteen billion years. The great enlightened and marvelous evolution is the wizard of it all.

In the audience are those that have been fooled to think they're separate from this wonderful and awesome universe of enlightening intent.

Listen to them laugh and cry. And laugh and cry. And laugh and cry. And scream and die.

Although it doesn't matter what they say or do—it's just a matter of observing what is true, to you. I am.

seventeen imagist chinese haiku tanka omaha

1

practice is type a

logic is type b

paradox is type 3

being is

type

2

if you look closely

you see the world

just as you need it

to be

to know

3

the universe contains this body-mind

and this body-mind is intending

to know I'm not this universe

but the universe is that

I know I'm I

4

paradox is the mother

of all logic

but it only takes one

to form

a religion

5

it's never mystic

because it's personal

and now that it's personal

it can't be mystic

so be it

6

i love love

but the personal

makes me think

it hurts

love!

7

sometimes the crown lies heavy

and sometimes i'm the crown

of all creation in tao

if it ain't one yin

it's another

8

under the influence

of love

it's best to love

before you have the time

to think about it

9

the transmission of mind

is

unconditional love

it's really not

a secret

10

no matter

how hard you try

you will never make the present

an identifiable product of the past

so drop it

11

we may believe

what we've been told

but i am

that

which never is said

12

my job is

to know

I am

thus I do

me

13

just hearing

truth

is like playing

music

in the hemispheres

14

hearing

three

in

five

as one

15

you can't mass communicate truth

it's the matter of one

on one

I speak

me can't hear

16

transformation is

like the seasons of the witch

that is green

this lyric

of the revolution!

17

imagist chinese haiku tanka omaha

original postmodernism

i can't believe

it's still

light