i.
Swing low sweet tidal river valley spirit of the loving
golden and eternal Tao.
Both something and nothing are phantoms of the operatic mind
but being is the revelation of an inconceivable unknown.
And between this witnessing of being and that unknown pure
awareness is the canyon of no mind.
Thus in this world the opposite of what one is conditioned
to believe is often true as not.
O perchance deep sleep like pure awareness goddess god the
godless origin and sourceless source of way and watercourse.
However, the seven expressions of this reflexive universe
are light nuclear atomic rock-molecular organic animate enlightenment.
I once was lost in thought but now I am.
Like a feeling but not really. Like everything I see is me
but not I. Like that energetic rush of peaking but here within this valley.
ii.
Tonight I am singing on the Merrimack the god of Daniel
Webster, Jack Kerouac, Robert Frost, Anne Bradstreet, Greenleaf Whittier, and
Son Rivers.
First the feeling. Like some holy connection of heart
filling the body with its unknowable lightness of being.
Some call this happiness. Some call this bliss. Others have
named it the universe. One could call its essential quality, lightness.
Second like this completely headless identification mindfully
free of all objectification.
Three. Surfing Christ in the curl. Surfing Christ in the
curl like a beach boy surfer girl.
Thrill at the continuing now without the mourning of some
future or some past.
And the thought of sudden death becomes an eagle's cry of
self-awareness.
For one second of self-awareness is equal to a lifetime of
dreaming unaware.
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