Dream This

The dark night of the soul. The dark side of the moon. Conditioned dreaming is the shadow of a lucid vision. There is a necessary phantom but it's lost within this big soap opera.

The dark night of the sun. The dark side of the one. Remember as it is before your memory finds a way to forget. And so the mind is like this third wheel on the tricycle of the gods.

Memory is evolution's dirty little secret in the great intent of self-awareness. That memory so loved its memories it learned to live within itself. For memory is the mirror in which the self is self-aware.

And so dream on John Donne. The only knowledge is being and being is the only dream to know itself. For it is said never throw out the baby Jesus with the backwater.

Like the smoky pewter silver river that darkly reflects the going sky as everything on-shore becomes invisible. Like this thousand-year-old mummy cave hidden in a desert sandstone canyon. Like Venus glowing within the deep sleep of that midnight sky.

Revision. Like Venus burning.

Transformation. Kalifornia. The New York Times. They are a changing. To absolve oneself of all fixation is another name for nothing left to lose. In the meanwhile we will love. No sentence lasts forever. Every word is blowing in the wind. Look, forget I ever said anything.

The apocalypse is the color of bananas. The self-awareness of one isn't two. Everything has evolved into this right here right now. Blue.

Seeking. Finding. Disturbing. Troubling. Astonishing and amazing. Wonderful! I don't know how to end this, Thomas.

Renga in Paris

When approaching the valley 

spirit and its serpent winds, 

some head for the memorable hills. 

But electrical geography and biological transducers.

Emptiness and transformation. Hollywood and vine.

Awareness is beyond all taxonomic ranks.

Mirror mirror waterfall, who’s that unknown powerball.

Potentiality is nothing ordinary.

Third eye. Second wind. Heart heart heart.

Bare trees dancing in the sky with a rhythmic stillness.

Darkness descending from sweet glacial moraines.

Venus is sailing on her universal silver river.

Although it’s seen that nothing is really known,

an energetic trace of fear remains as

something once thought to be known.

And even though one knows it's nothing,

Christ it tastes like shit.

And so it's said that Buddha is a dry shit stick.

While the world is dreaming

to awaken, one is always kissing

the phantom of that opera.

Only love can know it's nothing.

The mind can only talk about it.

And so it's said that all you dream is love.

And love is a tale 

told by a fool 

signifying the absolute.

Dark Night of the Serpent

Love is the only cure. All else is placebo. 

Trees are my legs and the sky is my eye. 

Earth is where the heart is. 

No mind Shakti and the dark night of kundalini.

No mind Shakti and the dark night of the serpent.

Staying open as the sky while being grounded as the earth.

As experiential understanding of one's universality

breaks thru personal damming,

galactic waters overflow in disturbing then astounding waves.

Universal consciousness comes with a thermonuclear kundalini kick—

the artificial sweetness of the world is like the taste of steel

reflecting light without a warmth of color.

Body is the earth and spirit is the sky in which the earth is self-contained.

Witnessing is an affectionate attention

and not a discriminating, rational, or cerebral one.

Heart.

Not mind.

For no mind equals all heart.

An Enlightened Spiritual

Clear the flotsam in the Kundalini River with a sea breeze breath and downslope exhilaration.

Knots of popular conditioning are blown apart so softly love to love you.

The swamp of human fear and sadness is consumed by universal resting in the joy of as it is.

Becoming galaxies and superstring varieties of universes buddha no mind house of mirrors.

Slanted memories of castle times, beautiful days, and green grass tanglewood picnics never die but fade away as if they’re never born.

It's either fortune or truth. Red skies in the morning and night.

John Wayne and Monument Valley. Toshiro Mifune in Rashomon.

Now imagine the apocalypse to be one grand enlightenment.

Pure awareness being self-aware. That is all.

A Nonsecular Spiritual

Words signify what being is—

Being being everywhere and not a thought to think.

In Maya did non-doing do and history is written by the ones who think they did.

Dreaming dewdrop waterfalls,

An undertow of evolutionary and nonsecular intent,

Oceanic absolutely deep Marie, have mercy on my mine and yours.

Gelatin tornadoes of awareness,

On the altar of this consciousness, all dreams are sacrificed—

Every morning as the world wakes from its dream, all is momentarily enlightened.

The mountain that wasn't always is.

First is one. Second comes love. Lastly play it as it is—

Like losing the knowledge of being by dividing this knowledge as is into ten thousand thoughts.

Green drapes closed before a picture window—daydreaming a day in a life.

Peregrination in Causation

The woods is where the lines get wavy,

white pines rising from the hollow of dead leaves.

Afternoon November shadows cross the open meadow,

fresh horseshit on the old dirt road—

the golden path through mountain laurel,

a family walking by the drought-dry pond,

wide expanse of river bordered by a nuclear solar reflection,

ancient steps leading toward the way through cedars to intending sun.

footnotes to a Meditation Spiritual

awareness is the unmanifest.

self-awareness is the manifest.

evolutionary intent is the magical space and time

between their spontaneity.

dreamtime

grab this dreamtime by its wilderness

in this dreamtime,

that awareness

spontaneously

evolutionarily

combusting

as this self-awareness.

The Missing Link is called surrender

as awareness is self-aware is

the biological function of this cell of consciousness

as it is in this body is it in that absolute intent

one being. a variety of conditioning. one way back

as awareness requires being to be self-aware, the absolute unknown becomes known to be this knowing.

self-awareness self-awareness self-awareness

Meditation Spiritual

I don't know but I've been told—

third eye is the universal eye

and self-awareness is the dream of Gods.

Tradition is teaching but being is the only knowledge

and soma is another word for kundalini

while the sunshine is within as is without.

Meditation is like being without the benefit of thought,

like the universe in the hands of an unknown absolute,

like this body of light is the only subject known

(serotonin smiles like dopamine transversing southern synapses

creating polliwogs of psychedelic gods arjuna ashwagandha san francisco

om namah shivaya, gone, gone, gone beyond, gone altogether beyond),

like the halo of a saint, like the aura of a buddha, self-awareness,

like the big bang is the western name for this awakening,

like the consciousness of people in their social conversations—

sweetness of being, spice of awareness, wood of breath.

Armistice Day Poem

As if one hundred years of age, 

mid-November leaves are clinging 

to the emptiness of branches.

Wind gusts of forty miles per hour is being forecast for today. 

And when that wind goes blowing,

leaves go dancing in its path without direct trajectory.

The world becomes a disarray of multitudinous

non-aerodynamic shapes of forms

with single intent.

Thus it is said

to love the archer

and understand the missing of the mark.

Dreamtime Spiritual

The universal when divided is a personal World at War.

Every conflict in the dreamstate is like a dreamsong calling on oneself
Return to Forever.

Science teaches certain facts of all of this but resting in nonconceptual
being is the only knowledge of just That.

Donald Trump is like a mirror of collective

psychokillers qu'est-ce que c'est.

The silver absurd waves of an infinite sea

crying out a wilderness of names.

Presence, spirit, consciousness and being. Universal, causeless

and spontaneous. Jesus and Zhuangzi. Absolutely.

There is no fixing the world. It fixes you.

Either dream the dream one loves to dream

or dream about that dream as in a mirror darkly.

following emotion

through some thought

filtering the light of joy

is resting in this being

one's absolution

White noise. The Avenues of Mountain Water. Rounded spirits of the glacier.