Behold from This Green Earth

Only I am. Everyone else is

just a lovely secondary thought.

And the same goes for you as goes for me.

For Being is the primordial and

immaculate conception. All thoughts

to follow are purely unoriginal.

But in Acadia did

the mountains rise spontaneously

from the deep blue sleep of the cold Maine sea.

And a wedding party hikes the eastern slope of First Light Mountain—

Wapuwoc—or what aliens will christen as Green Mountain—

but empire is calling Cadillac.

Upon sacred Wapuwoc the sun of all

duality is waking up

in stormy threes and sevens.

This is written in the great bronze age of

the United States Geologic Survey

but just wait until awareness is aware of awareness.

Shrieve Me, Shrieve Me

Even being is a dream.

But the separate

person is a nightmare.

This universal dream of heaven isn’t

absolute

but hell wasn’t built in a day either.

And you simply can’t

spell self-awareness

without awareness.

A Rainbow in the Sky

From awareness to self-awareness

in what appears to be a universe

and what appears to be a universe

is simply in the eye of the bedazzled.

For if the parent is pure awareness

and the child is self-awareness,

then everything in-between is

the play of utter conception.

To accept the conception is

the first decree of awakened dreaming.

To accept the conception is

the first degree of being.

To accept the conception is

the seminal way to self-awareness.

And no bedazzlement comes

to the absolute except

through self-awareness.

For it is said, either

the child is father of

the man or let me die.

Thus the question ‘Who am I’

is answered by

the dream of being ‘I am I.’

Insinuations

This false

impression

of separation

is flattened

by one hard slap

from the universal

cosmic Zen master.

Intuition of the catholic.

Revelation of the absolute.

Let the ley lines enter and

insinuate their wisdom

through and through.

Bare trees rise

from white

ground.

Astronomical

energetic waves

are surging through

this central nervous system.

Countless snow flurries are falling

from a muted sky.

The Way of Dreaming

First there is the world.

Then there is a void.

Presently there is a dream.

In this universe of causelessness—

the spirit of intent selects your causes

—effecting a great awakening—

depending on intensity of sleep.

Causes are neither good nor bad

—but pushing and pulling—

along the intentional way.

And when a dream aligns with great intent

—synchronicity will walk the earth—

in enlightening lucidity of self-awareness.

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There are no words for heart.

And love is never having to say.

If there are no words for heart

and love is never having to say—

what is there to say?

Nothing but blue skies.

Like the northwest passage of global warming,

que sera sera.

Something there is that doesn't love a thought.

So much depends upon a dream.

I am. Who are you?

Come forth sweet hermit shaman poets and unite.

For in the land of one, there is no two.

There is nothing but I am.

One word at a time—

unbelievable compassionate interstellar presence.

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What is the word for being. I dream therefore I am.

The world is burned into my eyes. I see things.

Social conditioning is another way of saying being born.

We are all unindicted co-conspirators.

Truth is self-evident: pure awareness is unalienable.

Ceci n'est pas une windpipe.

Story Time

Between awareness and self-awareness is this dream. Between the deep blue sea and sky are waves. There are a billion stories crashing on this beach.

Being is a trip. Awareness is self-awareness. Emptiness is form. This is what the godhead looks like when it looks upon itself.

Like the starry sky as seen from Big Sur. Like the ten thousand sunrises seen one morning in Grand Canyon. Like stopping on the loneliest road in America.

Awareness being self-aware is all she wrote. There's a streetcar named desire and there's a bus called further. Yes, I'm writing this story one verse at a time.

But I’m skipping this 13th line. Other than being Krishna or suffering Kali there's Zhuangzi. Paradox or paradigm. Caterpillar. Butterfly.

It stands to reason that if everything is in your consciousness and without consciousness there is nothing, then everything is consciousness. Or simply put, you are what you dream. Look out for coyotes or look for love.

Once upon a time there was someone who believed she was born. This took place in a time when people believed they were separate and volitional. In other words, this took place before the Great Awakening.

Sometimes I’m  an actor and sometimes I direct and sometimes I have a great notion to be. Feed the body but spare the mind. Everything is penultimate.

Self-awareness appears to be material but awareness always is. And this dream is the holy ghost. It is said the only emperor is the emperor of deconstruction but the only god is that I am.

.

Psalm for Molly

There's no need to run from fire or play with fire. 

We are the fire.

For fire begat fire, and fire, fire. Fire, fire, fire.

So render unto steel and glass its ironworks

and sands of time but render unto fire, fire.

Yea in the flames of consciousness dances

this reverie of universal consummation.

From out of that unknowable unborn is born this knowledge

like a dream emerging from the deepest sleep.

O rockabye baby in this universal love light!

May you learn to question everything we teach you.

May you see that being never needs improvement.

And may you stay forever self-aware.

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You can reach for the stars.

Or soak in the sun.

The sun appears to be external.

But it's just a metaphor.

I am the only energy I know.