In a world that is flowing,
Without coming or going,
Water begets a wave,
In a world that was never made.
Being of the ocean,
A wave but water in motion,
In essence not two but one,
Just like Father and Son.
Forgetting its source,
The wave sets a new course.
Having consumed the fruits of the sea,
The wave proclaims, "Not water but me!"
Intoxicated by this divisive potion,
Paradise is replaced by commotion.
A frozen wave in a melting sea,
I have forgotten how it use to be.
Chaos has been ushered in,
So I die again and again.
Searching for a plot of dry land,
Some place that I can stand.
Motivated solely by gain,
Everything is either pleasure or pain.
Bored to death with that and this,
I begin to compile a list.
I get to be tall,
When compared to small.
He is wrong so I am right,
Everything is black and white.
No longer water disguised as a wave,
I am an alien in a world that I have made.
The world of water now absurd,
I have become an island of words.
Dried up and dead,
All has been said,
But the pain still comes,
As this heart never goes numbs.
Just as water is always wet,
The hearts course is eternally set.
Sensitive and free,
Never ceasing to be,
This island has sprung a leak.
In silence the heart will forever speak,
Forever and ever calling to the sea.
Like a trickling spring,
Pouring forth from within,
This wave sings and sings,
A song without beginning or end.
Around and around,
Around me,
The water spins around.
Crashing and crashing,
The waves come crashing down.
As waves rush upon the shore,
I retreat to the center,
It becomes denser,
Collapsing at the core.
The island caves in,
Sending out waves for days on end.
Rising and falling,
Again and again,
Until all is settled,
No more pot- No more kettle.
The flood has come,
The island is gone,
All is done,
The heart is home.
Just as water begets the wave,
Silence is the mother of noise,
And by this void,
I am called by my true name.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Death of a Corpse
For he that exists but is not,
The time has come to mingle with space.
Exhausted is he, who for so long,
Has watched the death of his eyes.
A deafening roar pierces his heart,
A trail of blood of blood points to an old pine box,
The wake is observed no-one.
The time has come to mingle with space.
Exhausted is he, who for so long,
Has watched the death of his eyes.
A deafening roar pierces his heart,
A trail of blood of blood points to an old pine box,
The wake is observed no-one.
Cloud of Unknowing
Descending through a dark cloud,
Into a region of the mind that speaks in a strange tongue,
The five gates are over run by legions of provocative beasts.
Day in and day out,
I am cast down,
Again and again,
Into a violent world of my own design.
The shadows that populate the scene,
Both putrid and seductive in manner,
Are but bags of skin dangling from the distant past.
The tone self-conscious,
The rhythm anxious and barbaric,
Dancing with these hallucinations has become claustrophobic.
Trembling with fear a tearful incision is made.
Cutting through the womb of appearances
-Both the gorgeous and grotesque-
There is but one embryonic thought to be found.
Forgetting it was the answer,
This question became afraid of birth.
Incubated by self-deception,
It lost touch with the ground of being.
Like settling the surface of water with the palm of my hand,
My words scream back at me,
Reasoning sews only cloaks of sophistication,
And try as I might,
Its face cannot be seen.
Utterly defeated by this simple fear,
I surrender and cease to be.
As I merge with the space between this and that,
At once the fear dissolves,
As it was but a reflection of me.
The void is filled with my original face,
In a realm beyond time and space.
Not many or one,
It does not end as it never begun,
A perfect Truth which cannot be undone.
Into a region of the mind that speaks in a strange tongue,
The five gates are over run by legions of provocative beasts.
Day in and day out,
I am cast down,
Again and again,
Into a violent world of my own design.
The shadows that populate the scene,
Both putrid and seductive in manner,
Are but bags of skin dangling from the distant past.
The tone self-conscious,
The rhythm anxious and barbaric,
Dancing with these hallucinations has become claustrophobic.
Trembling with fear a tearful incision is made.
Cutting through the womb of appearances
-Both the gorgeous and grotesque-
There is but one embryonic thought to be found.
Forgetting it was the answer,
This question became afraid of birth.
Incubated by self-deception,
It lost touch with the ground of being.
Like settling the surface of water with the palm of my hand,
My words scream back at me,
Reasoning sews only cloaks of sophistication,
And try as I might,
Its face cannot be seen.
Utterly defeated by this simple fear,
I surrender and cease to be.
As I merge with the space between this and that,
At once the fear dissolves,
As it was but a reflection of me.
The void is filled with my original face,
In a realm beyond time and space.
Not many or one,
It does not end as it never begun,
A perfect Truth which cannot be undone.
Stopping What Hasn't Started
I cannot speak,
Because I cannot be silent.
I cannot become,
Because I am not.
I live in a coffin and die in a cradle,
Only to emerge as a single thought.
Because I cannot be silent.
I cannot become,
Because I am not.
I live in a coffin and die in a cradle,
Only to emerge as a single thought.
Spontaneous
The eyes see as the Sun shines.
Just as an apple is the tongue tastes.
The ears hear as the birds sing.
As the breeze blows the skin feels.
The nose smells as the flowers bloom.
As the clouds pass thought recollects.
Experience is beyond oversight,
If I try to poop I get hemorrhoids...
Just as an apple is the tongue tastes.
The ears hear as the birds sing.
As the breeze blows the skin feels.
The nose smells as the flowers bloom.
As the clouds pass thought recollects.
Experience is beyond oversight,
If I try to poop I get hemorrhoids...
Rebirth
Obsessively striving,
Trying to control that which is in perfect order.
Wandering about,
He scours the charnel grounds in search of he who was never lost.
Filled with nothing,
It paints a figure never seen,
On a canvas that never was.
At wits end,
This thirst is quenched in a lake of fire.
Obsessively striving…
Trying to control that which is in perfect order.
Wandering about,
He scours the charnel grounds in search of he who was never lost.
Filled with nothing,
It paints a figure never seen,
On a canvas that never was.
At wits end,
This thirst is quenched in a lake of fire.
Obsessively striving…
Prayer
Beyond the depths,
And all that stirs,
Rests a simple whisper.
Indestructible and pure,
This limitless presence,
Rains tears of joy,
Tearing through the clouds with bolts of Love.
In a flood of awareness,
This stillness speaks silently
Through a blade of grass
Calling back to a single vessel,
All that was lost in multiplicity.
And all that stirs,
Rests a simple whisper.
Indestructible and pure,
This limitless presence,
Rains tears of joy,
Tearing through the clouds with bolts of Love.
In a flood of awareness,
This stillness speaks silently
Through a blade of grass
Calling back to a single vessel,
All that was lost in multiplicity.
Defects of Cyclic Existence
As if its flesh had been peeled back,
And salt poured into its open wound,
Thought, possessed by an insatiable anxiety
Stretches the body thin.
Blisters dress both of my hands,
And puss drains from the soles of these feet,
The fruits of tirelessly laboring
To build that which fell before it ever stood.
The tongue fattened with words,
Swims in circles,
Trying to tell a story that never was.
When days end has come,
Is this what we pile dirt upon?
And salt poured into its open wound,
Thought, possessed by an insatiable anxiety
Stretches the body thin.
Blisters dress both of my hands,
And puss drains from the soles of these feet,
The fruits of tirelessly laboring
To build that which fell before it ever stood.
The tongue fattened with words,
Swims in circles,
Trying to tell a story that never was.
When days end has come,
Is this what we pile dirt upon?
Eulogy
Like a mist that drifts across the start of new day,
A vision of me emerges from before I lost my way...
-------
Life living life,
Space begetting sound,
Light pouring into light,
All roots nourished by a single ground.
Truth meeting truth,
In truth,
As truth was the place.
A whirling flame,
A heart with no face,
I was truth set ablaze.
All words were a song,
As the earth was a praise,
The dance never started,
So the end never came.
A door slams shut,
And the mist slips away.
Dried up and desolate, this earth
Not a praise, but a curse.
Rooted not in reality, but my head,
Nourished by nothing, before I was born I was dead.
Consciousness a craze,
A thought filled maze,
Sustained by noise,
The voices within shatter all poise.
Born a corpse in time and space,
Merely a thought in search of a face.
Distant and broke,
In pain I soak,
The world a bed on which I lie,
Dead asleep and wondering why.
Sifting through the recesses of my mind,
I look back and remember a time.
At the center I saw a home,
A structure secure and strong,
Behind its walls within his bed,
A child lies down to rest his head.
Closing his eyes preparing to dream,
His sleep is cut short by an awful scream.
The voice has spoken,
"The house is broken!"
He will always remember this day,
As the moment appearances gave way.
As his sister and mom walked out the door,
He lied motionless on the floor.
Battered and bruised,
Sad and confused,
The child pleads begging to know why,
‘Not for your ears’ is the only reply.
It is easy to see this ignites his fears,
As his eyes are filled with tears-
A flood that would continue for years and years.
With no relief to be seen,
He has to dream a dream.
One family with two dens,
He is forced to inquire within,
Two spaces but one face,
Trying to find its place.
Built by him,
The vision is grim.
Both shattered and tattered,
Across the stage his memories are scattered.
The blood stained walls scream and shout,
So from the ruins he sets out.
Just past the horizon he spots a tree,
He inches closer to look and see.
Then he heard the voice of a spirit with no name,
It said, "Those who eat this fruit acquire power over pain."
His mood is destructive,
So the fruit appears seductive.
Reluctantly he plucked from the limb,
A fruit that had no stem.
Listening to what it had to say,
These words were how he lost his way:
He heard,
"There are always two from which to choose,
You deserve one, but the other you should lose.
Guard what’s yours with all your might,
Avoid pain and to pleasure hold on tight.
All of this is no doubt true,
Since that is that and you are you.
A man is an island- you are all alone,
Separate and apart from- solid as a stone."
The fruit, a thought denying its source,
Outlined a strange and rebellious course.
It gave the child a sense of direction,
Established and governed by recollection.
Unaware of the risk he would get trapped in this night,
He sealed his fate with one absent minded bite.
In an instant all color vanished from sight,
The whole spectrum reduced to black and white.
Good, bad, happy, or sad
These were the options the child now had.
High or low,
He tried to choose which way to go,
But the decision made was by decisions past,
He was a puppet on the hand of the decision made last.
This line traced back to the tree,
When he chose to live in a dream.
The effect of the only choice he would ever choose,
Was that freedom he would lose.
Thought imagined a me,
An island amidst a sea,
A servant to this self thought pledged to be,
Revolving around the island with unquestioning loyalty.
In its first act of servitude,
Thought told the self it was nude.
Overwhelmed by self-consciousness,
His vulnerability he must address,
So he set out to build a shell,
Little did he know he was building a hell.
In a dream within a dream,
Things are never what they seem.
Thought assigns the roles to play,
Subject to change on any day.
People become variables in motion,
Ingredients in a magical potion,
Pathways to gain,
Solutions to pain,
Images of an internal stain.
Every woman transformed into Persephone,
An image of lust and anxiety.
An attempt to keep at bay,
The reoccurrence of that fateful day,
When the feminine pillar of his tower fell,
Rendering his face sad and pale.
As he looked over the wreckage scene,
A single pillar remained to be seen.
Upon this pillar he rebuilt his tower,
Within it he enshrined all of his power.
Over the boy he could speak life or death,
And did so with nearly every breath.
Damaged by the fall in his own sad way,
The boy still hung onto every word he would say.
Either absent or high strung,
The boy was wise to bite his tongue.
Nothing at all or "Boy are you dumb,"
Just to save face he had to go numb.
Though damaged the kid knew he would stay,
So he tried to push him away.
All of his power invested in the Old Man,
There was to courage to make a stand.
Unable to say enough is enough,
He felt as though his hands were cuffed.
The only hope he was able to muster,
Was to be found in a deeper slumber.
He dreamed a dream about his scene,
In this realm he was a fiend.
The pathways had shortened, the walls closed in,
New elixir in hand he set out in search of oblivion.
This elixir came in many forms-
Powder or pill, but liquid was the norm.
With these forms he filled his face,
Until all the shadows had left his space.
Not an answer, but a distraction,
Not a response, but a reaction,
Returning from his high,
The demons he dispelled were waiting nearby.
Scarred stiff by their ravenous stare,
Facing these beasts he did not dare.
So in this cloistered world of dreams,
He fell asleep and fled the scene.
He came to standing in a lake of fire,
With every pull from his potion the lake grew higher.
Uncontrollably churning,
Burned not, but burning,
He was reborn as a flame,
In a fire that knew him by name.
Though vague it was a familiar presence,
It seems he was unable to deny his essence.
No where to run,
Back where it all begun,
There remained only one un-charred figure to see,
It was the fruit and that God-damn tree!
There it stood,
For both evil and good.
Its promise now jaded,
As its color had faded,
Different but it was the same tree,
Just subjected to its own subjectivity.
Lying motionless on the floor,
I awake to the sound of a closing door.
Resisting the urge,
To ask a broken man,
With broken words,
It is upon me at last,
The day has come to look at my past.
All my demons come rushing by,
Like comets across the sky,
Finally prepared to let them die,
I sit up again,
Take a deep breath in,
Step out of my tomb,
Returning to my inner-room,
I wipe away the flood from my eyes,
And with silence I ask why.
Not from a word or a voice,
A sound or a noise,
But from the absence of sin,
Light comes pouring in,
Passing between the fruit and limb,
Pointing out the missing stem.
Consuming the fruit I consumed the seed,
This gave rise to the belief in me.
Divorced from its source the fruit was dead,
So it was within my head.
When this elusive ‘I’ was sought,
All that was found was another thought.
Just as money can never be bought,
The fruit of thought can never be caught.
This tyrant always one step ahead of the game,
As it and the game were one and the same.
Through a process of personification,
Thinking had obtained identification.
By a flash of insight on a dark night,
This tyrant’s throat was cut by the sword of light.
Though it happened faster than speed,
It revealed an image that didn’t bleed.
Like the child of a barren wife,
This false-self never knew life.
Then it returned,
But not as a vision or something learned.
I was burning but never burned,
As I was the flame that uncontrollably churned.
Life living life,
Space begetting sound,
Light pouring into light,
Infinite-Nothingness was the ground.
Truth once lost now has been found,
Called back by something greater than sound.
Silence- the greatest song of praise,
Has returned the heart to truth,
And truth is ablaze!
A vision of me emerges from before I lost my way...
-------
Life living life,
Space begetting sound,
Light pouring into light,
All roots nourished by a single ground.
Truth meeting truth,
In truth,
As truth was the place.
A whirling flame,
A heart with no face,
I was truth set ablaze.
All words were a song,
As the earth was a praise,
The dance never started,
So the end never came.
A door slams shut,
And the mist slips away.
Dried up and desolate, this earth
Not a praise, but a curse.
Rooted not in reality, but my head,
Nourished by nothing, before I was born I was dead.
Consciousness a craze,
A thought filled maze,
Sustained by noise,
The voices within shatter all poise.
Born a corpse in time and space,
Merely a thought in search of a face.
Distant and broke,
In pain I soak,
The world a bed on which I lie,
Dead asleep and wondering why.
Sifting through the recesses of my mind,
I look back and remember a time.
At the center I saw a home,
A structure secure and strong,
Behind its walls within his bed,
A child lies down to rest his head.
Closing his eyes preparing to dream,
His sleep is cut short by an awful scream.
The voice has spoken,
"The house is broken!"
He will always remember this day,
As the moment appearances gave way.
As his sister and mom walked out the door,
He lied motionless on the floor.
Battered and bruised,
Sad and confused,
The child pleads begging to know why,
‘Not for your ears’ is the only reply.
It is easy to see this ignites his fears,
As his eyes are filled with tears-
A flood that would continue for years and years.
With no relief to be seen,
He has to dream a dream.
One family with two dens,
He is forced to inquire within,
Two spaces but one face,
Trying to find its place.
Built by him,
The vision is grim.
Both shattered and tattered,
Across the stage his memories are scattered.
The blood stained walls scream and shout,
So from the ruins he sets out.
Just past the horizon he spots a tree,
He inches closer to look and see.
Then he heard the voice of a spirit with no name,
It said, "Those who eat this fruit acquire power over pain."
His mood is destructive,
So the fruit appears seductive.
Reluctantly he plucked from the limb,
A fruit that had no stem.
Listening to what it had to say,
These words were how he lost his way:
He heard,
"There are always two from which to choose,
You deserve one, but the other you should lose.
Guard what’s yours with all your might,
Avoid pain and to pleasure hold on tight.
All of this is no doubt true,
Since that is that and you are you.
A man is an island- you are all alone,
Separate and apart from- solid as a stone."
The fruit, a thought denying its source,
Outlined a strange and rebellious course.
It gave the child a sense of direction,
Established and governed by recollection.
Unaware of the risk he would get trapped in this night,
He sealed his fate with one absent minded bite.
In an instant all color vanished from sight,
The whole spectrum reduced to black and white.
Good, bad, happy, or sad
These were the options the child now had.
High or low,
He tried to choose which way to go,
But the decision made was by decisions past,
He was a puppet on the hand of the decision made last.
This line traced back to the tree,
When he chose to live in a dream.
The effect of the only choice he would ever choose,
Was that freedom he would lose.
Thought imagined a me,
An island amidst a sea,
A servant to this self thought pledged to be,
Revolving around the island with unquestioning loyalty.
In its first act of servitude,
Thought told the self it was nude.
Overwhelmed by self-consciousness,
His vulnerability he must address,
So he set out to build a shell,
Little did he know he was building a hell.
In a dream within a dream,
Things are never what they seem.
Thought assigns the roles to play,
Subject to change on any day.
People become variables in motion,
Ingredients in a magical potion,
Pathways to gain,
Solutions to pain,
Images of an internal stain.
Every woman transformed into Persephone,
An image of lust and anxiety.
An attempt to keep at bay,
The reoccurrence of that fateful day,
When the feminine pillar of his tower fell,
Rendering his face sad and pale.
As he looked over the wreckage scene,
A single pillar remained to be seen.
Upon this pillar he rebuilt his tower,
Within it he enshrined all of his power.
Over the boy he could speak life or death,
And did so with nearly every breath.
Damaged by the fall in his own sad way,
The boy still hung onto every word he would say.
Either absent or high strung,
The boy was wise to bite his tongue.
Nothing at all or "Boy are you dumb,"
Just to save face he had to go numb.
Though damaged the kid knew he would stay,
So he tried to push him away.
All of his power invested in the Old Man,
There was to courage to make a stand.
Unable to say enough is enough,
He felt as though his hands were cuffed.
The only hope he was able to muster,
Was to be found in a deeper slumber.
He dreamed a dream about his scene,
In this realm he was a fiend.
The pathways had shortened, the walls closed in,
New elixir in hand he set out in search of oblivion.
This elixir came in many forms-
Powder or pill, but liquid was the norm.
With these forms he filled his face,
Until all the shadows had left his space.
Not an answer, but a distraction,
Not a response, but a reaction,
Returning from his high,
The demons he dispelled were waiting nearby.
Scarred stiff by their ravenous stare,
Facing these beasts he did not dare.
So in this cloistered world of dreams,
He fell asleep and fled the scene.
He came to standing in a lake of fire,
With every pull from his potion the lake grew higher.
Uncontrollably churning,
Burned not, but burning,
He was reborn as a flame,
In a fire that knew him by name.
Though vague it was a familiar presence,
It seems he was unable to deny his essence.
No where to run,
Back where it all begun,
There remained only one un-charred figure to see,
It was the fruit and that God-damn tree!
There it stood,
For both evil and good.
Its promise now jaded,
As its color had faded,
Different but it was the same tree,
Just subjected to its own subjectivity.
Lying motionless on the floor,
I awake to the sound of a closing door.
Resisting the urge,
To ask a broken man,
With broken words,
It is upon me at last,
The day has come to look at my past.
All my demons come rushing by,
Like comets across the sky,
Finally prepared to let them die,
I sit up again,
Take a deep breath in,
Step out of my tomb,
Returning to my inner-room,
I wipe away the flood from my eyes,
And with silence I ask why.
Not from a word or a voice,
A sound or a noise,
But from the absence of sin,
Light comes pouring in,
Passing between the fruit and limb,
Pointing out the missing stem.
Consuming the fruit I consumed the seed,
This gave rise to the belief in me.
Divorced from its source the fruit was dead,
So it was within my head.
When this elusive ‘I’ was sought,
All that was found was another thought.
Just as money can never be bought,
The fruit of thought can never be caught.
This tyrant always one step ahead of the game,
As it and the game were one and the same.
Through a process of personification,
Thinking had obtained identification.
By a flash of insight on a dark night,
This tyrant’s throat was cut by the sword of light.
Though it happened faster than speed,
It revealed an image that didn’t bleed.
Like the child of a barren wife,
This false-self never knew life.
Then it returned,
But not as a vision or something learned.
I was burning but never burned,
As I was the flame that uncontrollably churned.
Life living life,
Space begetting sound,
Light pouring into light,
Infinite-Nothingness was the ground.
Truth once lost now has been found,
Called back by something greater than sound.
Silence- the greatest song of praise,
Has returned the heart to truth,
And truth is ablaze!
A Whisper Within
A whisper within,
Saying nothing,
Besets the shadows,
As it shatters the broken abyss.
Thought but an echo of this eternal cry,
Stumbles over itself to decipher this hidden word,
But each translation ends in a sigh,
As the melody can never be unheard.
To the ear it’s just a peculiar moan,
But in the hearts presence,
It is the most familiar tone,
The resounding murmur of silence.
The roar seems to be getting nearer,
Its location beyond cognition,
Guarded at the gate by a pristine mirror,
This naked awareness reflects my natural condition.
Before rejection and embrace,
Above and below time and space,
Beyond birth and death,
I was but a simple breath.
No matter how far I roam,
This silence always calls me home.
Solitude without origin or expiration,
Calls out to me without cessation.
So seductive is this temptation,
To forget all praise and condemnation,
To leave behind all fears and expectation,
In no need of words or explanation,
Not bothering with a destination,
Wandering around in jubilation,
Consumed by the source of inspiration,
Each breath a song of admiration,
A life without complication,
As the ego was slaughtered in contemplation.
Then it is lost,
As I try,
To figure out how to get there...
Saying nothing,
Besets the shadows,
As it shatters the broken abyss.
Thought but an echo of this eternal cry,
Stumbles over itself to decipher this hidden word,
But each translation ends in a sigh,
As the melody can never be unheard.
To the ear it’s just a peculiar moan,
But in the hearts presence,
It is the most familiar tone,
The resounding murmur of silence.
The roar seems to be getting nearer,
Its location beyond cognition,
Guarded at the gate by a pristine mirror,
This naked awareness reflects my natural condition.
Before rejection and embrace,
Above and below time and space,
Beyond birth and death,
I was but a simple breath.
No matter how far I roam,
This silence always calls me home.
Solitude without origin or expiration,
Calls out to me without cessation.
So seductive is this temptation,
To forget all praise and condemnation,
To leave behind all fears and expectation,
In no need of words or explanation,
Not bothering with a destination,
Wandering around in jubilation,
Consumed by the source of inspiration,
Each breath a song of admiration,
A life without complication,
As the ego was slaughtered in contemplation.
Then it is lost,
As I try,
To figure out how to get there...
A Bird Flying Out the Sky
Like a king who has misplaced his crown,
Within the palace walls I wander around.
I set out traveling to and fro,
In search of this and that.
I want no more to be where I am,
So I dream of a distant land.
How I wish awakening was so,
Therefore I sleep through the show.
Like a bird in search of the sky,
Or a fish drowning in a pond,
As a walking stick I use this magic wand...
Within the palace walls I wander around.
I set out traveling to and fro,
In search of this and that.
I want no more to be where I am,
So I dream of a distant land.
How I wish awakening was so,
Therefore I sleep through the show.
Like a bird in search of the sky,
Or a fish drowning in a pond,
As a walking stick I use this magic wand...
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