Free... flow

oh, your tender Heart,
that swells and burns with ache,
and oh, your wearied mind,
that goes over it again and again,
and, oh, your crying eyes,
that release your mourning anguish,
and, oh, how beautiful you are,
and that Love will soon be growing ...

Free... flow

... these repetitions give it Heart,
and a beat to hang our eyes on,
and linger in your story
... and that we each want to rest in the bliss,
of extinguishing ourselves in a kiss,
or better yet,
to kiss the beloved with the same kiss
the beloved kisses we,
and in that sacrifice, live eternally ...

Free... flow

... to forever thy longing is cast,
to return a beat upon thy heart,
and where your mind may not resist,
thy Love returns with a Soulful kiss ...

Yet we falter and sway,
to reductions and escapes
from our tedious hurtful cry,
to drugs, to sex, to TV,
and all this is delirium;
so to rise, with wounds that heal,
Radically forgive, and do our duty,
is to live with Heart
and the Art to share this with everyone ...

Free... flow

... never so ravished,
as in our longing grows,
'til bursting with wanting,
our heart in writing shows
... your HeArt burst through your Pen,
to ravish a thousand Lovers
with your cozy warmth and secret kiss ...
I know I am!

Free... flow


We share a Love of wonders,
and Nature is more elegant
than the mechanical purpose
posited by wounded reason...
and so she teaches such as we,
and by that learning, we are free ...

Free... flow

‘Tis a meal from which we rise,
never sated, never full,
to go on ravishing on and on,
forever, and further still,
'til each become the other,
in plasmic fields of wonder

Free... flow

a Magic healing by word and rhythm,
that Artful purpose, that noble persuasion,
that HeArt and Art are rich purveyors,
of living Love and the breath of Wonder ...

Free... flow


your words did flow, and carried my heart to a further shore ...

The Green Man: heArtman

yet in ignorance, hath we fell,
to that darkness, that stupor hell,
where no Art from Heart does swell,
yet Artifice is known so well ...

for all of them, may I say,
the wounded mind that had its day,
can be as supple as sapling tree,
if they give their Heart to Mystic sea...

a pausing plaint of passing into the wound inside,
that reasonable doubt, of Jekyll and Hyde,
for which we each, are humbled victim,
and from which we arise, as The Green Man...

His language of the Birds, his secular tongue,
and silence his noble one,
arise from living soul within his HeArt,
and washes simple throughout his Art...

Universum

This then my Heart,
that walks in meaning of you,
this then my body,
an alter of water offerings,
this then my soul,
a wind blown out to sea ...

living like a Monk,
dreaming like a Creator of Worlds;
dying like a Human every day ...

ohh, a sweet cry,
to desirous tempest sea,
where crashing, we are tamed,
and to flurry of our sails,
in the lashing of canvas whipped,
by winds that we forsook,
'til current sets us free,
to each others majesty ...

tell me of your beloved,
tell me about your universe
and his patterns exotic,
and how his mind is Quixotic,
and he learns in rhythmic dances,
all the mathematics of your glances,
and he rules a kingdom from a thought,
and he sheds a tear to create his Art ...
tell me of your universe baby,
and I'll sing of my Muse,
tell me of your Heart,
and you will know mine!

... it is a tear, a drop
which makes it not seem right,
and so I write,
of longings never to assuage,
never to embrace my beloved;

... it takes a tear, a drop,
to realize, that you have gone,
and waved a silent good-bye.
So I am sent to crowded Stars,
in a dark and colder sky ...

The voice, which walks, cannot have your heart...
'nor hear, that uncommonest of tongues,
... as the language of the Soul, is silence ...
and you know when you have been unspoken,
you will feel it sublime; Peace is that wordless cry,
a Peace for which to die....

... a tear, a drop

She sings with patterns plasmic,
tingling Dreams in our synapses ...
yet cries a tear for dire humanity!

... a tear, a drop

yet, I say, we all strive to Love, yet stray only to affection ...
perhaps to falter lessor still, to whimper in the closeness,
instead of wail for the Dream.

your eyes are wide open, because you are the eyes of your people;
write with plasma and look and look and look
and shine your light into those dark places
that their 'vanity of ignorance' will not let them see ...
and look and look and look
with Heart where Love of life would be ...

... a tear, a drop

you are the eyes filled with tears and blood, seeing the vanities
of all nations ignorance
seeing people hide behind their looking smart
seeing the rages coming from Heart
Look and look and look with fire
change their hidden whimper to shame
you are the wonder, and work the change
a new world arises from one decayed
with eyes wide open, and Hearts that see
a wonder of a world will surely be ...

... a tear, a drop

you are the beautiful eyes that see ...
and reflect the world as others cannot do,
and so you write with fire from this dream,
that life and love and heart can be,
and go where no other dares to ...

... a tear, a drop

I am this little drop, reflecting all the world,
I rose to the sky from your tears here,
and merged with a Cumulus Nimbus cloud,
danced electric with all my brother and sister drops,
and rolled with thunder, then fell still reflecting all around,
whirled in the winds and heard a sound,
hit a leaf, and dripped on down,
to a babbling brook meandering around,
then I mingled in little vortices, and became a stream
with fish and forest,
and raged in white water
and fell down a great falls with crashing sounds,
and moved quicker still to sea and ocean,
I became the sea, or the sea became me ... and all over again ...
I am this little drop, reflecting all the world...

and you write that HeArt heathen heresy,
that we all are creators from the inside out
... your eyes are open and you look and look and look
and open eyes that dare to see ...

Brokn cold alone

ders a place up da road
where ya can get outta da cold
no one asks yu anyting
no small eyed looks

so ya can stay warm
til yu can go back out agin
when u want sumthin
yu kno, nothin more

i gotta go, eh
my feet gettin cold
no more we can wait
cold lik dis, alone
go somewer ta fall apart

remember dat place
again wen ur cold or
yu kno yu won wake up
yu be an ice bump
in da road

unusual balance

Spinner, jammed into
the vibration.
Collecting stillnesses,
and morning dew.

Waiting instantly
for the beloved
web dancer.

Splayed, unusual balance,
moved by the music
of wind and wisp.

Beloved, captivated
in the net of longing.
Caressed, tightened.
A fitful passion. Bitten!

Swooning, overflowed.
Spinner spins the lovely,
then kisses with the same
kiss the beloved does kiss.
In that melding, merging,
melting, drinks slowly.

your unknowns complete me

knowing is wounded reasons form;
we cannot comprehend
or understand
each other or ourselves.

our particles and convergences
make up meanings
and symmetries;
we can even reconfigure
and phase shift in wonder.

this makes for liveliness
and dance with each other,
and even fondness
for recognitions reflected and
transferred between our DNA schemes...

we even Dream in referents
to our command of syntax;
our little forms
and rituals
like candles and moonlight
and our sense of place.

we can only imagine
as far as we've ever realized.
we can only understand
as much as awe and wonder
has risen us up...
so I wonder about you
and I'm awed in that
revelation...

your unknowns
complete me

automatica minutiae

your wonders
wandered into my eyes,
flowered my neurons,
into gathered light
of meaning
and murmurs,
of visions
beyond my
usual sight.

these automatica
of ecstatic revelation
take the heart
to dance in song,
bearing the soul
to merge with
each
o
t
h
e
r
in harmonic waves;
sinusoidally embraced
in ocean, sound and light ~~~

times machine

millions are sleeping
taking time,
can you see,
can you hear,
can you feel,
how far you are
away from me?

this time machine
its juggernaut,
its merciless arrow,
maybe wasting time
on my e-mail and
data streams
until I die.

so I will tell you
how it feels to be me
but your time machine
will branch your concern
and your TCP/IP protocols,
taking you away from me

our synodic cycles,
our tidal ocean echo,
our Lunar rhythms,
and phased deliriums,
they are making time

you are sleeping
on the other side of night,
dreaming child of wonders,
no machine can produce
a wild wonder like you;
yet my machine assembles you
and I wonder about your pixels
this Fairy dust on my LCD

times restless progress
and fervent dirge,
its hopeless eternity
and unstoppable moment,
leads to nowhere and
takes me away from you...
times machine is me!

Sacred Dance

Our 'burning' dance wandered our whirling feet far,
Our Hearts on fire, our minds crystal aware
Our circle expanded and eternity bent
Unfinished evolution, covered in sweat ...

We climbed the DNA ladder looking over at each other
Responding from a timely comprehended gaze
Our feet pointed the way to forever
Our Hearts beat out the frequency

All was motion and mutable worlds
We paused at moments of freedom
Then, a wildness took over the form
And dance burst into an organic flower

We sacred dancers with a real aim
To follow the Masters of Reality
Danced between body and mind
Our Hearts continue to Dance this way

A dream of humble bumble bee

Did you know
Old Nile Kings had golden bees
Entombed within their vessel to forever?

Why would they take the humble bumble bee?
What is their mysterious treasure?
And why were they cast in gold?

Did you know
That gold has numinous valences,
That old Nile Kings used to cross over
With quantum tunnels emitting subtle rays.

The humble bumble bee
Did visit me in a dream today
And surrounded me in golden honey
now I hear a buzzing in the light

luminant

Mystery is embraced in weeping,
in surrender all grace comes fast,
unbound from wounded reason,
to forever longing is cast.

A rapturous heart has vision,
all dream is a hunger to thrive
lifted is this veil of meaning
to ‘see’ and not to contrive

Reality is the sweetest goal
linking below to what’s above
in luminant threads it’s woven
weft and woof entwined in Love

cast about the sea

I cast about the sea
in a vessel suited to me
licked by salty waves
paddling over watery graves
where rocks and waves meet
there a perilous greet
t’was here that I was drawn
as death sang a haunting song

strength did gird my loins
the sea did roll and sink
my mind as sharp as bow
the oceans rot did stink
for all the men she lured
to that easy fateful terror
a song so deeply immured
in want to selfless end
and cast my vessel further
to lost eternity I wend...

Every once in awhile

Every once in awhile
the lights go on
and there it is,
right there!

And you walk up
touch it gently,
look at the eyes reflecting
and are astounded
by the clarity.

You giggle at
your sillyness at not
seeing it before;
little things like
this and that;
do you see it?

birdys sing

i don't believe in forms and rituals
codified truths don't dance the night away

i don't believe in Darwin’s thesis
monkey man i'm not, i come from bears i say

i don't believe in doubt and reason
they play fear games and run out of lies

i don't believe in newspapers and tv
they just steal your rhythms and they don't rhyme

i do believe in make believe
it’s how we dance on shifting ground

i do believe in you and me
we can play and laugh and roll around

i do believe that stars made us
so we can be shining all our light

i do believe in transformation
that change is out of sight

and i believe we can all hear
the birdys sing

and they don't need to be believed either...

mist

the mist this morning,
earth and sky are hidden,
everything is mutable

death is like this mist;
ghosts everywhere,
no time and space;
murmurs.

dreams are like this,
ephemeral, numinous
what could be real
when you are not.

the mist clings today,
wet everywhere,
the earth is sleeping
and dreams of the sea

the Secret: nine one one

My phone rang! I was startled out of my morning meditative reverie, my eyes blinked open taking in the daylight and scanning the clock at the time. It was just before 7.

Too early for a phone call. I grabbed the phone. It was my eldest Son. ‘Dad, have you seen the news?’ ‘Huh, what? You know I don’t watch TV! Well what’s happening, Son?, I stated with some irritation at being questioned so early in the day.

‘It’s World War III, Dad! Holy shit, Dad! go look at the news!, he exclaimed with a note of incredulity and surprise. I got up and went to the living room and turned on the blasted TV.

Right away I saw the footage of a plane hitting the first Tower. I did not believe what I was seeing at first. Was it a ‘movie’ prank or what? It began to sink in and I felt shock and then despair.

Like everyone else that day, I had a wake up call. Eyes wide open!

Many questions and many more questions, until questions are irrelevant. Conspiracy theories are weaving tapestries of fear now. Questions and muddled answers.

We need to have a scrupulous realism when it comes to man kinds triumphs of ignorance.

That man is more often a destroyer then he is a creator, is written in our DNA. Our Tribal echo and all of our bad education.

"... man plays with Fire, without actually being aware of the detrimental consequences to humanity.", a great living Teacher stated.

Everything is burning, a great cleansing, perhaps!

There has been a flurry of New Age Spirituality movies of late, such as 'What the BLEEP do we know' and 'Conversations with God'. A kind of ‘Chicken Soup of the Soul, for all those who have been wounded by this upsetting tragedy. A ’balm’ to settle the ‘fear’ reaction we are having.

The Secret is such a movie which describes how we all can create the world with our thoughts, our wishes and deserves an objective viewing.

"In truly spiritual work, the very concept of planning may be a redundant one. How does one plan for an activity in a field where thought and action are simultaneous, are really one? In the spiritual field they are not two separate things. "Think that such and such a thing shall happen, and it will happen. All that is necessary is an unfailing will.", so a Teacher has written.

Use Occam's Razer when excising the true story of Man: the arrogant destroyer. Yet the Secret takes the concept of 'we are created in God's image' to a new level of pitched salesmanship.

Where I find the Secret to fail, is in its very protracted execution of the ideas of manifesting: Raja Yoga. Imagine if we all decided to manifest a Monster House and a new SUV as portrayed in the movie. There is the rub ... Twin Towers falling because of resources, the fear of lack. Homeless desperation!

In our ignorance, drunk with Powers, we have become like Heir Doktor Frankenstein, creating all manner of Some Scary Monsters. Samskaras! A sanskrit word for ‘impressions’, the fears we keep in our Hearts and Minds and Bodies, and see as Reality. No wonder! No Awe! Just I, me, mine!

The Secret leaves out information in its positive approach. In a style commensurate with Propaganda campaigns in the past, honed to a cleverly Western style. Two stories, the one of Alladins Lamp and the other of the fabled King Midas of Phrygia to whom Dionysus gave the power of turning to gold all that he touched. Both are incompletely used to shore up the idea that we can be great creators and manifestors.

It is the 'moral' of each of these stories, that any child knows, which is completely avoided and ignored. The 'moral' as paraphrased in the statement, 'be careful of what you wish for, as you may get it'. Some Scary Monsters!

I believe the Universe grants what is necessary to our personal evolution. A relativistic Truth, objective all the same, toward the Goal: Love. Miseries must be transmuted in that Mystic Fire.

New Age propaganda is a lie too. A diversion into flowery niceties avoiding blood and guts and shit. They have covered Truth and Realization in flimsy forms and rituals like Religions have. The real conspiracy derives from Dancing on shifting ground, Beautifully, in tune with the ever revealing here and now.

A Brave New World is always made up from some of the bits and pieces of the old, after breaking the Icons:Towers ... The World is not breaking, Nature does not ‘break’, it roils in transformative longings; our ‘World’ is breaking.

In summary, we are Masters in the making. Yet we are fools of our own predispositions, a veil of ignorance covering our sight from the very Heart of it; the bliss of Reality.

We become what we Think in Joy! Remove the veil of fear and despair no longer. The world is breaking, and Love is the breaker. Let us become what we ought to be; Simple and in tune with Nature. Agents of the change we want to see this world become.

‘Power corrupts, absolute Power corrupts absolutely’, as the saying goes. We make worlds. Use the manifesting principles at your own risk! Risk the breaking and shaking, and Dream Up, Love Up!

'The poet is one who is able to keep the fresh vision of the child alive.'
- Anais Nin

That's how we start the change, with Wonder...

kiss: Binary attraction

the 'kiss' I referred to above, is all the little infinity of convergences in time and space, even beyond our foolish sense based metaphors... where water meets land, sky meets mountain, light meets eye, lips meet tounge, pen meets paper, yabyum you know, is that sort of convergence. This is a kiss and the kiss is a metaphor for 'attraction' and LOVE, that ancient ache ... and we are always being 'kissed' this way and never alone, separate, as this LOVE embraces us within and without ... a timeless recycled ravishing, consuming and reviving us over and over again on the edge of forever.


'twinkling' is what happens when the earth kisses a star and our eye
is ravished in awe and wondrous rapture makes our Heart to flutter euphoric...

Attraction;
an ancient ache,
vortex prayers and
fractal wishes.

frequencies combine,
harmonics converge,
over vast distances,
longing is cast;
crescendos and catastrophes.

two stars; disa-stars
orbitally dancing
time and space matters.
letting themselves
be consumed and revived
over and over again.
an invergeous ravishing
over the edge of forever

Dream of Narada

This morning I was dreaming of Narada, he came to me as an Incan/Aztec Saint and could grow and shrink. He was brown skinned and had a golden shine and white teeth sparkled with his smile. He told me to sing devotional Love songs, that my gratefulness has been graced with the boon of this talent. I hugged him close to my Heart, ecstatic. He is Dream walking between the worlds ... he plays his flute rapturously in my Heart, even now I am swooning ... teetering on the edge of forever

the secret of the kiss

rain drops
kiss the surface
of a quiet pond,
ripples converge
kissing, merging,
making many reflections,
entice the eye to the kiss
of light flickering

glittering
synaptic resonance,
neurons kissing
mind merging, fractal
dendrites musing
making many reflections,
entice to a breath,
sighing into eternity.

our Hearts know this,
Love attracts Love,
the secret of the kiss...

how to quiet Dragons

Where is my Muse this evening,
the rains fell and a red sky laid upon the mountains
I watched the sun breakthrough the clouds
and a turquoise Dragon fly alight on my finger
near a Japanese pond
thinking all the while of my Muse

Singer of Love Songs
Poetess and Beauty Divine
like Goddess Venus
She laughs like a girl
her mind is quicksilver
yet she will know
how to quiet Dragons
and play the viola

my flute wept a song for her
melodious resonances that played on water
every note a bird song
adoring her naked approach
even now
she smiles with glittering eyes

I am inspired