The branch hangs heavy

How fortunate I am to reach this flight

This stairstep of surrenders

This stairway to heaven

I am feeling the wholeness of my being

The deadness of past disappointments

As they rise up in me momentarily

I see that this, this pre-occupation

Does not satisfy me anymore

I long no more for something more from you

But seek to fulfill something more in me

That is being, becoming

Crystalline forming

Un in habited territory

Of my own consciousness

Awaiting my attention.

Just Grace

What do I know?
What do I no?
No gate, posit ion or place
no poems colliding in space
No race, no case
Just grace

Tunneling to freedom

I dreamt I was crawling through a tunnel
On all fours.
Sharp stones pricking my knees,
My head hitting the ceiling.
It was dark and uncomfortable, that tunnel
Like Papillion
I was escaping from a prison
Except mine was a mental prison
And I am tunneling my way out
With every golden word I write and speak.
Although I cannot see the light
At the end of this tunnel
I know that freedom
Awaits me at the other end.
Freed from my own miss-conceptions
Doubt-FREE I will BE!

The Army

Stillness beckons me

Into the heart of matter.

The heart of the matter.

The heart of the mater.

The mother, no Other.

Gives birth to understanding...

Stillness.

Elusive…

If I try to banish all thought.

And quieten all feeling.

But emerging, when I

Sink into the feeling,

Of jealousy, Of judgment, Of discontent

And find that there

Is no depth AT ALL

To that feeling…

It scurries about

On the surface of my consciousness,

Within, just under-standing,

Is a vast repository

Of positive energy

Waiting to be unleashed into action.

Trance-end His story

Do not write in story form says the Muse
For stories trap you in expectations,
Of good, or bad
Or an admixture of both
Which accounts for the confusion in most lives
Reality is neither.
Reality IS
An I, winding its way around a pole
Kundalini, serpent power, dna, energy
Many names
One Source.
Return to the One Source
Where even the division
Between Mother and child
Man and boy
Reality and delusion
is unborn.

Poets Dream

I am Mute
about the Future
I know it but cannot Articulate it
I sense it, but cannot make sense of it
Give me El-O-quence
Whence does it come from?
How many others would become mothers and brothers
If only I could speak about
A way of relating
That dwells in Oneness
Comes before Twoness
Dreams of Honor and Greatness of Soul
And the sacred Unwinding of the road
To the eternal Apple Tree

Strategy is a poem

Strategy is a poem.
A flight of stairs.
A stair step of surrenders.
A foot, a path.
A heartbeat.
A vision glimmering in the distance...
Easy to abstract, hard to divine

What shines?

The Moon and me,
Two celestial bodies
Shining upon each other.

What shines?
What gives Light luminosity?
What gives Me radiance?

Eternal Mystery, my story.

Love Spring

My love for you is like a Field of flowers
In bloom today
Vast, endless expanse of Green love
That You could take a nap in
With your face towards the Sun
And your skin soaking up the Earth.

Sometimes the Field lies fallow
in Winter's discontent.
But not for Long...
For Love springs Eternal in my Heart,
Every blooming time.

Falling in Time

Let them all fall away.
The intentional transgressions,
the unintentional ones,
the aggressions, the regressions,
digressions and progressions.

Time is just forgiving.

Adoreway

Closes with indignation
Opens with acceptance
Closes with criticism
Opens with praise
Closes when full
Opens when empty

crucify the ego

Crucify the ego on the Cross of Consciousness
Dis-orient yourself to its patterns
Or Life will Disorient you
Suck you into the Vortex of a storm
In which you're helplessly tossed
To and fro,
On waves of despair and disrepair
Stranded on arrogant beaches
Drenched with humiliation
Gasping for gratitude
Thirsty for Love
Until your heart opens to the truth of Oneness.