The strength of my surrender

Is unspeakable
It is in the moment
When I accept that
My dreams are dashed to the ground
And crawl up through the rubble
My body aching
That the real dream rises up in me
Shining and resplendent.
Scraping the clouds...
For I AM
that Figure sitting
Legs dangling on the crescent moon
Head in the clouds
Fishing story.

My refrain

Raze the hills of judgement
Level the valleys of despair
Make it plain
That the Divine refrain
Is an extra-ordinary affair

The silent G

It is not that far that we have strayed from the path,

Just a fraction of a millimeter,

Too far for wisdom, beauty out of sight

So near! Is it easy to step over the line?

Yes, absurdly so. Just give up the ghost.

And get aliGned.

To the silent G, and the major Sea

Of Consciousness.

Love frequently

I tune into the frequency of elation

A high wall of energy ~just behind~

the traffic of the normal state

A grand canyon of stillness

Capable of receiving strong winds

With equanimity

Joy the discipline,

That holds firm the banner

Of clarity, charity, and going beyond

Disparity.

Joy, the libation

That expands the chest muscles

A rush of oxygen

An accordion of

An inner knowing

Billows.

Catalyst

To cause a change

Yet remain unperturbed.

To lean a ship,

A relationship

This way. That way

Every which way.

Until there’s no more inclinations

Only inklings.

And the ridge of Earth

Between the furrows.

Ploughed All Ways to One Way.

The mother no other

Every night, around 4 am

I creep into your room

With the fan whirring above you

The ayah sleeping on the floor

In readiness for diaper action

I curl up next to you, put my arms around you,

Bury my face in the musty sheets 

of disappointment

at a life whose promise remains unfulfilled.

But we still have these darkness moments

Of pure oceanic communion.

I was once in you

And you are forever in me

In the morning,

With TV blaring, sitting in your cane chair

You smile beatifically at me

And we both know

Some things are still unspoiled.

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