self consciousness roams in the deserts of eden,
a mirage of nothingness in paradise

self consciousness preserves what is human,
and sacrifices the divine

self consciousness makes borders in piles of sand, and makes things into objects,
and expands through contraction

self consciousness gives me life but blinds me to reality

self consciousness resembles a spider’s web,
a shadow of stability and comfort –
a prison in the shape of an oasis

self consciousness is a television next to a mountain stream…

self consciousness is God’s desire to dream

laughing with someone you love,

conquers time,
conquers wars,
and conquers death,

laughing with someone you love,

is diving into the ocean after rolling in mud,
is drinking ice tea in the desert,
is meeting your guru,
is timeless,

laughing with someone you love is a hair’s breadth from enlightenment

it is marvellous,
the existence of things,
especially those that live,
perhaps we marvelled ourselves into existence,
enthralled by our own genius,
we dove into a painting

untie the knot in your heart,
and remember the child that you are,
remember running wild,
just to find the best tree to climb,
or the best hill to roll down,
or the feeling of diving into water,
you still love it even now,
only you have forgotten,
the innocent scent of freedom

to pass through to love,
we must be quiet enough,
and vulnerable enough,
to hear the melody of our pain

the tender way,
is the way of fearless humility,
meeting life through the body and heart,
forgetting aboveness,
forgetting belowness,
forgetting even beyondness,
at home with things,
and people

even if you cast me out,
into a cardboard box,
a solitary cell,
or a bed with a disintegrating brain,
I will share with you my heart,
I will give my body,
in exchange for truth,
and for the light of existence,
I will take the leap over the edge,
and find the featherbed,
or bed of nails,
I do not know even a second more,
and not the least shape of things,
but I will listen to you,
dear life,
and I will fold,
like the canals,
through the city,
and I will sing my soul loudly,
just because I’m alive,
not by mistake,
but by mystery

to touch that part,
that hidden gemstone,
buried beneath worry,
buried beneath fear,
buried beneath pride,
to touch that part,
savour,
each thing,
each pulse of the senses,
each thought a treasure,
each impulse a god,
each arising a release,
and so,
what art thou?
but a masterpiece

If only I could write,
myself out of this poem,
it might ring true