we cup mist in our hands,
as it if it were diamonds,
slipping through our fingers,
we fumble for solid ground
groundless
laughing buddha
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
marvellous
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
knot
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
melody
to pass through to love,
we must be quiet enough,
and vulnerable enough,
to hear the melody of our pain
tender
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
solitary
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
masterpiece
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
truth
If only I could write,
myself out of this poem,
it might ring true
wellspring
serenity in being,
the simplest thing,
the nothing at our core:
the wellspring of our lore.
no tale of transcendence,
no precious awakening,
just a homage to our soul,
empty and serene
doorbell
and I rejoice that we played this game,
of hide and seek,
for the storm,
it was a shower.
the fire,
it was a heater.
the pain,
it was a lover.
and my freedom,
was the sound,
of a doorbell…
from within my home
exiled
it’s okay to put the world aside,
now and then,
to remember your place,
in the garden,
never once exiled,
never once leaving home
floating
everything being of one substance,
which is no-substance,
and seeing that every speck of dust,
is floating space,
what can we hold onto?
stone
tell me, is there a story within you?
what does it say, about what you ought to be?
do you remember tearing those pages out of a book somewhere?
when did they turn to stone,
and become so heavy?
well, it’s good fortune then,
that you’re unable to carry…
anything at all
home
do we really need to prove anything at all?
come home, my dear,
there’s no shame in the simple,
the wilderness is right here
pretence
with this cage of ribs,
with this narrow mind,
with these churning thoughts,
a sharp sword through a gentle stream—
I pretend to cut the ocean,
I pretend to imprison the heart
tomorrow
when tomorrow,
has my heart,
today,
is a sorrow away
stillness
there is a stillness inside,
where an earthquake could not,
shake the edges of your smile
shapeless
look back and it’s gone,
look forward and you’ve become an actor,
look straight ahead and assume a posture that is serenely available,
truth is total abandon to what must be,
it is courage itself,
for what is courage but a step forward into a moment without a shape?
a fish in a net is as good as dead
problems
laying bare on granite,
the sound of the waterfall fills the entire universe,
where is there such thing as a problem?
death
it is wise not to love someone too much while they are still alive,
love them instead each time that they die in your arms,
eyes on eyes, hands in hands,
take moments to die together each day
an ode to apes in tuxedos
oh how the stars draw us out from the mud of our original homes,
tasting fine wine and aged cheese, we lock ourselves in time.
we polarise and we jeopardise our innocence for projections of better lives:
a greener garden, a deeper love, a bigger bank of plastic paper and kings and queens and untold horrors, we sacrifice our innocence…
we lock ourselves in time.
oh but hollow are thine thoughts,
oh but hollow is thine money,
oh but empty is thine stomach,
after caviar and wine.
for no love was made in the future,
no baby born in the past,
no ecstasy is to be found,
in words and drawings.
so tell thine favourite stories,
draw to thy hearts content,
but on thine dying bed,
with thine head on thy lovers lap,
do not touch a single thought,
do not long for thine mind.
For thy are here,
eternally here,
do not miss it…
thine death is ever-present
