everywhere mind

there’s the being nowhere

then there’s the bringing of all that I am and have been to each ordinary cup of coffee and spoken letter

there’s the letting of the truth run free and wild at midnight in bathtubs with weightless witches from Marrakesh

how life rejoices with us in those unrestrained temptuos unfoldings

how it resonates to our music and sings back to us in the form of signs and synchronicities

howling like the pure life of wolves in sparkling darkness

constantly dawning

carrying the weight of worlds on feather back
shielding storms with deep breaths and sighs

life, my guide, you render my vision into paintings of pure light and tend the garden of eden for playful delights

we might as well call it guilt free roaming
sorrow-filled and ecstasy unbounded

life glorily as it is
life glorily as it is

unspeakable and sincere

nowhere mind

when old stories whither,
an uncertain current moves in the wind…

an excitement flickers!

liminal places resemble potential

calling forth,
retracting inward,
nowhere to rest…

resting in the nowhere!

butterflies in the belly,
curiosity of the mind,
emptiness, oh emptiness,
you remind me—

that even change,
is but a dream,
carry on—

the grass continues to grow,
the kookaburra eats the scone,
the child with the wooden spoon

the deserts of eden

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


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