loving my children

isaac newton
stirred the pot
of gravity and apples,
pull and pushing,
pedal pushers,
drug pushers,
pushers of strollers
down alleys
of dark graffiti

it's all me

do not pretend
this is another person's mind
you see

how could it be?

your thoughts
are the prodigal son

they ask for
your table--
a sitting with

the dove
brings them
to your doorstep

the dove
carries these words

the paper they are written on
is your heart

they want to come Home,
dear Parent

won't you let your child
have her voice?

do you really need to lock
a two-year-old out of the House?

for you

green pastures
are not external

fertility is receptivity

would you be open
to everything?

then how else could
you conceive
with a full deck?

would you birth
without the entire will
of the universe,
your Heart?

how can exclusion
possibly birth?

receptivity,
where are your doors
closed?
whose knocking
are you not opening
your Heart to?

open fields
do not send away
one drop of rain,
not one tear

are you so open?
the dung is for you...

all of it

the Whole

the whole of the ocean moves you
or you don't move at all,
even the slightest,
is the Whole

it is but the Universe
blinking
peeing
eating

there is no separate "you"
there is nothing you do on your own

no credit

simply give thanks,
humility

remember
that every word
you hear,
the sunglasses,
the hairstyle,
the rock band,
everyone you meet
or think about
is the whole ocean

splashing onto your face now

there is no distant star
apart from this one
in front of you,
nor you,

the Same Ocean,

Wed,

no divorce possible

the only sane thing to say,
thank you
i love you

beauty

beauty
organizes herself,
organizing
principle

micrometer, beauty
micrometer, beauty
micrometer, beauty

watch
the crack

oh precious floating leaf,
just now
just now
just now

unfailing perfection

laughter isn't owned,
sadness isn't owned,
who told you
that you owned anything?
the you of a moment ago
is no more,
how could you possibly
own a fallacy?

insanity
is but a hiding game
within beauty's wings

i tuck my head
snugly under her arm,
and close my eyes,

and while being held
in perfection,
embraced

dream of a far off land
without a mother

i dream i am alone
while held so lovingly,
so securely
in the emerald garden

this beauty of my own
shining
shining
shining

eyes closed,
safe asleep
in my mother's arms

nothing more beautiful than a table,
for it is I

I love this beauty
or
i sleep

the devil

no one ever shakes hands with the devil
out of passion,
but only from confusion

i think fear is love,
death is life,
and separation is union

i act in my best interests
as perceived in this
confused state

i mistake "me"
for reality

i slice blocks
into dominoes
in hopes that they will fall,
but i don't see
that i manufacture danger/fear
in this
state of no thing,
no where,
no happening

"i" am always doing
the best that i can,
and "i" can never BE right,
beCause "it" doesn't exist.

a partial view
of the whole
can never be all inclusive,
wise, unlimited

that is the great
UNdoing,
"he needs to do"
"i need to do, something"
is it true?

is it truer
i need to Undo?
the doer,
the thought of DO?
doo doo?
due?

isn't it time
to get the joke?

no one ever shakes hands
with the devil,
beCause there isn't one.
hah!

an empty filing cabinet

erotica dawned on her thigh one day,
like a moth
hitting the screen
and darting off

and then it was gone
and there was no proof
it ever happened

there was nothing in the case
she carried around,
an empty filing cabinet

when the judge came to look,
there was nothing there

poof!
no documents
for documentation

outside the realm of "possibilities":
Reality,
No names are true.

:-)

humility

humility

allows
God's jewels

without "you"

it is all elegance

no place apart
no place not It

take "your" name off it
and all is well

do you see how the cover of "you"
is but
a dark blanket
laid over Heaven?

there is no name, no word,
no thought,
that can separate Reality

oozing from the ceiling

there was nectar oozing from the ceiling
long gooey strands hanging down all around
even as she got out of the steamy tub
day after night
after morning

but

only some times

on rare occasions

did she tangle her self in it.

otherwise she thought.

she was without the sweetness,

she longed for rain and honey

while the bathroom marinated in it.

there was.
noway
she could ever escape

such goo,

the very umbilical juice

had never left her dry....

but she rang day after day at the door,

waiting for the juice to come

while it covered the floor, ran down the stairs even

and filled every single cup!

what a funny story to tell your grandchildren...

you mean it was there all the time, grandma?

oh Heavens, yes, chilin'
thick as smoke comin' out the back bar-be-que

pouring through the cracks in every slat,
ain't it crazy
we was hungry?

Heart

when terror
strikes your heart

it cannot be true

notice
your heart still lives

not one moment of
anger, hurt or sadness
has made one dent

this is the meaning
of Christmas

this is the reason
for thanksgiving

this is the reality
of HolyDay

this is the light
that cannot be
refuted

Love

It is that simple.

test it

now

all things float
on the surface
of this see
of Love

there is no waste,
no refuse

re-spect it
and its light is visible

only dis-respect (not looking)
is an attempt to see love
as it is not

only an attempt
of the impossible