wholehearted

Wholehearted

can't leave out a single thing!

not one.

(every cell of your body--heart)

any child's hand
that reaches for yours,
that has not.been.held.
yet,

is yours.

Would you sing you
a love song?

Is it possible
that you would
really ever choose
anything else?

in a small town

in a small town,
lived a small boy,
with a small mother,

and a very large Dad.

The Father was so BIG
He could hold ten million little boys
and ten million little moms.

And He could kiss so BIG
that He could kiss them ALL at once, too.

He was so BIG
He could hold the sun and the moon and the earth
on his little pinky.

And He never slept.
Not one wink.
Not one blink.

The Father never lost sight
of His Children.

Though His Children flew far and wide
and travelled on all kinds of contraptions
through time and space,
they never for a moment
left His Presence.

Landed,
Held,
Grounded.

Not possible to leave
The Father,

Awareness.

No Name.

Sand

"I say unto you
if the sparrow's every need is taken care of,
is it not so for you?"

Your empire is of sand.

It is only the invisible that can stand,
withstand,
all sand.

What matter how "large" or "long in time"?
sand is sand is sand is sand is sand is...

the life of enraptured song
cannot be seen,
nor held in a hand

what matter its title,
or rank
or "wealth"
or numbers?

what matters how many times
it is repeated?

sand is sand is sand is sand is

Scream all day that night is day,
that Love is absent,

an army of sand
is sand

It's all you, sweetheart.

Sand is not your enemy,
unless you want it to be.

And no matter what,
you can't make it last forever.

I give everything all the meaning it has.

Someone told you "D" is for devil!
but oh, how sweet the doggie, "D" can be for.

F is for friendliness,
the resting place,
the way I walk in joy,
grace,
gratitude.

Thank you.

That's all the addict or the lover ever wants
is but to know her own Pure Friendliness

that no sand can ever touch.

Listen

When the phony brigades protest:
"Your loveliness is dim, my friend.
Your house is darkened."

There is a bird resting in the eaves
who will but sing
in the morning
and the evening,
in your silence.

For every change
that seems to come,
She will sing.

"Be still
and know:

Nothing has changed.
Nothing has changed.

There is no separation."

levity

Levity heals the wounded breast.

Faded tears rest
where no error is possible.

"Error" is make believe,
just like "savage".

Thought is the quilt,
the stitching, the colors,
the texture,
the silk
and the corduroy,
even the hand that sews.

What,
the source of thought?

system

Can you expect a (thought) system
to teach you about itself?
It's biases, motives, and limitations?
It's incoherencies, and confusion?
Can you expect insanity to be clear and free
and honest and compassionate?

Can you expect it to unplug itself?
To deconstruct itself?

No, darling.
Only waking up
melts it...

as candlelight
shows imagination
to be false

An ant cannot teach you
the Way of the Giant.

One easy stride of the Giant,
or a 1000 grinding lifetimes of a ant...

Silence.

Extend

open wide your wings,
your fingers and toes,
your heart's door,

wide as a sheet of paper
that floats on the breeze,
this way and that,
swooping,
then gliding up again,
spinning in circles,
dancing,
touching down lightly,
then up again,

carried
because it is open wide,
as a bird with wings spread out fully

But close up
like a ball,
and just watch
how fast you fall!

Extending yourself
is how
you are carried.

The more you extend,
the greater the lift.

When you lift up your brother,
it is you who are carried.

respect

respect

respect fear?

the blind spot,
that cannot see,
and so hesitates,
a faltering footstep?

Yes, respect the blind one.
What are you expecting of one who cannot see,
whose mind is in a darkened tunnel?

Only your kindness,
your kind voice, is invited.
Attack and criticism are not just.

You try covering your eyes
and maneuvering this world.

The blind cannot see what
they cannot see.

Nor can you!

We all are blind to whatever
we've hidden from ourselves.

It's not easy to respect our self
with that hiddenness,
that blindness in our own pocket.

Delirium.

Kindness is the call.

Respect, for all of us
as we walk the world
with partial vision.

Can I take the log
out of my own eye?

two wrongs

two wrongs don't make a right,
and one right doesn't make a right either

right is not might
and rights are not white

sight is everyone's
inherent right,
and light is not the tone of the skin,
but the tone of voice

are you serious
and full of fright
or is your heart open--not tight?

is your hand
a fist
or a palm?

is your mind
twisted or calm?

are you relaxed,
receptive and clear?

is your mind open,
so your ears can hear

the crying of a baby,
the tears on the rug,
are you able to reach out
and hug?

will you hold this blossom
as lightly as you can
that you may open and extend
as far and wide as you can?

"Miracles as such do not matter.
The only thing that matters
is their Source,
which is far beyond
evaluation."
acim

Love Matters

White love matters,
Black love matters.
Love matters.

Isn't it funny to give it a color?

Republican love matters,
Democrat love matters.
Independent love matters.

Isn't it funny to give love a party?

Clouds of love
misting,
moisting,
free to pour out of hearts everywhere

free free free
to take all shapes,
sizes, colors,

to move anywhere at any time
without "permission".

Love needs no laws
to secure it.
There is no law that can ever diminish
or imprison it
in anyway.

Love,
the highest law of the land, air, space...

Love,
forever free to be Itself.

Love
rules.

Amen.

Ripe

Can you ripen and fall
before you do?

Love the baby
where she is.

The baby,
humanity,
your neighbor,
your state of mind

needs space on her blanket
with her toys all around
to look up at you
and see your smile.

She can't walk
before she does.

Can you love us
even as we crawl?

Half a window

If you only look out half your window,
how pinched the premises--
the premise is.

One half a brain,
leaves out everything connected--
the obvious, behind the scenes.

Oh let the curtains be open wide,
wide, and wider still!
360 degrees is to see
what is below you.

What do you stand on
while you march?
That soil,
precious gold--yes!

But your heart, dear one,
your Heart,
there is your Home land;
there, your Home land security--
there.

Lock anyone out,
anyone at all,
and you are homeless,
indeed.

Some people say that
a house is a house,
but
why is it a different color everyday then,
why is it so soft,
a canvas of the sky,
the softness,
the mist,
the first drops
i hear?

why is it
the air?

i saw her
look back at me,
her humility--
that she owned nothing,
claimed no "house" for herself,
her "identity"

quieter than quiet

without her title of "house"

what are you?

i am your mood,
i am your state of mind

i will only ever
show you
your self.

Stilettos

Stiletto heels don't really make you taller.

Stature is always a thing of the past,
for you have to feel shorter than another--
less than your Self--
to want to fake it.

The grass doesn't long
to be a fence,
and yet bamboo seems
to be both.

It happens or it doesn't.

Roller skates are not square,
and boxes mostly aren't round.

Corners are perfect where they are,
and perfectly absent where they are not.

Just try to stack marbles!
(no wonder we are discontent
and tired)

No one needs stilettos
to spin the finest silk
the world has ever known.

i am
that I Am.

you, sir

you, Sir,
are you the costume you wear?

and the reply is always
"no, dear maid, no."

I haven't quite ever
turned into this suit of clothes
nor the hat upon my head,
nor the shoes--
though there are many--

nor the title--
not Mr. or Mrs. or Ms
or Dr. or sister

nor the paper upon my wall--
not even the one that says I
was "born".

what does it say
but some numbers
and names?

but who can name what
never was
before?

without a clue?

on one's first breath?

upon "arrival"
and perhaps not even that,
for I haven't yet
any kind of hat.

perhaps not a thing
at all,
nor the space between,

perhaps the Unknown,
no mind can digest nor dissect,
not that, not that, not that

not that.

the maid

with bended hands did break
the brawn of morn
on breath's first take,

the moth of "savior"
in the closet,
the dust of ancient beliefs on the sill

'twas but the maid,
the lowest servant
who the Highest
in the lowest places
found

the cleaning lady,
after all,
turned out to be
the heroine,

a sparkling window,
to see,
to see!

Backseat

Oh the relief! to appreciate.

What does a "soldier" mean to you?

Isn't it just a man (or woman),
a human being,
a body?

Or is it?
Are you that?
Then surely that IS what you see.

And what of the depth, the Limitless?

Does this one not need this journey,
this experience,

to burn alive--
to ask the deepest questions,
to be on the front lines--
to see the effects of his beliefs
and actions?

Perhaps he needs to see
"carnage"

to turn around.

Perhaps no teacher
but Life Itself
will do,
in this moment,
in this place,
for this one.

Would you prefer...
a delay
in her path?

Do you really claim
to know,
to have,
to offer,
a mightier path?

Love will out

Love will out,
for She never has aborted.

Only where you play
at binding Love
do you hurt.

What tremendous effort
it takes to fight.

Just watch Love
at your back
as you march to war,
enfolding you in Her Arms,
dear One,
and your "enemy", too.

Salt and peper
are both gifts.

Feel the gratitude.

Watch your Heart's door
swing wide open.

You can only pretend
you are not Love
for so long.

Love will out,
for She never
has aborted.

Still attached/One.
No isolation possible.
Love

maiden voyage

maiden voyage

without past,
the cleanest air,
the clearest view

without a label,
forever maiden,
forever un-made

your "voice"
oh my darling

who cares the words
that of This
seem to shape?

God,
"the""sound""of""the""human""voice"

Roll over, Beethoven.

Maiden Voyage.

"thir-teen"

have you ever heard such a beautiful sound?

sound?

Peek a boo

there is a game mind likes to play,

hide and go seek
IS a child's game

Father knows nothing of it.
Father sees All,
no hands covering Eyes

To lose your Self?
How could it be possible
to lose what you are?

only a game of pretend:
now I am a fish,
now I am a girl,
now I am a man,
now I am a house,
now I am strong,
now I am weak,
now I am a sloth,
now I am the tiniest, lowest
scum of the earth.

Peek a boo!
I see You.

Snail

extraordinary edifice,

magnificent
snail,
ordinary, ha!

what can be ordinary
about a "tree"?

or any of it?

exquisite
curve,
no mere mortal,

the vital-ity!

away, away, awash
it seems

yet Absence but another dream

yes, divine words:
"What is essential is invisible to the eye."

oh my darling snail!

Life is not
a race to be run,

not a race,
not a race,
not a race,

no thing,
Ordinary

Song

rise up singing!

before the center,
Song

and the song rang out!
resonated,
woke the sleeping
and the dead

the Song!
oh yes!
(the forgotten Song)

even moved Alzheimers arms
and dementia legs

it made the soul,
the tiniest cells,
to move again,

to jingle
bells

in the night

in the dark, dark night

nothing could stop the Song,
not yelling,
not hatred,
not even bombs.

She
opened
and opened
and opened
and opened

exuberance

exuberance

feel it

nothing can break it,
no hammer or bullet
can touch it

it can't crumble
or age

no fossil fuel needed

no factory can manufacture
or improve upon it in any way

yet it can melt
melt rough edges

warm the heart of an entire planet

oh the power,
the flood
of exuberance

no one
it does not touch

no one
it does not love

no one
it does not embrace
and appreciate

must you?

once up on the pedestal he stood.
twas quite high above

the ground below
was soft and so earthy,

but rest wasn't something he ate for breakfast.

digestion called for
stars above mountains,
gurgly lakes,
mud bubbles,
lazy records,
and number and letters
that tweaked raging volcanoes even

running from the hotmoltenlava,
sweaty and out of breath,

"yes, all this," she said,

"must you?"

Never wrong

when the wrecker truck comes,
get in
get in

he's right on time,
every time

the Universe is never wrong.

The Universe is never wrong.

one time a truck didn't come by
for sixteen years

but who's...

what..
is that...

waiting by the side of the road,
eyes looking way into the distance
for sixteen years!

while
lush
fertile
is

The Universe is never wrong.

She gave her Self a pasture
and it was so delicious.

No thief

Did you know there is even joy in the stolen dollar bill
right in the coat pocket of the thief,
torn from the hand of the needy?

Even in the deprived headlines,
abundance, generosity, wellness, gratitude.

Thief succeeds. Yeah!
Watch the money flow from hand to hand to hand,
ebb and flow,
ebb and flow...

all the while
wellness is.

The moon glows big and yellow and orange.
Tender grasslings make their way through the soil,
and people laugh and sing,
even the "dying"...(or is it the "living"?)

Even as people send their hateful gaze
this way

Joy has no reason to go.
Joy is mine!
Say what you will,
there is no thief
that can ever steal joy.

invisible

It all happens where you don't see it.

Nobody does.

The synthesis,
de-synthesis

underground,
in the dark,
behind closed doors

only without you
is it visible!

isn't that a paradox?!

who then can see,
but Itself?

there are no complicated steps
that will get there

every complicated step but leads away,
deeper and deeper,
into complication,
nets, webs,
internets! ha!

nets within nets
within nets,
strands and strands
and strands and strands...

looking at "microbes"
through a tiny scope
where ALL ELSE IS EXCLUDED.

such clumsy instruments
to measure the Eternal,
the Invisible,
the Immeasurable.

how many numbers
will it take to find God's address?
ho ho ho!

how many streets?
how many stairways
to "heaven"?

just one more
says the voice,

just one more
cookie,
one more fix...
one more lie...

only
the cliff
will do

open windows

After being locked up for years
she decided she would open the windows wide
at night,

open them all the way,

to invite the burglars,
the desperate,
the needy one
to enter.

She even put a ladder to the window
and a sign

"solicitors please come in",
"all welcome".

At first it was a stray kitten
who found its way
into her bed
on top of the covers
and into her heart.

Then it was a small boy
who was lost,
homeless,
abandoned by a mother
who needed her drugs
more than a son,

a peddlar,
tired of the road,
weary of all the "no's",

a young girl,
pregnant by her father,

a lion tamer
who could no longer
scare the hell
out of wild beasts,

a banker who invested his soul
in the black hole account,

the manless maiden,
haunted by the fugitive man,

a roller coaster,
that lost it's bearings
when it found the straight and narrow...

even a pear tree
began to grow
after seeds and soil and rain water
blew in during a storm
that lasted seven days
and seven raging, flashing nights...

when still she kept
the window open.

She didn't want to close out the stars
ever again,
nor the worms,
nor the beggars,
who were so clear
they wanted her Heart.

She needed every single visitor,
large and small,
to come
and call
on her Heart.

Unspeakable

There are tortoises
who love to lay in the sun
on a rock,
all day
by the water.

There are bees
who hover all day in hundreds of flowers.

There are sofa cushions to hold
from sun up to sun down,
and jet sets, jet seats
faster than sound!

There are five droplets
that go this way
and ten that go that,

and one
happens
in a way never before
and never again,

life
without concepts,
Unspeakable

On Jealousy and Self Hatred

if I was her
then who would be me?

who would write my poems,
paint my paintings?

would i really wish death
on this tulip?

God, you made a mistake;
you did it wrong.

would you really rip away that life?

Freeze.

the.frame.

Stop.

In perfect stillness,
in timelessness,
without a past,
without a future,
without other,

look again
at that tulip?

Look very closely
at each cell,
each cheek,
each curve,
every nuance of rose...

TOUCH her.

Inhale her.

the indescribable,

is she not the perfect queen?

Trees

What I love about trees:
deep calm,
flexible,
no fixed position

Serpents

Let all the serpents come home,
All the miserable sinners,
the frightened child in the night
having bad dreams

Let her climb into bed with you,
Every snake,
come home
to her mother

Home,
under the warm covers,
the kind heart,
Mother's Love

Let her relax
in your Safety

the ambassador

it just arose and arose and arose
like a scarf being pulled out of a magician's hat

until she fell
silent

and in the silence
faded away

then the Madame knocked
again on the door,
the big hair,
the big smile,
the painted lips,
the bold glow,
in her red blazer

there was nothing to fear about her
now

she was an ambassador,
she brought all the foreign parts
to the fore,

no need to go traveling
to meet the strangest,
the estranged,
parts of yourself.

just sit

and listen

bowstring

like the bowstring
stretching, stretching, stretching,
there is no strain

what use a bowstring
unstrung,
lying limp in a pile?

we are meant to stretch
out
longer,

that when the love
propelled great distances
lands in foreign soil

it is no mistake;
it is a great kiss,

hello, sweetheart,
I am yours

Kindness

Kindness
is an ocean.

She is not
in short supply.

There are no strings attached
to kindness.

No, not strings attached,
but joining, embracing, supporting...

loving care,
no separation,
nature

Kindness is an ocean.

No loss
ever.

She watched

She watched as her words
got run over by cars
and trucks,
flattened on the wet pavement,
and flowed down gutters
into the sewer.

She watched as the itty bitty words
and the gargantuan words all
seemed to evaporate,
vaporize
into mist,
were recycled
and rained again and again and again,
sometimes even piling up
waiting to be read...

but it all boiled down to
no thing,

just music
and squiggles,

jiggles,

and giggles

I can

“I can”

and the gasoline flows...
wings...
breath...

before I notice
it is happening.

“I can’t”

and the train is off the track
in the ditch
unable to see how it will ever
move over such rocky terrain.

What a magician!
mind

believe it and you see it,
even though it is not there

now watch the caterpillar
walk straight up the wall,
the fly rest
upside down…
on the ceiling

what an amazing show

that isn't

what if

what if
all people wore masks,
a simple white veil,
and the sound of their voice
was but one,
your own,

and all people laughed exactly like you
and thought as you do,
even believed as you do,

what if
you could clearly see that?