invisible

i'm nothing,

no thing 

i can see

taste

touch

smell

hear

no sense can tell me

a thing

about what i am

i am

invisible,

soundless,

no image--

need nothing

want nothing

should nothing--

no will apart from what is:

appreciation

love

approval

worship not the visible,

it is not worthy of You,

it will fail you

the invisible 

cannot be hurt

or killed

or even touched

your brother is not visible either

no appearance will ever satisfy

You

are invisible

who can divide the invisible?

it is but a joke.

no one needs to see you,

nor can see you

what you are does not depend

on others

there is nothing you can do

to get closer to what you are

or be more

than what you are 

stop trying to be seen.

You are invisible.

seek no more

to look good.

You are invisible.

all comparison

is (false) images

ANY image you have

of yourself is a lie.

You are invisible.

praise on low

there's a sweet song
a singing,
the melodious enter prizes
that suddenly appear
and then shift
into shadows

smirking at
the bait taker,
rhapsody in blues,
yellow and greener is the grass,
greener is your meadow--
oh dear brother,
it hurts so to see
technicolor over there,

way over yonder,
the heart that left Home
is oh but a lonely fantasy

fantasia is only undone
when you touch the grass
you sit upon
and see,
really, really see
this miracle
at your feet,
of your feet

praise on low!
the lowest of the lowly,
is here
at your feet--
even this
is the piece,
the peace,
of the Master

let the door but swing
inward

welcome Home,
dear Heart

it is you,
I,
that is forever
Love

there's a sweet song
a singing,
a melodious inner prize,
right here,
ever
here

ever hear

Miss Identity

Miss Identity
dropped her key,
and couldn't find her Self

someone found it in the gutter
and thought they now could be
someone else,
and start a new life...

isn't it funny
what a short life we have?
here today and gone tomorrow,
and even shorter--
just this one thought, gone now,
gone forever...

the key to the past
does not open this door

This One is
wide open,
without a 'you'
that ever was before

Miss Identity,
lost her name,
and people
thought they knew her,
for sure

but it was only themselves
they wrote on her

She
was forever
a wide open door...

death is holy

the happy dream
holds flowers

and life,
and death,
that is not evil,
but holy,
whole--
promotion,
expansion,
transcendance,
limitlessness

who would choose
to remain in a box,
an eggshell,
forever?

limitlessness is natural

who would keep studying
the alphabet
when the writing is on the wall?

horror

horror
is but another name
for unexamined,

for distance,

haven't looked yet--

you turned away,
to avoid,
to run

sit you still now
and watch the reflection
do the same

the wild eye
not so
wild

the pounding heart
not so
jumpy

the whoosh of hysteria
not so
windy

look
how tame the "monster"
sits,
exactly as still
as you

not one hair different

she is at home
with you

nothing strange--
not a stranger
when You
look her in the eye

there is nothing hidden here.
it's all face value.
now
that you
have turned around.

tendrils

when silent tendrils lay awake

the moon through the window shown

how delicate

this nature is--

can't be told at all--

like a baby's skin

the words cannot approach,

cannot approach

the miracle

you hold 

in your arms

halt the input

all things you reach for will never satisfy

halt the input
and notice what is

see the image through the glass,
there is someone home already.
notice the House is full,
the hearth warm,
the fire roasting,
there is no need to bring in
a shoulder to cry on

feel the fullness

halt the should
and notice how she does dance

notice there are wings and tails already

notice that she fell on her face,
crashed and tore all the skin
off her life,
bashed her bloody heart,
waded in the cattails,
was struck by lightening
and thunder that tried to deafen...

and notice how
in the mourning she sang!
in the morning the sun did rise
every bit as bright
as the day before she was born

notice that nothing ever layed
her lower than anything else

notice she never scored a goal
of another
and was fine tuned
to her own interior

notice this one that had no name,
yet answered to one,
left each mark on the pavement
with abandon,
never to return to that moment again.

the past could not skin her a second time.

it might have looked her in the  mirror,
but the second time was seen as a rerun
and didn't quite have the shock value
it's maker wished

the walls crumble
when you no longer need the house

halt the input
and you might just notice
the Unspeakable