I have released my spirit to Source,

that commands it.

Obediently I follow.

There must be no personal identity to hinder the creative act,

for if I am aware of the personality of me,

there can’t be the complete emptying to allow the spirit to circulate through the form in full freedom.

These words have become an experience not merely an idea or an imagined vision.

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I AM THAT

If my music didn’t exist,
the words I wrote,
the poetry,
each memory that popped up so quickly

into my field of awareness one by one,

then vanished…
If all those things that gave me a sense of “me”

that I grasped and held so dearly

–if they didn’t exist any more….
who or what would I be?

If these things came then left my field of consciousness,

and the only thing that remained was ….
that I was conscious of the awareness that was aware…

I would be that.

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THE ONE

The sun blinks…yawns, then rises

as the moon falls to earth–a dying rose before the last petal drops–

passing the torch to another day.

The eyes of Earth open

giving witness as Life moves in and out

…arises, subsides

as bird, leaf, butterfly,

the lowly rock, robin, human;

exalted or reviled. 

The One becomes the many and masquerades as form,

each thread weaving a tapestry of existence.

Interconnected. Vanishing. Replenished.

Chariots of shooting stars spin across the night sky

into the Cosmos

between the planets, beyond galaxies.

A glowing halo of conscious space is awakening

becoming aware of itself.

The “I” of Infinity…..

through You.

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EXPRESS TRAIN

Ye who come here;

As you peruse these pages,

view them as riding an Express Train through Time–

the same train we are all on.

When the train stops

and the Conductor turns around to tell you:

“This is where you get off”,

it doesn’t matter if you are riding first class or coach.

When your journey ends….

will you know who you truly are?

 

With hands untied and held in yours, 

you free me,

release me from the bonds of Earth.

You be me

With no between between us.

The fallacy of you and me,

of all the forms that make a “we”

disintegrates… eventually

as does the world through which we see 

creating our false identity

but fails to find and fails to see   

the portal where we  merge into Eternity.

The pattern again.

As never before

I feel the threat of loneliness loom

and the lure of the sensual ephemeral pleasures

that may appease the shallow fragmented self

that seeks escape to numb the self 

that clamors for truth.

Such a vacuum lingers.

Passionless. Without a country,

belonging nowhere and to nobody; 

for attachment forms strings

that pull we puppets.

Have I been asleep for 20 years or merely in a stupor?

When I probe into my inner storehouse,

there is nothing but the echo of a confused cry 

tethered within the cell of a false identity

 reverberating against the musty darkness

…then disappears.