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.
THE WELL OF BEING
Suffering spills into the murmuring spring–
the waters that flow forth from the well of Being.
Let Karma carve the crevice deeper,
fill the pool fuller.
For it is from these depths of blackness
that truth will rise and resound.
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,
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.
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
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…..
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”
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