Sunday, December 4, 2016

Renga in Paris

When approaching the valley 
spirit and its serpent winds, 
some head for the memorable hills. 

But electrical geography and biological transducers.
Emptiness and transformation. Hollywood and vine.
Awareness is beyond all taxonomic ranks.

Mirror mirror waterfall, who’s that unknown powerball.
Potentiality is nothing ordinary.
Third eye. Second wind. Heart heart heart.

Bare trees dancing in the sky with a rhythmic stillness.
Darkness descending from sweet glacial moraines.
Venus is sailing on her universal silver river.

Although it’s seen that nothing is really known,
an energetic trace of fear remains as
something once thought to be known.

And even though one knows it's nothing,
Christ it tastes like shit.
And so it's said that Buddha is a dry shit stick.

While the world is dreaming
to awaken, one is always kissing
the phantom of that opera.

Only love can know it's nothing.
The mind can only talk about it.
And so it's said that all you dream is love.

And love is a tale 
told by a fool 
signifying the absolute.

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