Wednesday, June 24, 2015

Formalism

I was nurtured on the teat of sweet belief
creating what I call myself. Unique. Good grief!
My personality is like an onion made
from all these other second-hand beliefs conveyed
to memory and accepted as a god’s own truth.
And so I fade from infancy to bitter youth.

But ask myself this question most see most naive:
do I remember being born? I can’t conceive
a moment never being. That is what I am.
The rest is just some evolutionary scam
the absolute unknown intends so I may know
I am the absolute unknown. No pain, no rhyme.

Friday, June 19, 2015

The Last Thing

Alone again but more alone than ever I have been since ever I have been me.

Most would say I wasted all my talents on obsessions, circumventions, and preoccupations.

So I’ll repeat my psychological evaluation here: my father never introduced me to the world; my mother was completely fearful of it.

This left me with one simple task while in and of this world: to tread upon the tiger's tail without alerting it to my inquiring presence.

I could write this story now as if this character possessed a choice in plot, development, or setting. But I didn't.

So let me end this introduction with my lifelong findings: there’s no world to introduce except a false one. And fear is why the world itself is false.

The world will never tell you this because it doesn't know it. And the ones who really know it know there's nothing to be told. I’d listen to them.

Oh to be sure, there are religions that will sell the sea to every wave within this ocean but religions are the world’s own fears personified and organized to hide them in some other hell.

And please do not misunderstand me. I'm still going further. The only reason why I'm writing is this entropy of poetry. This form enjoys the rhyme of dancing with the beauty of the truth it knows to date.

First, there’s only love. And if we listened to the Beatles back in nineteen-sixty-seven, we'd already know this. Then again, if John and Paul were listening, they'd never write the song, or I, of course, this poem.

Love is what we are without the need for wanting love or making love or needing to be loved and once this faith in love is truly followed, there’s no ‘we’ or 'me' remaining. Jesus Christ, just listen to his message.

Last, the only thing you need to know is there is absolutely nothing to be known. In fact, the thinking that there's something to be known is why one never knows that great unknown. The Cloud Unknowing says: unknow and know your—no, that—yes, my—unknown.

I'll end with just this other way if love is not the hard direction wired within your brain. Deconstruct the world as now you see it: tread upon the tiger's tail without alerting it to your inquiring presence.

Sometimes I'll talk to me so I will listen to myself. Like a rolling stone.

The Ballad of Long Division

In the land of long division
our denominator is the king.
And in the world of yin and yang
she may be queen. Or anything.

In the land of long division
war is our default position setting.
War may be defined as worldwide
or a little bit upsetting.

In the land of long division
answers always end with more divisions.
Taking sides will always lead
to new improved sky-high collisions.

In the land of long division
genuine nonviolence is the hero.
Long division ends when one
denominator sets to zero.

Thursday, June 18, 2015

Memories in Triskaidecameter

They're cutting down the woods again to build another house upon the hill that overlooks the river valley.

They haven't reached the woods I see directly out my window but I know it's just a matter of the timing.

The world is always changing and we love it better in the memory than the one we see before us changing.

A memory is a work of art creating something out of nothing freezing form from endless transformation.

The past is always being lived again because the past that's in our memory always changes with our living.

Today the woods are lush and green and yesterday the woods were empty and tomorrow never really happens.

Wednesday, June 17, 2015

mahatma summer king

in the territory of gray
squirrels, red ones
hightail branches
going sixties
steve mcqueen

dead vines
tumble down
a tamarack
like waterfalls
whipped with time

do not ask
the woods
for whom
the tree
is falling

everything
is
for the benefit
of knowing
this unknown

a rose-breasted grosbeak
finally arrives
from somewhere
southern, innocent
and full of pure potentiality

every living form
appears to be obsessed
with summer’s near arrival
disregarding every clue
it comes and goes as never here

sleeping means
seeing something is happening
awakening means seeing
nothing
ever does

great ones only
go beyond
division
by dividing anything
by nothing

there’s nothing
to say
that needs to be heard
except
it’s nameless

the leaves are green
the space is green
and my interpretations of
my dream is green
that’s what i’m dreaming

the summer’s here
and time is ripe
to contemplate
the transformation’s later light
and sing what no one’s saying


Tuesday, June 16, 2015

following after poets

filling the birdfeeder 
with sunflower seed 
watching the splash 
little blackened shells 
big bang fireworks

a red-winged blackbird flies
across the empty road
a man is walking a dog
a dozen boats are floating
on the late sunday river

books of ryokan and saigyo
robert lax
on the coffee table
birdsong coming through
open windows

the light above
my shoulder lighting
purple ink on paper
reflecting in the picture
window

like a moon
in space between
the wall and green face
of an evening
summer wood

manifestation
is
the translation
of revelation
into mind

bliss
is
the revelation
as felt
by body-mind

as evening deepens
reflection of the room
deepens in the window space
basho walking through
the woods

poetry is
the inspirational
reflection of the revelation
seen in words
and dancing

in the dark leaves
appear like clouds
shadowing deep images
although I know
they’re nothing

spoken silence
saying something
leaving
someone
silent


To the Purple Rose of Consciousness

It would appear, in evolution, this form of being which has called itself a human being, is the only form of being self-aware.

Instead of being, basking, in this self-awareness, the human being has discovered transformation, called it death, identifying with the form itself.

The world it builds is just the fear, forgetting self-awareness, disregarding being as its base, and practicing idolatry of form

in semi-permanent outstanding structures of its buildings, roads, and infrastructures, pyramids, cathedrals, banks of skyscrapers,

in other words, materialism, scientific and objective, praying at the feet of form to overcome the fact of form,

to fear of death and not a celebration of this awesome functioning of self-awareness, being, basking in and as this self-awareness,

being light and basking in the light, this being, basking, being, basking, crowning function of creation, crown of evolution,

noumenon of all phenomena, true revelation and apocalypse, the power and the glory, knowing all the universe is just reflection of oneself,

the mirror knowing it's the mirror, truth unborn, undying, I and nothing else.

Sunday, June 14, 2015

opening the field

it must be
almost
summer solstice
i can smell the sweetness
of hay

the field is divided 
between tall grass 
and space 
now 
in bales 
  
imagine this confluence of 
intelligence 
consciousness
bliss
like a field of sea

(write with mind
as self
to nobody
then
circulate)

emptiness
using the mind
and not
mind using
itself

consciousness
between intuition
and inspiration
reflecting awareness
is the revelation

tree frogs must be
at their peak
i hear
a distant siren
in their harmony

further is our intent
the open road
is consciousness
dividing lines
speak to mind

a new wild voice
not one in memory
almost like a seagull
in coyote staccato
beyond dna entrusted archetypes

heighten experience
lowering experience
consort or saddhu
any experience
will do

one
doesn’t make
the moment empty
the moment is
empty

reflecting
experience
not
reflecting on
experience

the experience itself
touches dna
mystic third rail
seeing
there’s no archetype

beyond
archetype
is
that
unknown

the time
to speak in
tongues
is fast
approaching

the moment
without reflection
experiential
beyond archetype
the great unknown

deja vu
is stuck between
an archetype
and distant
memory

you may remember rome
more power to you
but experience itself is how
that archetype
got milk in a day

it’s not so much
being mindful
as being
doing
mind

see the moment
beyond all archetype
now phantom
the noumenal
unknown

arjuna doesn’t
just arise
arjuna will
experience
for krishna

by knowing
now
the great unknown
now knows
the great unknown

to know now
i need to know
what isn’t now
this is the clown
of creation

there is a window
i see the window
the window is open
there’s an open window
i am the opening


Friday, June 12, 2015

straw frogs

first there were peepers
now there are tree frogs
around the time
of crickets come
fireflies!

every movement takes
about fourteen billion years
if you really
wish to believe
evolution

a religion
may be
detected
by its glorious
guilt

wax
wane
yin
yang
full moon tao

guilt or
being mindful
there's your yin
and yang
of all religions

i've never not been living
i've never been dead
i'm not guilty saying
i don't know
the difference

you're probably
at the corner of love
and I
you’re probably
within spec

my latest death
poem is
that Evolution see
there is no
death

i've been trying to eat
less words
and finally learning
who to copy
never mind this writing

the word
becomes the primal scroll
then it's printing the copies
later is the reading and at last is
silence

Thursday, June 11, 2015

the grass hut

thank you
tree frogs
yin yang noise
for my grass
hut

god is
the foundation of empire
while mind is
the foundation of dreaming
god

doublespeak
is what
the empire
hears
as truth

truth is
destitute
and homeless
in the speech of
doublespeak

truth is
seeing there appears
to be two
as the world believes
in one

the act of knowing
yourself
there’s the john of revelation
mona lisa now
apocalypse

when the movie
leaves the screen
to walk within your world
it’s basically
over

my generation
the first generation
to see illusion
from behind
because wizardry of tv

the closer you
get to the end
the more I see
there’s no
beginning

we die
when the slow clock of intent
meets the fast clock of transformation
someplace other than
now

listen to the tree frogs
alternating stars and zeroes
ever since the big one
it’s either something
or the other

the difference
between freud and jung
is yin and yang
young
old

i will go
further
as long as i feel
like going
further

honestly
speak your truth
as if it frees
you
or kills you

all these words
aren’t the
eye
of the
hurricane
  
the grass hut
is
one
seen
through

Wednesday, June 10, 2015

noumenal reflections

neither
rhododendron
mountain laurel
nor azalea

neither summer
leaves
nor winter
snows

neither yin
nor yang
but nameless
tao

there's nothing
personal
in this
process

as you
see it
and
misunderstand

let's say
the noumenal
unknown
spontaneously

knows
the noumenon
and such a knowing is
phenomenal

We Are Kurosawa


On Kurosawa’s Throne of Blood

false ones that usurp
that great immortal god
the noumenal unknown
will now be overthrown
by their own phenomenal truth


On Kurosawa’s Great Humanity

Kurosawa is a singular visionary
but not a nondual one—
his deconstructive sun
blinded focusing his eye
on rubble of imperial delusion


Atomic Dreams

imagine being one
coming of age
in a land
devastated
by two


Credits

know
there is no one
nor other but
that noumenal unknown
i am

Tuesday, June 9, 2015

Leaving the Remains

Approaching summer solstice,
there's a flower to be faced.

The act of getting to the edge
is not for living on the edge.

Something isn't deconstructed
just to live within its rubble.

Seeing through the false
is not the seeing in itself.

The truth is not extreme,
nor desolate, nor cynical.

Breathe in that fragrance
of a spaciousness beyond

all narrative of space.


Monday, June 8, 2015

The Beautiful Equation

what appears
to be a universe
to you
is just the process of
the absolute's intent to know myself

it's like intent
to see myself
creates a mirror
most appropriate for that doing
you see it's complicated

after the lilac are the leaves
an osprey in the sky above the river
rhododendrons in their final purple burst
a bend in the creek
yellow buttercups appearing in the grass

the mind sees beauty
as this complicated object
to explain
it's not
really

me
you
love
one
I

Sunday, June 7, 2015

Sha Ma Na Na

in the world
following awareness
unbelievably
may be a crime
try to make you do time

to avoid doing time
start thinking of
me as
I
love

big pharma is
especially afraid
ah-oooooh
werewolves of
consciousness

the likes of Shakespeare
doesn't write a play
as much as play
is writing
Shakespeare

more like
Shakespeare
is forming
ten-thousand
monkeys

Shakespeare
deconstructive
Basho blank verse some expansive haiku
silencing
the awful noise of holy empire

to bee
or not to be
there never is
a question of the honey
no

the June sun
is shining
through a seeming gap
in the leaves like
Stonehenge

no matter
how you want to slice it
there's no way
you're doing
straight time

summer is
breathtakingly incomplete
without
the appearance of
fireflies

Holding Hands in a Light Blue Thunderbird

From the road approaching Grand Canyon there appears to be a sudden gap in earth and nothing there but open sky.

It's true for people too. Asking who I am, if asked in earnestness, and not relying on another for an answer,

will approach an open space unoccupied by thought, belief, or all conditioning of any form,

resulting as awareness in one's free and open being, as if this universe of space and time was driving

toward this edge from its beginning. Now, the revelation has arrived. The Great Unknowing only knows itself within another.

Saturday, June 6, 2015

across the river

river at low slack tide 
strong east wind at my face 
downriver an eagle maybe a seagull 
no. 
buddha nature 

now 
is the month 
of our summer solstice 
made glorious 
green in a synthesis of sun 

across the river
is a wilderness
of eastern white pine
reflecting
across the river

in the smoke
of coming summer
everything is
consciousness
appearing higher

you can lead
imagination
to water
but it won't drink
the inspiration

life
is
a dream
you play
by heart

only
the heart knows
one
divided by
zero

zero shines
at the speed of light
some belief
shadows it
no way

the way
appears to be
bi-polar
but it's only
reflective

across
the river
there is
no
river

Friday, June 5, 2015

On 'The Wizard of Oz' / A Dream Review

the tin man 
like the truly 
empty one 
he is 
follows his heart 

the scarecrow 
stuffed 
with so much thought 
is being 
mindful 

the lion
is in the act of using
its own thoughts
to deconstruct
belief in fear

dorothy
now knows
oz is but a dream
reawakening one to
home

the heart writes the play
and the mind makes it
mythic
so as to see all the action as
the story of one

follow the heart
be mindful
and don't believe
for you are always home
the absolute I of one

Thursday, June 4, 2015

Adult Film

the meaning of the dream 
is knowing it's 
a dream 
or otherwise 
the dream continues on 

without a meaning—
this simple knowing
is awaking
one
as pure awareness

in an insubstantial
unafraid and
undivided
unadulterated
bliss

Wednesday, June 3, 2015

seven quintets in search of a name

1.
already leaves 
ignite into sky 
as ravenous caterpillars 
burn in the name 
of transformation 

2.
the fox moves
in the moonlit emptiness
silver leaves living
only in the echoing
space-time of mind

3.
July fireflies
in the lilies of my June
imagination starring
Zhuangzi and the Amazing
Magicians of Las Vegas

4.
transformation is
emptiness is
impermanence is
illusion is
is

5.
deconstruction is
seeing no construction
ever was
including the past
tense of is

6.
mercury apollo
carbonated water
cadillac granitic
strawberry arising
being anonymous

7.
blossoming mountain
laurel almost seem
to grow gossamer
brightly closing
my watery eyes

Tuesday, June 2, 2015

untitled

1.

everything is 
consciousness 
except I 
consciousness is 
I

like
I think
therefore
I forget
I am

fourteen billion years of
working on the night shift
and all I get to wear is
this flower saying
self-aware


2.

I write for nobody
so if anybody hears me
they'll know who
they are
I am

only you
know
if
you know
I know

I am attached
to your dream
at the body-mind's assemblage point
of Hollywood
and I


3.

people are either
builders or
finishers
the fool has no
marble

dream time is
the best time
to be
or
not to be

(i hope kids are still
learning
long division
isn't
the solution

using 80-20
by the seventh generation
from out of one-million
there's like
a baker's dozen)


4.

mystic experience
of the experiential
now
is basically
the assemblage point

touching that
experiential
assemblage point
is like being
the moon

reflecting in the river is the moon
reflecting sun
being absolutely zero
equals I
love

This Experiential Play

Illusions last for more than thirteen billion years. The great enlightened and marvelous evolution is the wizard of it all.

In the audience are those that have been fooled to think they're separate from this wonderful and awesome universe of enlightening intent.

Listen to them laugh and cry. And laugh and cry. And laugh and cry. And scream and die.

Although it doesn't matter what they say or do—it's just a matter of observing what is true, to you. I am.

Monday, June 1, 2015

seventeen imagist chinese haiku tanka omaha

1
practice is type a
logic is type b
paradox is type 3
being is
type

2
if you look closely
you see the world
just as you need it
to be
to know

3
the universe contains this body-mind
and this body-mind is intending
to know I'm not this universe
but the universe is that
I know I'm I

4
paradox is the mother
of all logic
but it only takes one
to form
a religion

5
it's never mystic
because it's personal
and now that it's personal
it can't be mystic
so be it

6
i love love
but the personal
makes me think
it hurts
love!

7
sometimes the crown lies heavy
and sometimes i'm the crown
of all creation in tao
if it ain't one yin
it's another

8
under the influence
of love
it's best to love
before you have the time
to think about it

9
the transmission of mind
is
unconditional love
it's really not
a secret

10
no matter
how hard you try
you will never make the present
an identifiable product of the past
so drop it

11
we may believe
what we've been told
but i am
that
which never is said

12
my job is
to know
I am
thus I do
me

13
just hearing
truth
is like playing
music
in the hemispheres

14
hearing
three
in
five
as one

15
you can't mass communicate truth
it's the matter of one
on one
I speak
me can't hear

16
transformation is
like the seasons of the witch
that is green
this lyric
of the revolution!

17
imagist chinese haiku tanka omaha
original postmodernism
i can't believe
it's still
light