Tuesday, January 31, 2017


Truth is not statistical,
my dearest one.
Nothing is not you.
Objectivity is
the hardest of delusions
known to humankind
unsigned to hitherto.
All now plays
in a consciousness near you.

Saturday, January 28, 2017

For Emily

I saw the best souls of creation sinking in the quicksand of a blathering world. Only one can prevent the separate fires of division. After everything is said and done, one can say it slantwise or be like a tree and Wu Wei.

Some will light my fire and test your metal. One will let it be. Arthur Miller writes The Crucible while Marilyn Monroe is starring in Niagara. Soon they shall be married. Melville publishes his novel, Moby Dick, in 1851, and Whitman, Leaves of Grass, in 1855. But Emily always was anonymous. Correction: Emily always is anonymous.

As deconstruction is the only necessary evil, being is the only scientific knowledge not a theory. No object and no number and no modifier equals what I am. For every Horseman of the Apocalypse, there's a horse's ass pointing toward eternity, said Emily with a voice as cold as I.

On being unborn:

Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me – 
The Carriage held but just Ourselves – 
And Immortality.

We slowly drove – He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility –

We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess – in the Ring – 
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain – 
We passed the Setting Sun –

Or rather – He passed us –
The Dews drew quivering and chill –
For only Gossamer, my Gown –
My Tippet – only Tulle –

We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground –
The Roof was scarcely visible –
The Cornice – in the Ground –

Since then – ‘tis Centuries – and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses’ Heads
Were toward Eternity –

Children striving at recess. Ouch!

"The Dews drew quivering and chill." See Wu Wei.

If she needs me to be there, I'm there. If she needs me to be not there, I'm not there. Such is my unconditional love for Emily.

‘haiku of revelation’
dreaming up theories
mythology awareness
being an unknown

Science is the one American Idol. God is still the other.

What would will Shakespeare tweet if a Shakespeare could speak Basho?

I don't like it but I love it.

I love Emily.
She is a revelation.
Matsushima ya!

Friday, January 27, 2017

The Inner Groove

like a nameless desert
underneath a rainless sky—

all the pretty
horrible mirages rising
in the heat of our conditioning—

taking everything
in this wasteland of a world
with a grain of salt as large as a southwest

salt flat, say that three times—

is the only record
of a truthful absolute.

Tuesday, January 24, 2017

Behold from This Green Earth

Only I am. Everyone else is
just a lovely secondary thought.
And the same goes for you as goes for me.

For Being is the primordial and
immaculate conception. All thoughts
to follow are purely unoriginal.

But in Acadia did
the mountains rise spontaneously
from the deep blue sleep of the cold Maine sea.

And a wedding party hikes the eastern slope of First Light Mountain—
Wapuwoc—or what aliens will christen as Green Mountain—
but empire is calling Cadillac.

Upon sacred Wapuwoc the sun of all
duality is waking up
in stormy threes and sevens.

This is written in the great bronze age of
the United States Geologic Survey
but just wait until awareness is aware of awareness.

Sunday, January 22, 2017

Shrieve Me, Shrieve Me

Even being is a dream.
But the separate
person is a nightmare.

This universal dream of heaven isn’t
but hell wasn’t built in a day either.

And you simply can’t
spell self-awareness
without awareness.

Friday, January 20, 2017

A Rainbow in the Sky

From awareness to self-awareness
in what appears to be a universe
and what appears to be a universe
is simply in the eye of the bedazzled.

For if the parent is pure awareness
and the child is self-awareness,
then everything in-between is
the play of utter conception.

To accept the conception is
the first decree of awakened dreaming.
To accept the conception is
the first degree of being.
To accept the conception is
the seminal way to self-awareness.

And no bedazzlement comes
to the absolute except
through self-awareness.
For it is said, either
the child is father of
the man or let me die.

Thus the question ‘Who am I’
is answered by
the dream of being ‘I am I.’

Thursday, January 19, 2017


This false
of separation
is flattened
by one hard slap
from the universal
cosmic Zen master.
Intuition of the catholic.
Revelation of the absolute.
Let the ley lines enter and
insinuate their wisdom
through and through.
Bare trees rise
from white
energetic waves
are surging through
this central nervous system.
Countless snow flurries are falling
from a muted sky.

Tuesday, January 17, 2017

The Way of Dreaming

First there is the world.
Then there is a void.
Presently there is a dream.

In this universe of causelessness—
the spirit of intent selects your causes
—effecting a great awakening—
depending on intensity of sleep.

Causes are neither good nor bad
—but pushing and pulling—
along the intentional way.

And when a dream aligns with great intent
—synchronicity will walk the earth—
in enlightening lucidity of self-awareness.

Monday, January 16, 2017


There are no words for heart.
And love is never having to say.
If there are no words for heart
and love is never having to say—
what is there to say?
Nothing but blue skies.
Like the northwest passage of global warming,
que sera sera.

Something there is that doesn't love a thought.
So much depends upon a dream.
I am. Who are you?
Come forth sweet hermit shaman poets and unite.
For in the land of one, there is no two.
There is nothing but I am.
One word at a time—
unbelievable compassionate interstellar presence.


What is the word for being. I dream therefore I am.
The world is burned into my eyes. I see things.

Social conditioning is another way of saying being born.
We are all unindicted co-conspirators.

Truth is self-evident: pure awareness is unalienable.
Ceci n'est pas une windpipe.