White Crow

'Call this what you will...

"There is no path to here.
There is no path to now.
You are already, always, eternally, on, here, now.

Now is the only time you can be awake.
Now is the only time you can be free.
Now is the only time you can care or be curious
about anyone or anything.

Now is the only time you can do or be anything.

You may choose, now, to fixate and obsess on motive and memory, fantasy, and commentary, with their associated rivers of emotions, some of them perhaps very powerful.

You may be continually preoccupied, even addicted, to the endocrine cocktails they produce.

You may imagine that whole process to be the past, or the future, even the present.

You may imagine that to be your life, or the world.

But it's all just the play of memory, nothing more.

It is what your are doing with memory and fantasy, this very moment, nothing more.

And sooner or later, you get sick of the monotony, the isolation, the boredom, the self-centered wretchedness of it all.

To be awake is to be unconditionally open to all that is.
It is to be completely without prior opinion or assumption about anything.
To stay awake is to surrender, totally, to unedited and unrestricted awareness, to abandon the pretense of both past and future.

There is nowhere else to go.
Why not just be here, with tenderness, generosity, and compassion?

Why not fall unguardedly in love with the endless peace into which all things are born, your very own Self?

We are all the very Same One?
Why hold back?'


-Your own Self-

 

I can't shake a smile off my face as I read each line....
Spiritual, calming and universal. I read this and discover something new...
"And sooner or later, you get sick of the monotony, the isolation, the boredom, the self-centered wretchedness of it all."
How true...and I've been there.
First class poem thank you for sharing and it really touched me.

 

Her dark instinctual nature
flees from these binding cords,
of inequality.

Furious with the expectations
of remaining frozen,
in a missionary position.

Ablaze with defiance,
her passion overflows
any format.

She escapes this prison,
of design,
into primal truth.

Screaming with sharpened nails,
while spitting out lies
of an unbalanced relationship.

Engaging as Nemesis,
this lukewarm faith
which is blind to uncensored experience.

Then aggressively questioning
the civilizing control paradigms,
which create limiting rules.

Orgasmic fertility,
exhibits rawness for the sake of intensity;
praising inner life-force, her motto.

I now reclaim the Garden,
of my own making,
by embracing manifold daemon-wings.

I tend the growth,
of these poisonous and beneficent plants,
into sharp beauty.

I fly naked in sensual splendor,
with harmony of the twilight
cast over a composting cross of suffering.

 

White Crow


She, with the splendor of moonlight
glossing the inky noir of her iris,
gazes at the sparkling lake ripples.

Her memory of the country mile sinks,
gyring to the murky peat.

Just this...
relaxing to the extremity of each feathers tip.
A presence of calm abiding
with awareness on each exhale.

Again the self is lost in the mirror of Self.

As her oaken perch exhales,
a spiral of dreaming wind howls cloud-ward.

Advancing magnolia pollen is scattered
from overtone to undertone;
the Mistress' slick vesica-pisces leaves burning
like moonstone embers across the field.

A residue of peach glides like amrita
behind the root of her pointed onyx tongue.

All implodes with the call of oblivion.
A luminous void wraps around and within her.
The death of change is breathless.
And she is.

How does one describe a blink?

The lake reasserts central focus.
Thou art received eye-ward
with the most graceful of slight movements.

She is humbled by the gratitude
swelling in her oceanic heart.

 

Blazing circle of cricket passion.
Multitudes of thirsty flowers
open to drink the shimmering gold.

Each grass blade
with its pearl of dew,
is nestled with neighbors alone.

These windswept lake ripples,
upon the surface,
but how deep do the currents go...

Those sturdy roots
wrapped in dark earth,
do not long, just grow.

Does it ultimately matter
if my tone matches the birds?
My humming song will blend with bees,
this morning, if nothing else.

Wasp caught,
in a spider-web,
is it tragic or art?

We try to make meaning,
with our patterning minds,
but is it now?

What is seen
when you smell the dawn
unfolding its rays.

To be one,
with these coffee beans,
all else is waiting.

Interconnected centers embrace;
the clothes are a disguise.
Stillness of crystals,
reflections from the birdbath, shimmer.

An immaculate orchid stand,
soars in splendor,
caressing the aloes.

Streams of ants marching in worship.
This cool silence, abides,
from the dreaming self.

 

Let us speak with fragile truths,
freshly wrought ,
from silence to whisper.

Bypass the mind,
like a glass of wine,
with intoxicating warmth.

The meaning of this moment,
is the experience;
your eyes hold new feelings.

Where have you been...
It seems like forever
since your lips parted.

Embrace me,
with just your smile,
then I will understand.

 

She who would be recognized
is a chameleon of form.

Her gossamer gown
of pink and mauve,
spills forth resplendent
through emerald foliage.

Fair Aurora,
sweetest child of golden rays,
yours is the matrix of manifestation.
Weave us a web of light.

I greet you,
in a chorus of feathered friends
and ask of you everything,
yet nothing in particular.

My mind is lost,
entangled in the hair of Eos.

Goodmorning Raphael...

My palms are honeyed
with healing wholeness.

Thy shefa quickens the sleeper.
Thy ruhaniyot swells,
breaking into ruby waves
upon the iris shores.

 

Strawberry muse,
succulence and freckles,
a crisp organic purity
perfumes the air.

Unabashed play,
a teasing chase of flowing mirth,
with ringlets cascading in tendrils;
democratic recess on joys merry-go-round.

"Why marry," she exclaims,
"while wedded to a community
in fertile freedom?"
"I shall tickle you with kisses, instead."

 

Mist shrouds,
the horizons' shoulders,
as a wary scene
from an archaic moor.

All is stillness,
ephemeral quietude,
save the ticking of clocks
slightly offset.

And it begins,
a crystalline beading
of geometric precision,
petals of dew fall like veils.

 

You fill me with trembling.

The silver-threaded spindle,
of your words, evokes me.

Loops of emotion,
from the lattice of thought,
are nimbly expressed by your fingers.

Skein of dreams,
coiled like a flight of angels,
relays our heartbeats
in gently cupped hands.

Still your presence
quakes its birth,
deep within me,
as I almost remember
the secrets resplendent.

I breathe the memories
once whispered by your lips.
These shy feelings
slip like gems
into the pockets
of soft-lined darkness.

 

There is a beautiful stillness,
expansive as a mirrored surface,
in the moon-draped surroundings.

A sycamore fans its limbs,
branching crystalline,
encased in ice.

Like time-lapsed stars,
we are diamond-lit,
awaiting the dawn.

The night spills forth slowly,
seconds measured in vapors,
as an occasional bird awakens to speak.

 

A pair of regal white geese
float effortlessly across the lake.

Playful breezes
tickle the bamboo grove;
swaying the undulating leaves.

A mist blankets the distance,
like a gossamer negligee,
softening angularities.

Percussion of droplets,
pattering of rainy paws,
kneading the lakes skin.

Periwinkle curls mixing,
like deja-vu, atmospherically.
Beckoning for the wine of twilight.

An open relaxation
stills the minds' fire
to a sigh.

Grass blades moisten
in rejuvenating trembles.

 

Our attention is rich,
beyond the wealth of nations,
interwoven splendorous and poly-sensual.

I embrace the elements,
the sound of pouring rain,
dissolving into receiving earthen limbs.

Gazing at the common awe,
of droplets surging pendulous
from the forsaken awning.

This is where we used to dream,
the seizing passion of your enflamed deductions,
licking words teasing the ear to speech.

Oh, how can I describe,
the internal offerings
of this universe.

Blanketed rear window,
clustered water droplets,
so close the glass appears shattered.

Yet, shattered is not the word,
for this depth of sharing.
I say, flood me with golden heart-streams.

This rock alone I caress,
silken topography of fingerprints,
feeling like skin contours.

No smell, taste or sound,
does it emit,
yet so yielding to the touch.

I place this precious one,
in the coolness of a birdbath,
so it might vibrate with a crystalline fellow.

Mmmmm, I feel so vulnerable
under this open sky.
Everything is so glistening and continual.

 

The world is anew with fragrance.

Each blossom so unique;
A vulnerability, fleeting and fragile,
perfumes the air.

Hovering,
in rapt present worship,
before submitting to beauty.

The wonder of diversity,
each having a pollenated purpose,
all calling for attention.

I feel my heartbeat,
rapidly racing,
with each new inhale.

Enflamed inferno of fertility,
noble sentience beyond compare,
imprinting the duty of submission.

A nest of a thousand entries,
each a dancing moment,
and the one final home; here.

 

Fragile robin-egg blue sky
lies striped between,
banks of pinkish-gold.

These layered feathers,
wisp fallen from a fast moving front,
burn in evaporation to a fading mute.

Then the night creeps in,
on soft winds.

Waiting for the power to return...

Communications abruptly disabled
by random imperfections.

Caught, once again,
in the web of assumptions.

Feeling that I would quickly
embrace your presence,
after a hard days work.

A song arises;
a dusky murmur of frogs, crickets,
birds and wind stirred leaves.

I will wait here.

A quick glance, but it is not you.
Why would I have thought,
you would find me regardless?

 

An accepting of the bitter-sweet nectar,
of all that is interwoven,
in this retrograde bliss.

A feeling of your homeopathic gifts,
of attention,
these offerings are a frequency.

Who is invisible...
this I that appears not
in the mirror reflections.

Why react to the angst,
of one you wish to hold close,
a simple response will do.

Close is this but territory now..
this fear of losing
how we are seen.

We misunderstand
the placement of intent.
The need to bind materially,
rules out merging as energetic nebulae.

The blissful vast curling thorny rivers,
of emotional paradoxes,
linger.

I stand in this solar flare
till the burning purifies
my psychic debris.

What is gained
is this releasing of self
into Self.

Sinking alone into the cushions
under a net of jewels;
Sparkling immersive darkness is then...

 

A Central Sun,
of breath and heart,
beats with wild empathic eyes.

Each one
is a light unto themselves,
upon lifting the veil
to find an Original Face.

The Self interconnects our Love-will.

Some say this veil lifting
is as inner Armageddon
and tremble at the Great Work.

To sew the rent
betwixt self and Self,
blend hues of light
with what was cast away
in the darkness of inequality.

Arise and rise,
unmoving yet everywhere,
from the station of infinite portals;
each one an ear and an eye.

Intuition dissolves
that which sought to divide
for the sake of love;
Divorce no longer from yourSelf.

Pleasure is forgetting expectations
in the joy of exploration.

 

Solace within these howling winds;
rain-swept expanses.

Shaking off a flurry of leaves;
dead twigs falling.

Moisturized bark, unseen by roots.

Glory of majestic branching,
color splendor,
muted within these
slow moving amber veins.

All these pulsing dreams,
unheard and rumbling;
spiral of coiling memories
growing in rings.

Deliberation of extensive limbs,
each a cautious choice.

Full, aware of decay and moon.

Night-bird resting in branches of song.

All under the milky-way of skin.

Reclaiming, as sacred,
this voice asking to be seen.

 

Spark of newness
in that ones
bright luminous eyes.

She sees, beyond the beyond,
with memories vaster
than a Gurus lineage.

Oh and what of conditions...
the bubbling laughter;
questioning words, words, words
with knowing
straight from source.

Spinning spiral galaxies emerging from her smile.

Bless me with your silent glances.
Teach me your unshaped vastness
with a simple gesture.

Lead me from the known into the Now.
Give me space to run in these primordial vortices.

The Bliss of having All Love, as obligation, is hers.

No fear or doubt,
just this hand
that leads me back.

Back to where all began...

This is still in you.

Our daughter emerges from the Abyss
on a rainbow spiral,
she fills the womb of my heart with kindness.

 

The first rain of june falls,
like cold black pearls,
dotting my skin with droplets.

The grass, bark and earth
forms a slick spongy bed,
to kiss my seated observations.

Crystal spheres glisten,
pendulous on each needle,
arousing the pines darkness.

Nature, an immanent empress,
demands naked rationality
and hardened simplicity.

Her moisture penetrates,
feeding hoary swollen roots,
under the verdant moss;

While steady downpours
wash away the notion
of being a sheltered witness.

Purifying in its equality,
all is saturated
under a cloud-laden sky.