Smiling Faces

Shapes shift, light and shadows alternate,
facades appear and disappear as Love
plays the masquerade of hearts
and souls, lips and fingers,
forms and faces.

From Her oceanic depths
a flowing dream of waves arises
in Love’s disguises born of water.

Still, as bedazzling as Love’s masks
may be, we won’t stop at any
liquid image – we’ll go

When our desire becomes as urgent
as that of a drowning man gasping
for air, we will become available
for Love’s true revelation, which
is not at all what any might
imagine, believe, hope,
or even fear.

Until then, Love is mostly
an empty word for those who
are still deaf to the transmission
emanating from the depths of
their own Heart’s yearning.

Most who come this way stop
at the Image, worshipping an Icon,
carved by conditions, sanded by time,
polished by devotion to a yet tyrant mind.

All the while, Love’s arrow buries itself
deeper, burrowing further, until, in
the abundance of graces, Love
recognizes Itself in our
smiling faces!

Just so, my Pearl, tonight
let’s get fetal with each other;

let’s curl up in that wooing
womb of emptiness,

wound together in the
wild wonder of our loving,

afloat in the amniotic fluids of
Love’s supremely cuddly satisfaction,

dizzy in the vernal perfume of our
unborn bliss, the simplicity of
the blessed revelation that
we are This,

our dharma of desire flowering into
letting go of what’s gone, gone beyond
any letting go of whatever never was,
just rolling in the gone-ness of
non-getting, grasping for
nothing, clinging
to same,

just smiling that smile we smile
when you see me, I see you,
and only Love is Seeing,
being Seen, loving . . .

See — Love is
the Midwife of our Delight,
attending this Mystery of
innocent Light!

Yes, Love is
the cause and result of Love,
Mother of the radiant Children of Love,
the conception, womb, and labor of Love,

and there is nothing
in the beautiful Body of Love
that is not the perfect expression of Love.

All form is but the dress of Love,
the wondrous random design of Love,
though seeking it only postpones true Love.

When we die to that search
we arise in Love;

when we empty ourselves
we are filled by Love!

All glory, praise,
and thanks to Love –

this is our song
and it’s sung
by Love!


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Open Mouth Point

Blown out in the breath
of Your rapture, I fall with You
into a stream of joyous smithereens,
swept under in the luna wave trance
of this night’s amazing revelation –

a conspiracy of stars, of hearts’
delight, the doom of all that would
resist the death that grants eternity.

In You all mirrors are shattered.

All visions, reflections, are outshone
in the immediacy of Your warm proximity,
as our lights mingle in the movement of Love’s
own perfect urgency to magnify itself, to shine!

Taffy-spun lovers, You and I, spoon-stirred
by the sticky hands of Love — sweet blend
of complementary light, a plasticity of
desire — wind around the zero of our
empty fullness, rousing oohs and
ahhhs from our kissed lips.

Tonight I will remember myself
by forgetting myself
in You.

I remembered
Your Enduring Smile
before I met You, and so
I met You, my own Love,
smiling right before me in the
form of You — my prayer rising,
my God so graciously descending.

This Divine Love,
smiling, welcoming me
back to myself, alive in the Light
of You, alive in this Touch of You,
reminds me, as if I could have ever really
forgotten, that we have never been so alive,
so alive, as in this moment now — not a place
in time, not a dream of reunion, not a play
of energy, atoms, or even anything
that we could say, feel, or think.

Standing before Her candy shop
window, along the carnival boardwalk
of the endlessly spinning ride, we pause
at open mouth point, struck speechless
in the dizzy ecstasy of our mindless
happiness, as a sudden flood
of Heart sings out in this
electric moment:

“I Love You”


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Mazie Smile

I have learned to bear the reflection
of myself in your eyes, for in them
I see my own self disappear.

What remains of me is
what is true of me – love –
and in this way I love you,
for nothing else is true but love.

Your reflection,
the solar smile of only love,
appears in time to consume itself
in the blaze of its own radiance,
and thus we are the kindling
of love’s bonfire, heat,
and shine.

We do not resist this.
We are this.


What else can we do?

We are the love
in each other’s eyes,
and so we are what sees.

What looks out looks in,
it’s the way it’s always been.

I see your love,
in the same way you see me.

I say love, and yet
it cannot really be said.

It is not a sound,
not even a fragrance.

It is not a view.

If you say, “a smile”,
this much may be true,
true enough for Kashyapa who,
watching Buddha lift a flower,
couldn’t stop smiling too!

Mazie Solar Smile

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Since You Asked

Knowing that you won’t be reading
this until tomorrow, doesn’t make
writing it any easier for me.

How’s that for an opening line?

Perhaps some will say
we are lost in each other.

That would be true, if
there actually were an “other”.

If there was truly anybody that
could be lost, we’d be lost.

Without a doubt,
we’d be goners.

Still, we’d be easy
enough to find.

Just look.

It’s simple.

There is only one looking,
only one finding itself as That
which can never be lost nor found.

Looking is looking,
finding’s finding.

If I needed to look for you,
then I’d already be lost.

You found me somehow,
nevertheless . . .

“When my soul was in the Lost & Found
You came along to claim it . . .”

Sweetheart, I know that
you are always with me, yet
tonight you are also somewhere else.

While you’ve been gone, I’ve been busy
putting various household things away,
re-arranging the great perfection for
no particular reason, except to
pass the time without you.

You wonder what I am like
when you are not on deck?

It seems I have certain idiosyncrasies,
beyond the ken of life’s Spell Check.

Well, what the heck –
I may as well come clean:

I dream.

I dream of a me, I dream of a you,
I dream of the loving things
that you and I do.

You’ve asked me to write while
you’re away, so my Darling,
here’s a clue:

As we sat serenely facing each other
at our dinner table last night, with the meal
you prepared spread out before us, the evening
sunlight slanted through the kitchen window
in such a magical way that we seemed
transported to another realm,
another time, and then
you smiled.

As you did, we were suddenly seated
far away in a tent somewhere, and dinner
bowls were spread out before us there too,
in that ancient place and unknown time.

We had worked all day in the way we did,
and as evening’s peace finally settled over our
camp, no words were needed — no, never a needed
word because, my Love, we both Knew, and then you
smiled that same smile, and every truth I have ever
known was radiating as That, the same Perfection
beyond time, throughout space, unaccountable
Love without condition, without separation,
acceptance beyond any bliss of liberation,
and warm tears streamed down my face,
and we didn’t need to say a word, for
in such timelessness the Benediction
of the Great One had descended
there upon us, and the Mystery
recognized Itself in a Smile.

Radha-Krishna many ways of Love

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Desire Quartet


“God is in himself so exalted that he is beyond the reach of either knowledge or desire. Desire extends further than anything that can be grasped by knowledge. It is wider than the whole of the heavens, than all angels, even though everything that lives on earth is contained in the spark of a single angel. Desire is wide, immeasurably so. But nothing that knowledge can grasp or desire can want, is God. Where knowledge and desire end, there is darkness, and there God shines.”

~ Meister Eckhart

The difference, if it exists at all,
between the common man and the saint,
might merely be to what degree one thinks
of reasons for complaint, while the other
knows in heart and mind there are none.

Take Desire, for example:

It’s judged by some as a deadly trap,
and hence it tends to get a bad rap.

From another angle of vision, however,
desire could be appreciated as a loving gift
the Source of desire grants itself so it can play
as two-not-two in games of being and becoming,
separation and reunion, lover and beloved.

Summer winds sift through a lifted window,
lazily drifting across our playful concupiscence
with neither judgment nor disdain.

We smile and fall into each other –
free of the past, the present, the future.

This is how to recognize the motion of light
for the superb artistry it is –

one unseen breeze ignites a thousand poems,
and desire comes full circle.

Hunger and satisfaction both,
we murmur no complaint –

life need not be in conflict with itself,
clinging to either purity or taint.

Desire brought us here, desire
sweeps our fragrant petals airborne
in winds of impersonal intent.

In the letting go,
it fulfills its purpose,
and everything sighs with joy.

While this soft morning breeze
scatters God as prasad over the fertile fields
of its own innocent yearning, we will float
in the transparent womb of unspeakable
light, ovulating new incarnations.



“As is your devotion, so is your liberation.” ~ Bhagavan Nityananda

Everyone can understand happiness.

Everyone knows exactly what it’s like
to be perfectly happy –

how else to account for the common
and uncommon pursuit of it?

If we didn’t already know happiness,
how would we know what to search for?

If we don’t know the treasure,
why instigate the hunt?

On the other hand, if already known,
why seek it, why not simply . . .
be it?

This happiness of ours is not
any known ecstasy of body or mind,
nor does it exclude any ecstasy of body/mind.

We know this by letting go of knowing –
discarding all that merely passes through
and obscures our original innocence
in desire’s brief masquerades.

Our fluid union is the drowning point of knowing
in the waterfall of the mysterious unknown.

We live there, pooling into a vibrant living energy
no poet can dream words for, nor scholar analyze.

Everyone lives there, but most imagine
they are living someplace other, someplace
that reciprocally supports a sense of being
a someone with yet some other place
that they would rather be.

Not we –
you are the exquisite presence
of the Mystery to me, right here,
right now, before and after forever!

This Mystery can take the form
of an unbounded ecstasy by reincarnating
as everyone and everything, just as they are.

It’s simply that we like to return the favor
by letting what is simply be what it is,
and refrain from interfering.

I see you, you see me.
Tongues touch.

There is general agreement, then
it becomes more specific.

We drink each other up
like eucharistic wine.

Since we were made for each other,
we honor the Designer by disappearing
into this irresistible Design.

Over and over and over again,
we lose ourselves where
the Woodbine twine!



“The way you make Love is the way God will be with you.” ~ Rumi

I begin by simply appearing as myself,
already in Love with you –

you appear to me as myself,
already always Love.

This is immensely arousing.

In the mutuality of our magnetic attraction
we are drawn into the monosyllabic vernacular
of this loving, the bodily bliss of original desire,
a synchronous release of primordial desire
into our immortal bodiless-ness.

The body does not resist.

Death is irresistible –
it is a bliss of the body.

It dies into itself, this moment,
moment, moment . . .

This is what it wants –
this satisfaction of all wanting,
this unspeakably beautiful death.

Tongues dance with each other in a language
tenderly translated by the hands to touch,
the breath to commingling light, skin
grown taut yet supple, sheening,
hearts ablaze with keening,
bodies shining towards
each other, blinding
each other in light’s own desire,
the play of mindless embodiment,
consciousness yielded to its own bliss.

We let go as it expands, yielding the fruit
of its own deliciousness, the suchness
of this first kiss, this messenger of bliss,
flesh to fire, fuel for fire, fire spinal,
full frontal flame, rising, brilliantly,
into a rare consuming darkness
for which there is no name.

We are not becoming God,
God is becoming us.

The way we make love
is the shape of our divinity –
something selfless slides into itself,
we disappear, washed clear in the tidal
streaming light brimming from our soul eyes –

I know you, there is only one,
you are the one not afraid, not other
than what moves exquisitely in ancient rhythm,
ancient rhyme, knowing without knowing . . .

You are me, Beloved.
Beloved, I am You.



At night if I feel a divine loneliness I tear the doors off Love’s mansion and wrestle God onto the floor. He becomes so pleased with Hafiz and says, “Our hearts should do this more.”


If you’re longing tonight for this rapture, here –
let me bring it to you, an offering
at your altar of desire.

I will worship there by stretching myself
so plushly over your innocent longing
you will plead,

“Don’t stop!”

I won’t. I can’t.

You are too beautiful
to resist!

Loving this suchness of you,
I am drawn to the heat of your serene
intensity, your breathless magnetism, the call
of your wanting, wanting to be free of this wanting,
not wanting anything but this, to never be spilt from
this drowning, this fragrance inescapable, the touch
indelible on the heart, the taste of sweet spring
water gushing, rushing to itself with arms
wide open, pulsing electric with that
for which we’ve ever yearned.

I place my head in the hollow
of your chest, and See.

What I see, you Are.

What you see
looking back at you,

I Am.

Between these two
no space exists, no time,
no memory, no wanting –

This love has become
the verb of our eternal glance,
a transmission without distance,
the word that breaks the trance.

These songs of love
offered for all sentient beings –

music trailing behind
the vanishing forms of us,

softly crying



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The Sound of Me with You


there’s a poem I cannot write —
I just don’t have the words.

What lyrics could fit themselves
into a silence that swallows
each one of them before
they reach an ear?

This song came before any ears,
before tongues started moving.

It is the poem
that I cannot write,
and so I hum, and thus
become this wordless humming,
even as you would too, and so,
obligingly, you do!

We hum together, me and you,
these sounds out of our own silence;

we rhyme —
one word’s enough for two –

one sound me, one sound you!

See, we belong together!

It works, it hums, and so
we become one singing poem,
no longer merely made-up words,
not a thing that one can hear or not,
sing or not, or say except with silence.

Still, away we hum, not knowing
one song from the next, just tunes
to instantly forget, while sweetly
captivated by the next –

a cavalcade of greatest hits,
played again for the ones
we missed.

There’s a poem song
always humming through us,
not a memory or tingling sensation,
no refrain from some gone-by day –

just the bliss
of what we cannot say,
and yet we say it anyway,
the word that goes unspoken,
the same way we go too,
a hum of rest in motion –

the sound of me with you.



I realize my Heart has torn off layers,
layers of something I can taste,
like tears flowing, as if I am
the heartbreak of all mankind
flooding across the world,
crying for a Love
never known.

As we bask in Grace,
Love speaks as Light:

Sound and Song break into Dance,
Dance breaks into Breath, and
I breathe only Love, Love
for you, Sweet Darling.

I break the rules of everything,
break the hearts of everyone
who ever dared Loved me . . .

and I would do so again and again
just to be with You now, rolling
together in this holy moment.

Oh my Love! I realize at last
with you guiding me, I am
the release of fear, if
any fear arises.

Just to lay next to You at night
and hear You sigh, to listen
to Your Heart’s soft cadence
matching beats to mine –

I would die for that,
my Love!

Your Love hums
mantras into my being
and everything becomes You,
the Beloved One, my Darling Heart,
I am drowning, drowned, gone under
the waves of pure Grace in You.

I am the Taste of Light
upon your tongue-buds, upon
your eye-shawls, everywhere upon
your self …. Beloved!

Standing alone
I stand with You,
You the Beloved One,
and there is none other,
nothing and no one at all.

Say it again, Honeyed Sweet Lips,
for I am so filled with the nectar of
this Loving, I could say something
that will stop God in his tracks, and
our constant acts of Love will show it.

I know it.
It’s already Said.

I Love You.



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How We Are

I worship
at the full tableau
of a tantalizing heart-sound,
an evocation wail effect offered up
to me from you, from me to you . . .


Desires transmute into a holiness
in this singular endless moment – the tip
of your sacred wafer tongue touches mine,
turning my limbs and life force into a liquid light.

There is no me, no you, and
no wonder that I wander wide-eyed,
unaware of shame, soul-naked and taken
to a timeless awareness where everything and
everyone is aflame with the fierce power of Love.

Some will perhaps scoff at my wild Lover’s talk.

There’s no map to illustrate any of this,
and there is no route written down
to get here where we’re at,
no word of mouth
to find us out.

What we bring
to this table cannot be said.

What we receive is unspeakable.

The cumuluscious cloud-seeds of our rapture
ripple ever outward, ever inward,
and everywhere we look
is rain-soaked in
our bliss.

We are eclipsed of even this
in the eruption of a brightness piercing
through and through both me and you, into God,
plunging past all futures, all pasts, now, always.

I breathe in and you breathe out;
my heart’s upbeat to your heart’s downbeat
in beautiful blood-song gong-sound notes.

We are pressed together like autumn leaves,
as awe and wonder in a memory-book
written out in spinal column symmetry.

In a passion-filled lotus-prayer, I
unfold before your beautiful, sacred body altar,
surrendered in the remembrance of who we are.

We are anointed in a Fathomless Love,
in a quicksilver light surge, igniting
and striking us evermore brightly,
shining with a delight and
grace-filled glory . . .

Something beyond
human knowledge or power
shoulders us beyond the gods’playing field.

I worship at the spirit tableaux
of a scintillating heart spill,
an evocative thrill-sound
offered up to us from
the Love we are . . .


how we are 2

Here is how we are:

Spooned together, we lay
blended, suspended, floating
horizontal in an infinite room filled
with luminous signs of our own design.

Vast spaciousness, no boundary –
we drift slowly out from the density
of our two bodies and into our etheric third,
the one living us now as how we are, the one
without center or circumference, the one before
even, before odd, before all the words we use for God.

Now we are ready, because
ready now is how we are, tuned
together, sifted into this blend without
end, when softly the wind chime chimes,
so suddenly that everything we are, were, or
will be falls perfectly into itself, fitted precisely
into place in space, as if nothing ever really fell.

Sleepily, we catch rumors of that falling.

Our invisible body moves, liquefies,
utterly bereft of any two-ness now,
loving itself increasingly sweetly,
each sigh in our room a sutra for
souls that pause and breathe
it all in, all of it.

We make the sign of how we are,
the sign of love that can’t be known,
for this is how we are, just as we have
always been, and what may have seemed
some space in time that dreamed itself
between us, some illusionary distance,
of which now there is no trace,
beyond all that –

here we are, as we are,
face to face.




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