divine couple

Although by now reduced to ash,
the lingering memory of the Nag Champa
still teases the nostrils with the aroma
of our union’s fragrant chemistry.

The room where the blaze of our love
re-ignited has now become a perfumed temple
where visitors from the future will break into
spontaneous weeping at the mere wisp
of our invisible vibration seeping
into their feeling being.

Deliciously, they will slide
like phantom tourists at a theme park
of the Heart from my tongue
to yours, yours to mine.

To get the intimate feel
of our body, they must have
already perished to their own.

This is not difficult –
one need only persist until
every desire reveals its source.

There is a cask of wine waiting there
that no one has ever tapped.

The Winemaker sealed it with a cork
of humility and placed it on a rack,
inaccessible to anyone still haunted
by the stubborn belief that they
are other than the wine itself.

Permeated through and through
by the fragrance of an open ecstasy,
we roll our light into each other,
sinking beneath incense,
ashes, wine, ecstasy.

Nobody will find us
until they stop looking,
let go, and fall into this seeing.

These hands that hover
over your skin have crushed
the starry vineyards into a golden
chalice of irresistible nectar.

When I pour this honey into you
we melt back into stars.

Just past twilight
in the floating worlds,
earth-bound angels will gaze
into the new night sky and dream
of us, leaning near to them,
softly whispering

“Ahhhh ….”


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Almost Smiling

The subtle movements
that this pulsing thread of body
makes in sleep languidly brush against
a fabric of dreams, a ravishment of wonder.

My Love, because we meet forever in the fluidity
of this dark brilliance as luminescent water beings,
I may seem to move closer to you in our drowning,
though between us now no distance could exist, no
shadow cast across this liquid bed of emptiness,
redolent with the paradoxical gravity of our
weightless past, our feather of a future.

When you finally appeared before me
I recognized you instantly, in the same way
I recognize my own face in the mirror.

I knew you by your happiness,
which is my happiness.

We didn’t need to fabricate
that which already is.

The absence of effort
is a proof of authenticity,
though we required no proof —

in the radiance of mutual recognition
we first embraced, then broke out laughing!

I only came here to be with you.

You called out from the heart:
“Come to me, Beloved!”

I fell out of a dark, sightless world,
emerging from a womb of emptiness.

I awakened to love, for you are love,
and you woke me to you, to this love –
I, who am nothing but your own love,
awakening to you, beyond perception or
conception, beyond all form or emptiness.

When we lay down together again
in that perfect posture of love’s culmination,
there will be no place where love leaves off
and something else steps in.

In wispy worlds
of passionate invisible molecules,
the wondrous water of what changes,
all directions will be nourished simultaneously,
without our effort or concern, by love’s sweet rain.

Later, in the soulful steam
of our evaporation, there may persist
a lingering trace of the perfume of our passing.

What remains of us:

a flashing memory of aromatic light,
my falling into you, you falling into me,
no ripple, no towering arch of glassine rainbow,
only sky, the endlessness of blue-splashed space –

the Unspeakable, inhaling, exhaling,
almost . . . almost . . . smiling


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Reaching In the Night

Oh Darling, I hear your broken cry and I tense up again —
it is always fresh, this wound, it is always pulling me into the body,
our body, where we have pitched our tent for this long night,
and even knowing that it is just a temporary camp-out
does not lessen the emotional gravity of how it seems to be.

Nothing can — that’s the point — and so in letting that in,
giving up the struggle to have it be other than what it is,
a kind of grace emerges from the pain, an angel of sorrow,
and shines a light of knowingness that contains it all,
forgives it all, and heals all at the source.

Such a simple thing, awareness not separate from the pain,
not divided from experience . . . really, beyond any words
we could fish up to designate it as this or that,
but it is always shining as just this, this pain, this joy,
this love, this breath, and the next – moment after moment.

When I touch you, so gently so as not to rouse a further pain,
but just enough so that you know what I mean —
that there is just this, not a you or me between it,
not any separation — I may blurt out that I am still amazed
by your very existence, your beauty, what a miracle:

that I can reach over in the middle of this night and touch you,
and that you are here, it is more than I can bear sometimes,
and so even in the midst of your cries and moans,
I must admit that, sometimes, beyond all reason,
I am madly smiling.

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The Song of Love

The Song of Love is heard only by Love. It is the loving rhythm of Love for and by Itself. Along with the little-known practice of actually Loving, and inquiry into the true nature of the Lover, such hearing is more potent than any other so-called spiritual discipline, until all such disciplines are recognized as only the play of Love. The blessing sound that Love bestows makes one who is ready immediately open and empty to receive, devoid of any resistance. Love’s real nature is the OneHeart Itself. Only.

The ordinary person wanders dreamily in their head, unaware of their true Home in the Heart. The Lover lives in the Heart. The Lover is Lived by the Heart, awakening to a constant whisper of the Heart to Itself. For the Lover, the true devotee of Love, there is nothing but the joyful movement of the formless Heart into all forms and relationships as Song itself! The Lover has no will. No choice. All such fantasies have been consumed by the lovely fire of Love. In the realm some call “this world”, the Lover knows that what they hear is not separate from the OneHeart in which all arises and dissolves, which they realize in the Heart as their own Self, Singing!

Love hears nothing as greater or lesser, higher or lower, better or worse, more or less desirable. All is only Love to such ears. In the state of Love the Lover hears nothing separate from the Beloved’s voice – radiance divine rippling in every direction for the sheer magnification of Itself in supersensual symphonic wonder.

For the Lover, Love alone IS, and nothing else.

By persisting in communion with Love, the Lover sheds all recoil from Love, until such dry tunes drop away completely, revealing that which Is. In such humility, Love, which is truth, becomes the sacrifice which returns as the Singing Smile, illuminating all that does not recognize Itself as Love. Exquisitely, Beloved presses so urgently down into mortality as a musical Love offering to that which lingers in the forgetfulness of its own true nature. How Happy is the Lover to fall into this slipstream of Loving’s Bright Song, that all may enjoy the delight of Love’s homecoming to Itself, the Self of all, the treasure of the living light of heart-broken surrender to the deepest yearning of being itself! Thanks and praise to the Inextinguishable, this ever-living flame, this HeartSong!

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The Peacock Grove

Beloved Angel of my heart,
how hauntingly the peacocks called
from our nuptial grove at dawn!

How thrilling for our first morning!

We may imagine, even now,
that we can still hear those peacock-
singing sounds, yet it is not so!

Even the most sensitive ear
cannot hear a single note!

How can that be?

There is no one hearing,
there is only the sound —
already gone before it arrives
to caress our ears with its absence.

Listen now, such heartbroken yearning
radiates in the poignancy of those echoing cries –

is any heart so different, is any tiny trill
afloat on the breeze not a soul tune
of bitter-sweet benediction?

All memories themselves are now rendered
superfluous in the pure peacock pleasure
of this omnipresent music, this rhapsody
of melting heart notes, twined in tonality’s
resonant thrill, echoing into forgetfulness,
drifting prayers on spring dawn winds.

I see you standing in the doorway,
sorrowless, stainless, serene in your loving,
and I am gently falling into your eyes, undone
in your presence, the presence of my own heart
that took the form of you, the eyes of you, your smile.

At this moment I hear nothing, the silence
is immense, a sheer block of immensity
that is appearing as you and me
and everything, everything.

From the centerless core of this silence
a peacock suddenly calls out to its mate,
and then my tears flood out at your feet,
and now you are smiling, reaching out,
embracing me, and this soft embrace
had no beginning in time, nor will it
ever end, my Love, nor will it
ever end.


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The Secret Door

Some say we only wake to grieve,
yet even in the land of sleep
I mourned for what I never knew:

through all those restless dreams,
my Love, I never ceased my yearning
for the waking touch of you.

I wandered foreign boulevards
bereft of destination; one place
little different than the next,
all steeped in desperation.

I followed every rumor,
every tale that tellers told,
but for all my earnest efforts
I was left out in the cold.

There is a secret door to love
unknown by everyone but you –
you didn’t even need a key, you
smiled and walked right through.

The secret door you passed through
rendered all my seeking obsolete –

a sudden weakness in the knees,
quick tears, and then I’m
falling at your feet.

The search at last had ended,
each precious moment now is new,
as I walk on through this waking life,
waking heart to heart with you.



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You In Me

me in you

Eventually, without any noticing,
even the canvas is forgotten,
and all is still.

Now there is only
this gentle falling out of balance
against a background of Perfect Balance.

It is as if you sit within me, knowing exactly
what comes and goes, appears and disappears.

I knew You are the One long before I saw You;
I sensed You with my whole being.

Then You enter into this realm of time and space
at a moment so specific that it had to be planned —
the timing so precise — the moment
that I saw myself in You.

It is not words we speak;
it’s the purity of Heart’s Knowledge,
not knowing — yet Knowing.

I have been everywhere with You.
I Know of every experience.

In every thought and every action,
I am there.

It is not about reading minds, but seeing
the truth in every word not spoken,
every word not written.

In the Place of all Places
we have sat together as OneHeart.

As a child I stared into the stars
and could feel the watching,
yet it was always from within.

It was not a Universe looking back at me,
it was my own self looking at me.

Oh I tried to hide, to run, to find shelter
from this restlessness, but there is nowhere
to go when You are everywhere.

Now I have stopped running
and I sit with everything everywhere.

There You are
as You have always been,
sitting serenely within me.





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