Cast out were his alien dreams;
Aspiring and confident he did leave.
Fiery ground of thunder burnt his home;
As he alone cast out for that void,
perceived through his singular glass dome.

Adventure had caught him lonely
But peering out from his craft
his pupils did glow!
Circling fiery molecules hovering to and fro!
How could he now transmit and show
Reflection of scale small and macro!

Fumbling, his fingers did try
To articulate the machines
Imprinted of his native language.
"Calling Cpt. Crow!"

Sending the signal the results did show
A break in the wire and a fuse did blow.
Barricading that soul far and deep,
A minuscule solar flare
Emanating a glow!

And from that earth looked upward team and crew
Saw idle in that gigantic void a singular golden hue

Distant but true was the connection they all knew.

Among'st a non-judging expanse,
Creative clouds dance.

Through fields one might prance,
Find a tree and sit
Or take a different stance.

See it fully or just give a glance~

The clouds, they form in multiplicities,
Reflecting simplicity;
Expanding creative form explicitly.

What'll it be?
How'll it grow?

Beautiful sky of freedom's form,
Modify your figure and break the norm.
Show me what never dies and is forever born~!

And reveal to us in time what is on the inside,
Usually hidden when worn.

I saw this in the clouds today, when I was bored..

Four Directions, there are, for you to perceive.
Four Directions, at the center there is me.
If I could see in Four Directions, no one could see me..

If I could only see in Four Directions, I truly would be free.
Four Directions, creating space around me.
Four Directions, if I could only see..

If I could see in Four Directions, I would be you and you would be me.
Four Directions, we could trade and see, what it would be like
to perceive Four Directions,

If we could only see..

Deep between the veins of a crying leaf

Lives a sneaky green thief.

Hidden deep within is an infinite release.

Under his cracked wooden dome, found belief.

Creating magnificent worlds abound!

Fascinated with the life that sprang from ground.

Humming, he meanders from each sparkling leaf.

Catching a wind breeze drifted by belief.

Betwixt twilight and dawn
T'was a terror that spoke,
Ridding me of my blessings
And tore me of my senses.
Curled and coward I shook!
Uttering of Lords,
I cracked my voice,
"Devils Live!
T'is them creeping
Deep in darkness!"

When God's hold their breathe
And the Sun dies for sin!
Breathe you wretched child
And live once again!

But when the word is said
And stands the Priest over the Dead
Remind yourself not that what ever
those men and women died for,
They could have loved it more
were they here instead.

Still they feed on what against you heed;
Dripping, still with thirst.
They will drink you dry
And lick their lips as if you were the first.

To banish them from the night!
Regard my words for their worth.
Remember the chant in the midst of tarnish
And survive my lovely soul child, renew your birth!

Often, on quiet days, I wade through forest paths to the outer most regions of town. Close to the brink of wilderness where the humming sounds of cars and popping noises of God knows what can still be observed. Yet, the pure land surrounding has been blessed to be untouched and unblemished. Here, I retreat. I circle the bend and climb a hill until I reach an isolated plateau of nature reserve. Where natural phenomenon rise and cease in incessant and lullabic oscillation. As if to unplug my mental cords and to store away my worry, fear, concepts and systems. I reach a haven of unity. Although I own no land for myself, out here I can't help but feel this lost land of paradise is fully mine. However, I would like to do away with the notion of possession and self and here I can get closer to doing so. As if I were a small, beautiful water droplet being plucked from that cruel water resistant surface and to glide gracefully back into an encompassing body of water where the temperature is the state of my mind. And on occasion I notice another solemn being, clearly human, stumbling down the same path I had managed to carve and from atop the raised plateau, I can watch them. They circle and turn back, but I can't help but wonder if they feel the same as I do. And sometimes I think to approach them slowly and calmly and inquire about philosophical concepts. But I wish not to disturb what is so beautifully held in the essence of the silent forest. I would wonder what knowledge or truths these men and women had attained during this life and if it were to resonate with my own. Or possibly to share. In the town and at the refill station I dare not to inquire about such trivial matters but instead I nod my head or note the weather. But I cannot help but imagine and sometimes even feel that there is something deep within us and the space and entities surrounding us that is ineffable and profound. Yet it seems that it is lost in the thicket of ideas, concepts, and biased reality just like the sunlight in a dense, cold, unlit forest. And I have convinced myself that if we could clear even enough of the baggage we carry as entrapped souls that we could create a more beautiful, serene, and harmonious state of unity and achieve transcendent heights of being right here and now.

He who is loyal to a particular one
     is a slave to discrimination.
He who is loyal to both
     is ripped in two.
He who is loyal to neither
     is impartial and safe,
        a king of his own.

They dart with illusioned purpose,
I alone, am distant and far.

They speak on trivial affairs,
I alone, speak not of the obvious.

They delude intelligence,
I alone, can say no more.

What it is I feel,
Never could be construed.

I can offer no consolation
for those tied and unwilling.

This blind expansion of
unnamable multiverse
weighs heavy, might I say.

I want my eyes to penetrate passed your make up.
Passed who you think you are and who you want me to see.
Who is it who wears this false claim?

Go ahead and look at the average life span of a human.
Now look at your age-
Now who are you?

Does your mask still conceal?
Or have you felt something deeper, stronger?
I'm tired of the words like human, love, hate.

Let's sit silent and look into
each others eyes
And see each other for the first time.

What if I could find Heaven
Amidst my own way?
Would you condemn me to your Hell
Tomorrow?

If my soul could wash with the wind
And my heart could soar the skies,
Would you quarantine my unique spectrum?

If I could sing with the full moon
Or dance to the soul of fire,
Would you claim me a hedonist?

Or would The Tower of Babel block the barrier
Needed to perceive you and I as the same soul carrier?

The man who tries to prove a point
Is unsure of how sharp it is.
A man who wars with blunt arms,
Is confident in his own strength.

The man who bears armor brave,
Falls heavy into his own grave.
The man who comes naked
Is sure he will return unscathed.

But, not every warrior is the same;
And no war can be fought
In the shadow of divine aim.

Let it be known~
        Beyond the mere musings of tool bearing monkeys
               Lies an ineffable essence which deflects archaic labeling.
                      
This is the direct experience of non-discriminatory equalization
        Of conceived notions.
               All which may be considered good and true
                       Vaporizes in the blinding eye of this clarity.

Language is the battleground of ignorance and illiteracy
        Of what begs not be named~

The ebony shade had cast a dark distance;
The depth of night would swallow echos whole,
Leaving no trail and no solemn mark.

But, a million delusions would rampant rage,
Ripping and tearing at an illusory cage.
One fine mark, between light and dark..

Clarity would tease its way through the shaded groves
And the branches would create a labyrinth,
Showing the light where to go.

To my heart and the center of the circle.
Where, on the hill, the sun rises purple.
And the lonely chant drifts off like smoke..

Wind whispering ancient lullabies;
Hypnotizing its children, it smiles inwardly.
At rest, yet acting everything at once.
This is true effort, true power.
Hold the knowledge that the river
Carries the leaf effortlessly
Reaching its destination just on time.
Smile inwardly like the mother that holds you.

The man who tries to prove a point is unsure of how sharp it is.
The man who comes to war with blunt weapons is confident in his own strength.

The man who comes with armor falls heavy into his own grave.
The man who comes naked is sure he will return unscathed.

But, not every warrior is the same;
And, no war can be fought in the shadow of divine aim.

High on Hawk Hill, where ancestors of past had danced and chanted tunes of yore. Sat a modern man, dressed in illusion and bold in his character. He was of a consuming nation, and regretted that, but what
could be left behind here at these healing mountains not even the local bellman would speak.

So the modern man and a group of individuals all from distinct cultural groups waded down and through the rivers. Dis-clothed, they would look each other in the eyes. The clouds would hang like lily pads of atmospheric magnitude over head the stage of man, waiting, smiling, wondering. Bathing and cleansing, the beings would draw steam to the heavens from their radiating bodies. Rinsing with the herbal perfumes and seasoned smells, they would dress in flowers and beauty. Long dryad hair wore the women of druidism. Feathers and clothes draped from tribal piercings and exuberant head wear.

They stood wooden spires over peering exceptional mountain ranges which held the coves and nests of spirits. Something deep was within the Raven's Caw or the magic that the deer's leg print led to.

Piercing the corrugated peaked ridges laid within winding and glistening river banks which brought leagues of fresh fish to the bay peoples. Poking from root-stock, the medium mammals would bore warm dens with fresh nuts and berries to feed. The red gloaming sun would reign overhead when bellies were full and out would the children play. Songs were crooned throughout the lands and together the creatures of the bush would wander to join. And when the sun would squint its last ray and the darkness kissed the land with hovering summer warmth. Something ancient would hold the stillness.

Across those gigantic ranges was the spirit of nostalgic history. A thudding would be announced like the marching of a great ocean of ones forgotten. Bounds of diverse souls and spirits colored of rainbows from differences would pour and not even the most contemporary and constricted could argue the depth of beauty of these myriad mixed marching souls.

Curls of vapor rose like dancing spirits from the hearth of camp. T'was a nightly ritual that invoked the spirits of ages. For one man locked in trance to envision the union of souls, no matter immense diversity. Songs would project from those hollow vocal cords of ghosts harmonized and jiving. Limbs of smoke would wrap around the enchanted man, lifting him to realm of the immaterial. Those disembodied chants and drumming of old seemed to converge as the
man was dislodged from a heavy body. What was left was a golden hum of unison, floating, floating.

Hovering light like a cloud of non-density, buoyant in a space which seemed to have no points of reference. Simple and overwhelming was a warm and ecstatic hum of bliss that enveloped what should have been his body like thin silk robes woven of divinity. Laced in caressing arms he would drift slowly and softly back to a solid and still world of night. Exemplified darkness would circle a single dim lit fire, almost gone out.

Those drawing off hums would change tone and become the snoring of lovely plump women and young children cuddled. All of energy which once was exercised, was left but just a simmering coal of fire and pipe.
The smoke curled once more from the feather dressed man's nose, seeming a dragon in the night.

Tired would the night drift along into those colored dreams. Smoothly, the hills would rise and awaken into a purple, crisp morning bounding with birds. Squirrels would perch and nibble. Winds would brush glittering  glades. Hushed but ever known would the spirits rest in their eternal vaults..

I can feel my heart beat deeper now.
The release of lust has left me bright and living.
My veins course with vibrant pulsations that
bring about a serene confidence in the
silence that I form around my dwelling.

What it is the traveler wishes
to see within me, is a vast
emptiness that will vanish when perceived.
Nothing special is the key,
thus every moment I am hidden.

Amongst the brush the sage can sit,
where no wind can blow,
and Mara is caught cold in snow;
The moment is beautiful, kept and slow.
Thus the answer to everything is the act of letting go.

I'm not sure I'm convinced
That this world makes
Any ******* sense.

Look, I've seen it, been
There before. Again
Here we go.

How could I ever convey?
Life is like a chance
of dream

With some spice
of no-go.

Towering over the moon glazed groves,
Soaring phoenix of night-
What are the storms of your mind?

To what measure do your cloud wings extend?
From shores of salt and shells,
To the high rise of the wise old mountains,
But where therein is your essence hidden?

Flaming jewels for eyes,
That vapor of solitude,
Treading the night skies.

Lined by lightning feathers
And bold with thunderous clap,
Created are whole windstorms at a single wing's flap!

Great and noble, we know this bird.
As loud as the storms at bay;
But they say he is made in silence,
Speaking through things unheard
And words we cannot say..

So sailed across the star candled oceans~
Did the age-old secret scroll,
Stories of the Night Phoenix, adventures of never-told!

Embody the world!
Dream into creation!
Your touch will comfort like carpeted grass.
Your voice like the wind and streams of peace.
Your breathe like lemon grass herb, warm and sweet.
Your mind like the mountains and clouds of the wanderer.

This man walks with poncho, satchel and cane.
He claims no wisdom and wars over no land.
He saddles the wind and chants to the Gods of ever-last.
Trailing only is a smokey film produced by his pipe of eternal life.

Modest is the heart of a good man;
Keen are the eyes and consciousness.
A natural fortitude are the roots of a clean soul;
Spread are the arms of success upon a mountain.
Survey the landscapes of history,
The beautiful transforming of this world,
Divine in its nature!

Crystal King, Prince of the dead lands.
Dead mind workers and slave hands.
Built on corrupted bones and dark magic confusion tomes.
Life thirsty wings glide on the damp air’s breeze.
Lower down, on the ground, paranoid characters stumble with unease.

Dark Pictures hang my minds walls.
As I stumble down endless corridor halls.
Searching for the source of the chaos at hand
Deathly doom, I can feel it all across the Crystal King’s land.
One crystal ball at the center of it all.

With the swirling air and fogged glass bare.
Within one sees the dreams that one believes.
Controlling it all from a mountain top.
Powerful and forgetful, the lord never sees.
The infinite love in a single speck of dew on a leaf filled tree.

Those November days I ought to know so well;
How they might often pass like a quick breathe,
Amidst you at once, and soon leaving nothing left.

The puddles after storms would emerge standing swamps;
And the cloudy sky would cast a constant haze.
Around, silently, life would go on, for countless days.

My journal would saturate like that of one
A bard weeping who had cried upon
           Just a mild tune to cast a moment away.

T'was the gleaming dawn that those fairies poked from the veils of flowers and caught on hair were the pedals of the healthy sun. When the age was young and time knew not of itself, the hills were not corrupt.
   The wings of faeryflies and butterflies were tarnished not, but were glode upon by the winds of aimless grace; Thus they were always at Heaven's feet. Racing upon the glorified mountains were the badgers and bears lined in unison, smiling and perfect. The sun bound its rays to the shoulders of grass hills like eyes of Gods upon their children. Stood ***** were housing trees of the nested kind, fertile and lush.
   Lazy and idle slumped man happy and lethargic, hypnotized by that herbal glory that was his natural home. That of a kind that had been stolen in past tales but was revived in that timeless moment that could be lived and lived again alone in the forest to the east. Winged reptiles fluffed with fur dove from penetrating limbs and sung to the distance in inspiration. Perked were the ears of the majestic and gorgeous felines, born of the deserts that were the companions of kings. Not caring to hunt, lapped the wolves and dogs laying with the enemies of ages gone. Now only peace was reigning.
   Books and poems spoke of nothing new for the moment had found itself in heaven. The poets had no magic to convey and the authors nothing to tell, the scientists nothing to document. Thus the dreams of Children and Gods poured like water of the loveliest kind, sparkling with diamonds quenching the soul of the population. Food grew lush and free like fruits of divine knowledge upon that giving tree!
   Ritual and rite spoke of many diverse Deities and contact was non-denominational. Praise rose to the highest and rang of the clouds which were glided upon like notes of bards to which realms beyond one could go no further to speak! This was the realm from which language was born and art was bare in its true identity. This was where the onyx was carven by the Lord's anvil, given by the spirit of blacksmiths, and craftsmen of the like. Within those onyxes was night's essence and dwelling within the diamonds of day was a rainbow of fantasy hills free from decay!
   Giants gave free rides to the ones below with lifted songs of magic, levitating them free from natural bounds! The trees grew miraculously at speeds unknown to time lines perceived but was of time construed as God Speed. Bushes bared fruits of rainbow colors and iridescent visual illusion! Beautiful and bold were the tastes that quenched the deepest of yearnings. Salt liquid would drip from the children as they skipped from haven to haven with baskets woven on crafty mothers said to know of love. Those mothers would lullaby their babies to worlds of sorts known in mythologies of ageless civilizations! Lifted and beaming the children were transformed to angelic entities with harps of berceuses. Emanating were visual paradises transcendent of worldly nature but only known to the angels and the ears that were graced by glory!
   Proud were the further generations of what had been laid out by their tall, masculine birth fathers. Unholy language was unknown but only the ecstasy of heaven poured from lips like nectarous liquor.
   The forests were lined with prairies of diverse flowers sprinkled and gazed upon by moons and suns of worlds magical and beyond! Stumbling, the mossy giants wore clothes of Pan and draped were their leaves over their limbs reaching for love and what may lay beyond those wreathes.
   The soaked floor of druid woods were vibrant and lively. Untrodden paths bore magical potions and herbs that once ingested sung through the guest's frame till ecstasy was found and language no longer made distinct the inevitable unison that those vibrations of time had strung through countless, and meaningless ages. Entered would be a realm beyond form, void and the concept of either. But only would love and the moment of now float like stars of unfathomable material buoyant in the womb of worlds. And sprung from what would be perceived as void came all the heavens and what lay beneath those shaman's and kahuna's ingrown feet.
   Embedded were the children of time, one with nature and naked in themselves and free to breathe what ever purified and holy air that cuddled their outlines like a mother does her child.
   Spoke from ten thousand horns were the tales of Lords and Gods and kingdoms that laid harmonious upon mother earth. No matter how the bard of the local bar was spoken, crazy he would be deemed by men who now hid this knowledge from those who knew not of the possibility. In all languages that soul would speak to all ears ignorant to difference but had love for only the song. And now still the gift of imagination and the boundless feats that it could manifest were passed along like feathers and leaves upon the passing river. Sought and caught were the treasures of language to those who knew of translation. And lullabied were those Gods and Angels who heard of the transmissions.
   But now only the drunken bard lay sloppy and tired beneath that tree that somehow taught him of nature and the wisdom that it held. And off into the distance sprang the vibration of his passing mumblings like songs of nonsense upon that aimless wind.

When my mind is
vacant and empty,
I can sense the Lord
Orchestrating beauty
From the heart of the void.

Tranquility of a still morning
Is worth more to me
Than everything and more.
Compared to the stress
Of the speeding world.

This moment is hushed by ecstasy.
The moment's breathe is held~
and you can see the dusty particles
floating through the pillars of light.
This is the exhale,
and is also the silence.
The observation tower of consciousness..
It all just orbits-
Minute molecules gyrate
in vast space.
The waves oscillate
in numberless meditation.
This is where thought
originates from.

It is the nature
of the mountain air.
It is the emptiness
in between speech.
It is the moment of possibility
when a loved one is leaving.
It is the moment experienced
when holding a baby first breathing.
It is the stem of
importance and meaning.

I am starting to remember
where we have been
and where we are going.

Who to be,
How to grow

Along this rocky current,
The Ever Changing Flow.

In the water raft, I am alone.
Center of the sea, under the moon's ghastly glow.

An isolated isle of being yet to be,
So unto thee I cast this message to let me see.

Release the Burning Light of Clarity unto me!

Watch them
Searching amongst a trifling heap!
Bear your watch ~
And gear your gaze,
Realize this dangerous maze.
-
Through the brush,
Along the hills,
Stands a little shack..

An outcast with a knack~

No one could understand this very odd man.
Yet even to reach him on foot or on yak
It would mean you must
Lead away and carve your very own tracks.

Where to go, following the road no one goes?
What to see or to learn, exploring what no one knows?
Speak! unique star of the universe,
Tell your stories of the beautiful adventure,
That only you chose..

You could dance or stand still,
Sit on solid ground or climb a sand hill!

Talk in verse
Or reverse your curse and present your prose
Into a rhythm only you really knowss
        Look, let me stop..
..
                                      ..

I admit, I'm just an ordinary man.

Chanting 'round fire, I find your ascetic attire.
Swallow me in your divine robes of love.
Burn away what is lost and all is found.

Sun of Knowledge bring Life to stone.
This world is magic and your very own.
Lost along the tiring brick roads,
I retire back home. Solid, within my deep forest throne.

A beautiful tragedy,
This chaotic spinning
cosmos seems.
Extremities of life
battling at me.
A beautiful balance
between wrong and right.
And solemn at the center
From which all harmony bounds.
Is your heart of gravity,
Radiates the sky~
And is magnetic in the ground!
How this holy machines works
Dare I not to talk!

But of one thing I know,
And can observe it like
A divine show,
Is this revelation:
Deepness and darkness circumference the void!
And dear friend, know us not be alone!

All day alone.
Maybe crack the window
after lunch.
Burn a pipe and smile
in silence.
I know,
It's not that impressive.

But today I have a different idea
about what is progressive.
I feel the world has gone insanely
material possessive!
Even if you hear the edges of my syllables
and can't grasp the whole message.

Just know that I have found a haven's sanctuary.

On The Sixth Moon's Night
I came to contemplate the cosmos.

I awoke on a mountainous range:
Projected were ten thousand isles, scattered in remain.

All dancing differently,
But constructing one eternal game.

To what extent might my eye expand?
To what end will death cast its sand?

Upon what shore may the waves crash again
In peace and calm harmony?

No matter how many curtains the Devas will draw
Or how many distinctions Māyā will make~

Always, the un-curved perfection subdues and surrenders to them all.

Like the water-way, cultivating life and harvesting it on the other side.

Formless, it surpasses all stiff form and creates a path of least resistance

To the goal of the heart.

---

You cannot carve a stone buddha out of human flesh.

A stone buddha cannot experience samadhi nor still a pond.

Mind is a mirror
that must be seen clearer!

But behind the glass and that transient social class,
What is that divine perception?

"The Ultimate Peerer"

Not a single soul
came to pass.
Tea became sweeter
than before.
Rocking, he would sit
humming a simple tune.

This is where
you started.
And where the last man
left off.

We all meet along passing
ways, interact when needed
of each other.

But I can't help but feel
something isn't as it should be.