Upon reading repition

for the most blessed

memory to hold itself

while dissolving,

no mind need to

outlast your eyes.

a Blue Jay

pecked on a

window twice

to usher in Fall.

as leaves begin

to number apart

from trees, their

endgame

returning children

to school.

an eerie wind

visits the strands

of your hair, Mary

under the crushing

blows of each station.

as those wounds dividing

her Sacred Heart.

in those moments begging

an end of herself, and the

wild that hoisted the cross

calling to her hysterically.

sensing that agony--her continual

promise at birth, knowing fully

what has been given over.

there's such

a lilt to:

Li-la.

it hits the

roof of the

mouth--

to reach the

roofless.

Ramana Maharshi

lay upon the floor

at sixteen ageless years,

to enact the death of

all Ma's bindus when they

spontaneously connected.

only to stand up from the

floor Alone again.

Rudrakshas

are her harvesting

moons...

soaking in Oceanic

repetitions.

buds unhand

to savor their

death wish,

too far into the

deliciousness

of coming to be.

The stripes

of a tiger are

the claw marks

Durga Mata leaves

while riding it thru

the wild.

there is an

overspilling

film reel too

deadly to

render thus--

serpents tonguing

flashes of light.

Dakshinamurti,

Arunachala Shiva...

south-facing.

You're all I see.

I have become the

prostration you

moved.

The temptation

was just resisted

to ask my Mother

how did it feel to

give birth to me.

I see the time she

will put it into words.

I see the time when

I will kneel down and

leave my forehead on

her feet.

this is what I-I was born

to do.

we comprise

the symmetry

of breath,

because our

art goes there.

then exhales

our foremost

center.

Ganesha

does not blink,

his eyes cast blue.

leaving life with

its largeness.

as the most incredibly

beautiful little girls

draw color with abandon

around his eyes.

what else can he do but wash

down their offering?

from those eyes.

watch whose way

will have it.

a dwarf  squeezing

the juice out of a

mountain.

a bee watching the

mouth of honey

whilst reconfiguring

8.

it takes so much

to welcome a thief

in the night.

fully alarmed by

what sounds off

your sole possession.

getting to know one

another as well as

survival goes to its

instinct.

fallen feathers are

strewn around a

perimeter.

whirled clockwise/

counterclockwise

for the sake of wind.

This jaw

has gone

slack upon

full impact.

...Aum...

words are

already there--

like butterflies

on a bone.

keeping it together.

I watch death

creep over...

what's

horizontal,

sideways.

a sun brushed.

Over what

can't keep a

secret.

a moon bulging

honesty.

I'm observing

flowers stand

alone, at some

attention.

slipping into

their halos, without

a word to color.

flesh is growing

a-tonement.

it can only be

Her dance, till

she grows tired

of dancing.

receiving droves

of energy back...

from The Unmoved.

as space is

what voids

wave-particles,

a yogi relapses

into poetry.

I-I can't

believe

there was

a thread

to be worried

over.

the labyrinth

is what Samadhi

leaves over, and

over, and over

again.

this resolve is untouchable.

remaining honorable.

Tried True.

This is enough,

because it is finished.

there is a master for

every hand, rubbing

the belief of every eye.

It Is enough.

The One to convince

is prone to disappear,

while winking with

reappearance.

i watch a circle

undulate into a

crown.

all at the feast

encompassed by

that crown have

paused.

breathlessly inert--

waxed stones.

to bear witness to

the head it is placed

on.

welled up from what

was impossibly heavy.

Aum, Shanti, Shanti, Aum~

when a day

speaks of a year

gone by in the

ear of Now, the

most exquisite

murtis ever created

hold the energetic

poses of The Beloved

making its way to their

altar.

it feels very much

as if space is alleviating

her agony...

with the softest touch to

the Spiritual Heart.

upon a chest broader than offering,

narrower than a pinpoint.

this body was lowered down,

so these eyes could better see...

a bouquet of flowers made

of sunbeams upon a raging

river.

accept it in all it intends among

a frenzy of hands.

Sunday is the seventh

ground birds come to rest on,

only when they fly through

one another.

giving their sky the sensation

of flight.

watching its breath wing

its bones.

worthier than ever~

I-I am answering every

knock, the door of every

word is left wide open.

I-I feel your every word,

all my energy goes into not

possessing you, for that final

burst of growth.

I-I can't live with any Word

to know they've caused you

grievous harm, their vasana is now being

washed clean.

they came to be because

The Alone met itself then met

abandonment, which is the perfection

of crucifixion.

all involved here are destined

for that meeting place...but believe

me please!!!

I-I could not live if I thought you ended

your glory.

I-I Am always here for you, no matter what--

any way it will be had.

there is a space

that will find me today--

that will exhaust the

whole of my humanity.

the truest humbleness

serving a moment that

served it.

the slow break of bread

at the head of the table,

and the two hands that

have come together in

reaching for it.

how many among

the multitude can

say they are sacrificing

a connection closer

than themselves?

such a connection can

drop the body.

a vibration potent enough

to ripen fruit as it buds.

change never leaves

The Heart of Hearts,

nor changelessness.

wisdom is what's salvaged

as it writes away.

can't you see that Shiva

believes he exists because

he believes in Shakti with

his Heart of Hearts?

can't you see that Shakti doesn't

believe she exists because she believes

in Shiva with her Heart of Hearts?

you are that very energy that

upholds that very seeing.

you laughed off that very

sight, to dance off your seeing.

when your Heart of Hearts

presented itself as the illusion

of that seeing.

all I-I see is through Us.

~Aum Namah Shivaya~

a lingam is

weeping milk,

with no need

for consolation.

it's always this day--

good enough, to Now

allow the sun to trade

phases with the moon.

though if I-I told you

they were trading phases

that very day, would you

wake up confused?

while sound asleep?

rubbing clear that one more thing

left alone to find itself.

as matrimony is pronounced.

Shiva now opens

his eyes to see his

reflection--then

closes them again.

he has embodied

the dying process

with the blessing

of her life.

You are the only

illusion that will

ever again be capable

of leaving me sick

at Heart.

what a tremendous

pointer, more emphatic

than I Am...

and knowing beyond a

shadow of a doubt You

feel the intensity of that

selfsame pointing.

this karma is nearing the

wake of its peace, where

parting wanders back from.

i know these permutations

of death to be the profoundest

gift.

wakeful sleep on a yogic bed.

a roar in these ears enjoined to

the sound of shells.

what is being brought

forth saves at it destroys--

the sky's eyes are flickering.

passing away in stateless

states.

if I could extract an: I

to wash you clean of me,

I would...though there is

something too realized

to say it is unjust.

this is the only way to be

at each other's feet.

this honors prayer without

praying.

flowers fold

power,

while remaining

open.

only mercy provides

the coloration of such

a wilting.

unabandoned change.