Tonight the wind blows;
the sky bursts under its weight;
the energy is immense,

and it is conscious.  

My mind splits;
my spirit lifts itself into the wind,
which drinks me in, to oblivion.
Thunder cracks on the horizon,
lighting the sky,
rippling in its immensity.  

Everything is subtlety, supercharged;
in nature, everything bleeds into itself;
in the ether, the wind blows backwards,
and consciousness is gravity
anchored to eternity,
streaming between the energy of thought.  

The wind has been blowing all day
and when I breathe,
in a different dimension,
where air shares a kinship with intention,
it caresses me; enveloping me physically,
restoring feeling to those parts of me
starving.  

I am too small to hold myself.
I am nothing, intermingling with being.
I am a raw throat;  
an aching thirst that cannot be quenched.  

I am water in its various states;
its many cycles.  
I am an ocean.
I am a puddle.  

I am limitless
-ness
drowning in the deep.
I am gasping for breath without lungs
to be seen.  

I am me, not being.
Who am I?
An unlabeled simplicity.  

Why complicate the mind?
(The heart, it aches to find
belonging. Only ever longing,
forever found in everything
surrendered unto nothing.)  

Can opening my eyes but rend me blind?
(The light, it’s all encompassing;
the white, forever bleeding into,  
fields of you; there is no you.  
Only truth can set you free.  
Die become eternity.)
I cannot.  

I must breathe it to believe it.  
Need to let it go to know.
Need someone else to show it to.
What’s one without two?

Know other, and thus

know thyself.



Know what thou art not 

and thyself shall unfurl

before thine eyes.



Yet, know thine eyes as thyself, 

and know no self before another.

One twine of thy spiral 

unwinding, whence

thy center point 

diverges, vast,

in multitudes amassed 

betwixt thee; the eye 

of the spiral of unwinding. 



Thy sleeping self, 

merely asleep

to life within a dream; 

awake to All 

aplenty.



Alas, in tangent vortices

all aspects of thee 

exist in mirrored reiteration.

Fractalescent bodies of one name.



Above the vortices 

converging round the center:

a greater maw.



A many weaving being, seeing
everything expanding in concentricity

round compounding sound,

the endless symphony;

ubiquitous infinite 

vibrations of eternity,

in resonant helical geometry. 



But these are just the roots..



Somewhere, 

amidst the canopy, ever-thriving

disseminating light,

crystalline dimensions break the mind

splitting time in two.



And there are

infinities in every inch…

every inch of me

and you.



A billion years of histories;

a billion people,

a trillion different views.



All, interconnected

through the dissection

of light projected dimensions

of intention wrapped, 

and woven endlessly

around a gaping space of emptiness

chock-full of energetic collectives.



Each an individual unto themselves.



I think, maybe, that’s what angels are.



Accumulations of many universes;
pulsating orbs of holographic light,

teeming and erupting with the knowledge

of a love that cannot be contained

by illusory space.

Is every sense a sentence?  
Is every birth a death  
of emptiness?  

Must we be captive, captivated,  
waiting for our breath in endless,  
breathless steps upon  
the winding road of silence?  

Is this aching, heartbreaking  
anticipation of something,
a world working;
a sensation,  
presentation coming through  
to its unearthing?  

Why does time stretch on
while we wander, squandering
the very truths we’ve clung to  
in our being and becoming?

It’s not every day
I have something to say
or something worth bestowing.
Sometimes, there’s nothing showing,
nothing growing…nothing flowing.

I’ve written “all and open”
over and over again
yet I feel closed from knowing
what is true, where to begin.  

In tumultuous earth,
quaking in memories
I see the death of me;
the rest of me, left empty
in a shell of reverie  

I cannot breathe.

These influences of devotion,
to "shall" and "should" and "would"  and where to be,
are gripping me with apathy  
as I refuse to find my muse  
in emptying the self I’ve come to bleed through.  

Nothing structured,
layaway my pain,
let rest my brain;  
no more contained  
in rage or evanescence;  

no regrets,  
no retrospect,  
no message. 

I’ve been,
and I will be
remembering and breathing;

still believing in moving on  
I’ll reach for the stars
until I burn inside the sun.  

Those days are gone.
I am not Nothing.
Done calling myself nought,
I am becoming.  

Even if I sway,
tarry here and there,
in my own way I’m home  
amongst the air; the wind  
still embraces me, without a care.
No caveat or cross to bear.  

I am bare to night,
tonight.
I swear it, naked.

I am starlight
drinking starlight in.

Candles steady.
I am ready,
but not simply to begin.  

I recognize the moving tides
that crash against my skin;
that fill me  
up from within.  

My world, akin.
My Endless Ocean.