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Eureka Merton Dec 2017
No thought can grasp this
ocean we enter
in Holy embrace

This Placeless place
echoes a memory,
unseen here, only Love
carried in waves of light.

Fingers soft as petals of Lilly
lifting into infinity, touching gently,
with the delicacy of a Lover
bound by Heart to the Beloved.

In Reverence you reach
to meet the unseen song of no-thing
as the One Heart opens, revealing
fragrance mimicing the fields of Heavens on High.

Sharing the feast of Heart
boundless, awake
waves of intoxicated bliss opening This
as He decends upon, as your lips.

Dancing under moonlight
no eyes can see
delighting in poem
no words can speak.

The ocean sings of Silence
to the ship longing for shore
washing away all sense
of "two", all need for "more".

We, ever becoming
take off on a star heading for Truth
and leave the sleeping and waking
to the dreamers.

The Lover's destiny
is the union Absolute,
following the inevitable, miraculous
disappearance of the universe.

Ocean and waves voyaged in Mind
become worldless Void
You and I,
Boundless, Unborn Love
Traveling the cosmic sea
Two become One
Lover and Beloved
Unborn love
Matthew Rousseau Oct 2015
Break free from it's rain
death to life, only life to gain,
but both are the same
Realeboga M Sep 2015
"You're so cute", she giggles.
"Yes I am", I stand up and flex my muscles.
"Liking my boyfriend and ****", she blushes and looks to the clouds.
"I mean if he makes you happy then bruh heck yea", I flex my muscles again.
"I'm afraid he does...", she let's the words linger and sighs.
I Furrow my eyebrows and look at her, "You're afraid?" 
"Ee mma (yes ma'am ) ", she looks at me then returns her sight to the clouds.
I look to the clouds as well, hoping to see or read further into what she's saying. 
I see the grey clouds, bland looking, filled with so much mystery, so many questions, will it rain, will it not rain. 
I look back at her, "That he makes you happy?, kana I might be reading a tad too much into this"
She laughs,"I am, what are you picking up?"
I chuckle nervously,"‎That maybe you actually mean that this vast amount of happiness is scary and you don't know what to do with it". 
Her ****** expression changes  and her eyes glow with wariness, "Yes, exactly".
"I think you should enjoy it or something? I mean remember how we had a conversation and we don't truly believe in it. I think like just embrace it, I don't know how though", I scratch my head shrugging.
She looks at me and gives me a sad smile, "I'm enjoying it.. but kana 'monate o hela ka bosula' (Good things always end badly)", she sighs.
"That is so true. I mean I don't think we can ever be ready for that so I can't tell you to prepare yourself or always expect the unexpected because regardless of how it is it will always be unexpected. But according to Buddhist or monks they believe that if you imagine the bad to happen then it'll hurt less, I mean sure it may hurt like a ***** but it won't hurt like a ******* as it was", I look at her and smile
She looks to be in deep though, "Hmn. Monks or Buddhist are smart", she smiles back at me.
"Yea", I grin and look back at the clouds
Prana Moonshine May 2015
I see I seeing I seeing
I drank from That cup
As the liquid spilled over the lip
Into my open mouth
There lay a mystery on my tongue
Unnamed sensation in my throat
A knife cutting deeper and deeper
A sharpness dissecting.
Sometimes an axe, hacking.
Sometimes a needle, sewing.
A pierceness, the clear blade
Of the mind.

The silence so loud, comforting
Yet disquieting.
The silence in my ears,
A miracle, a bane, a source.
Opening doors to curious flowers,
Strange yet native to my work.
A curious pattern in my heart
Resting on the laurels of my past,
Practices I had to forget,
Like laughter.
The silence, a peace I can return to.
A deep and penetrating character
Of existence itself.

Animal, plant, mineral.
Human with peculiar work, very peculiar work.
The cosmic sense of humour.
Eyes looking at eyes
That appear, like a wave, a sense form.
Ghostly clouds and fairy apparitions.

There is an ancient wizard monk,
A blue mystic sage that walks.
He is always walking, always moving forward.
His long hair, long nose,
And even longer cloak,
Generating the Abyss.

Then doors again open to evergreen branches,
Swaying on my cheek, whispering the sweet joke of
“you are not alone, you are not alone”.
Creeks and valleys, ferns and fiddleheads,
I ascended the quiet mountain.
Made requests for what I did not know.
Asked to keep unknown promises I could not keep.
I had lost my heart.
It was to be found in the decaying mushrooms
Or fallen trees, which became “logs”.
It was to be found in the limitless forgiveness of the Goddess,
And the glowing of the moon, too bright, too bright.

The beauty swallowed me whole,
And spit me out.
All I could hear was the trickling water,
The songbirds call,
And my inner voice, deep, deep.
I consulted my past, soil and dirt both.
My past as a Queen, a carrier, a holder of the secret language, as loam.
Hooked, I was hung, to bleed until clean.
I couldn’t surrender to the Horror. It was just as great a burden as the Beauty.
How is it I confine myself here,
Trapped in my own expansion
Much too free in my own deconstruction.
Much too attached
To my preferences for life’s wild songs that fill the air.

The same reality, underlying the foundation of everything.
Layers of endless illusion,
Sparks of entertainment.
So many comparisons.
Are not the blind happy to see?
Even if what they see is not the bare reality before them,
Barren of all colour and vibrancy?
I do not know.

Tenaciously, I jumped off a moving train.
I barrelled down the mountain.
In a sadness, I had forgotten how to feel laughter in my heart.
My inner self looked on, watching
Witnessing me learn.
The minimum of respiration to stay alive.
Wellness ran dry, hope was put on ice -
At least not obliterated, as suggested.

The frequency of the water which formed the tears I cried.
So many different frequencies. So many tears.
Much of this I have read and studied,
Much of these lessons have I digested.
Many I’ve experienced, forcefully
From external pressures and inducements.

Can the Buddhist taste the truest quality of the tea she drinks?
I’ll enjoy it and leave the true tasting to her.

Can the austere sample Earth’s greatest delights, in the clearest quality of their form?
Good, I’ll savour and leave the clear sampling to them.

Can the pious smell the sweetest scents that the spring grounds do give off?
Wonderful, I’ll be happy to sniff and leave the sweetest smelling to them.

They are now leaving.
Gone are those who work themselves into atoms.
May they enjoy their disintegration, into the intigration
Of universal truth.
They are more enlightened.
I wish I could taste those fruits,
But am not willing to sacrifice lust for Life.
We are equal, we are equal.
Too cruel is the depth, too violent is the scale.
I refuse it,
And accept myself as is.
Open, immense growth.

So now, in pieces, torn
And battered and broken by the Horror and the Beauty.
I pick up my pieces, put back together the puzzle,
Coming back to some kind of Original Mind.
I dropped the reins I was never holding in the first place.
Leaped off the speeding black horse of complete stillness.
Bones broken, muscles frozen, teeth shattered,
Brain fizzled out.
I pray for those who really have to experience
Insanity via disease.

So much magic. What has disappeared is the urgency -
The desperate need to express
The disappearance of the illusion
That the Great Force doesn’t know how thankful I am.
It made me that way, so it should know.

And I emerge with greatness
That is cloudy but present.
A giant bird ruffles itself in the dandelion field.
The mammoth linx, teaching me in my dreams
“don’t let your addictions become a robust yet scrawny beast
That others will have to wrestle”.
The message of feathers is soar softly on the four winds.
Smile with delight, you have permission.
Chuckle at the obvious captain:
“If you throw dirt into the wind, you are going to get *****!”

— The End —