The true artist does not paint pictures,
the true artists lends themselves to be and become
a paintbrush in the mysterious hand
of life.

The true musician does not play an instrument
but allows that self to be an instrument played
by the breathing space that encircles
all things.

In this way my darling
there is nothing you need to do,
or seek, or find, or become.

No fireworks, no flashing lights,
no grand awakening to understand
that you are not creative,
you are creation.

In this way my darling, wisdom
is the opening into that very vastness,
to be contained by that which has no edge,
and there find, there is no center.

It is to contemplate the Great
Mystery, and at the same time find
the Great Mystery contemplating
you.

Run after yourself.
Chase your own tail.

Catch that which cannot be caught.
Turn towards your own self,
and find that which does not turn. 

When will you see
the walls you *****
around your own heart
keep you imprisoned 
captive by belief? 

In setting the mind free
the heart soars. 
When the heart soars
there are no use for walls. 

What mast can I cast 
a rope towards 
to open the sails
in a windless sea?

To what dock can I stop
and secure a ship 
that is in the middle 
of the ocean? 

What ground can I lay
foot on when everything
is shimmering beneath me? 

This mind is like a bird
without branch to rest. 
Where then does one 
take refuge?

For a certain question—
there is no exact answer.
And there are questions—
that always remain unanswered.

I have been given
the burdensome gift
of this one
to allow me to see what it is

I know it
watch it move and twist
to what end?
only destruction

I see one cannot contend with it
for it is not real
as one is
it is a byproduct of one’s play

One tests oneself
to see how far one can go
in the human sense
destruction is how one is reborn

So this play is divinely necessary
yet something seems to have gotten out of control.
who is the one seeming to be out of control?
the one seeming to have lost its control?

It seems to get confusing
seems to get in the way
of the seeming reality
now you can see it is all this one

Taking different shapes
squeezing into various forms
only to have some fun
in the human sense

Ego will always serve only itself
and to the end of all it knows
thank God
that it knows only a little

You see this
when you see Self
and the world you knew
becomes small and distant

Like watching from a plane
in a cloudless sky
that annoying twitch in the right wrist
from decades of tiny insignificant movements

Do you take a sledgehammer to the arm?
that might do the trick, and more
ego loves a good bonfire
yet God’s grace burns better and brighter

Let that Self take over
let that heat rise
let your rotten fruit
burn to cinder.

It only hurts
as much as it wants to hurt
Feel me?
in the human sense