Go beyond the mundane mutterings of mind
I tell myself
Into a broader perspective
Into a deeper reservoir of peace and love within
Dive
Explore
I tell myself
It’s there
It is really there
Deep within
I’m told there is no end to the depths
Yet, here I am
Standing on the shore
Barely scratching the surface
Despite all of my sanctimonious efforts
I’m okay with it
I tell myself
Better to taste the drop
Than to taste nothing at all
What if consciousness became curious and created this world, including you and me, simply to have the pleasure of experiencing itself?
What if consciousness had already created millions of worlds and dimensions before this one for the same simple purpose?
In other words, what if we owed our existence to the natural tendency of consciousness to expand and play?
If this is true, then why do we take ourselves so seriously?
If consciousness wants to have pleasure and play through us, then why is there so much destruction and suffering in the world? Do we bring most of it upon ourselves? It seems the answer is self-evident?
What if we found a way to make life less of a struggle?
If we opened ourselves to the love and joy that must exist somewhere within us, what do you think would happen?
Flowing through my heart
the sounds of life everlasting
Pieces of Truth
I am unaware of
The thief steals my joy
and I am alone
to face the stars
and the consequences of my life
Why does this happen
in crazy spirals
over and over?
Things could be so much easier
if I would only let them be
Where are you Radiant Flower?
I ask my heart for the answers
and they do not come
Then, without notice,
the answers come in torrents
like waves crashing on the shore
Later, I am alone again
without the armor of love to protect me
And then, I remember
The Radiant Flower blooms
when I want it to
with every cell of my being
And then, to my surprise,
I see the Radiant Flower has bloomed
once again
Am I supposed to quietly fade out of existence, like a blinking star or a guttering candle?
I am hurtling too fast down this ramshackle track of aging.
Is there a ghost town waiting for me over the next hill?
As the train emerges from the tunnel into the twilight, I can see rows of gravestones rising at awkward angles out of the dead leaves and high grass of the cemetery.
Stranded, as my loved ones leave me here—alone—I wait, like a beached whale thrown up by the sea, for the next wave, which does not arrive.
I feel too much like that beached whale.
Night falls.
Cool breezes replace the heat of the cruel sun.
A stranger walks alone on the beach.
Has he come to push me back into the life-giving sea? My whale flesh feels cold and dry to his touch. He peers into my dull blue eye.
I wonder if he can see the young whale swimming. Once again, in the ocean of pure consciousness.
Three Days to Darkness 