energy

The energy
uncontained is everywhere at once. It
Flows
through the universe ceaselessly. We come
Out from the
womb into being, propelled by an
Invisible
power that binds a fraction of that force
into what each calls 'me'.
So begins the long or short
Fading into
the boundless once again,
leaving in our wake a trail of
Thought

shade

The moon
in ever-changing shape,
from fragile arc to full,
In daylight
often is forgot,
the sun-world so persistent and encompassing.
Hovers
yet, about the mind and heart,
that hint of Otherness we seek
In the blue
above, vast purity of the unbounded,
as did our fathers' mothers far
as memory was born.
Crescent
and pale, out of place,
shade of that darkness we endure.
White
innocence, that blood has stained,
and only emptying will cleanse
The haunt of night

surface

Somewhere
you have never been
or returning to forgot,
there is an echo or a shadow
lingering far
Below
what thought can know,
but the siren song of
The surface
lures, and in so doing obscures
the sacredness
Of daily life
leaving no space for
Eternity
to glow,
and thus the superficiality
Endures

return

This
state of being, beyond thought, and yet
somehow playing with thought to speak,
You have hallowed
swift in the abandonment of individuality
even as it surfaces,
That the voice
itself, a music disengaged, avows
a meaning words as words cannot convey,
that sound alone
Can touch
by the motion of moving away
In solitary return

flash

Tabula rasa
An ancient book, the parchment rotted away,
yet speaks of what it meant to
Then
be alive.
As we gaze upon the page, undecipherable in decay
A sudden
understanding like a
Flash of light
implodes imagination, showing
Now what
is no more, as we, too,
Wait
our fate's unfolding in the same
continuum to which all belong,
And
of its purpose one may guess but none can
See

truth unknown

What
are you waiting for,
losing the day?
The angel
that passed this way
no longer dispels the gloom. You
Saw in the dying
fog of the dream its wings
as they vanished from the
Room
where you woke
into this present sleep, seeking
A light
in the dark, neither
Of hope
nor a flight from despair
but of a truth unknown
as you wait in doubt, the longer
Fading out

language

In
thinking of what can be thought
Your saying
that what cannot be said
must be left in silence
is hardly letting
It
remain where it was.
You have
either forgotten or failed to realize
that vocalizing silently is still communal,
that what has
Already passed
as speech in any form
presumes the existence of the other.
It
is in fact impossible to talk to yourself.
There can only be a
Leaving it
unspoken, aloud or within,
or an acknowledgement of the
Lie
You simply can't get here from
There

a blessing

Infinite
are the ways of the universe. In your
Striving
to accommodate your existence
to the totality, you
Never
consider futility
as a blessing in disguise. Though
Arriving
at one conclusion after another
leaves you wasted, you still belive
It is
some hidden, but redeemable, flaw
that manages
To boggle
your efforts, and thus you persist
in floudering about
The mind

final scene

In the
movement of humanity,
from ape to angel, no
Final scene
is found. Only inexorable Time,
without end or beginning in sight.
There is
either the watchful waiting
of the nothing-doing,
or the constant flight from
Death
in make-believe and diversion. Which
Then
is the lesser evil, East or West?
Each tiny self-encircled consciousness
Comes
to sudden bloom and fades as fast,
its brief moment but
The faint whisper of
knowing what it means to be,
even as the having-been
is greeted with the irony of
Applause

gravity

Far
as remembrance reaches,
so, too, a forward gathering leaps
To fall
as Eve and Adam fell,
our following all the same,
And still
we strive against the certainty,
Resisting the
very force of
Gravity
that ever weighs us down.
Are we more sinned against than sinning,
or is it simply the vice-like virtue
Of being alive