Happiness

The heart that is no heart,

Broken yet whole,

Fluid in the nothing,

Being in the free,

Disintegrated beyond particle

And solitude,

Blended and indistinct,

Dying and alive,

Timelessly destroyed,

Obliterated,

Overwhelmed

And pounded from existence

Into existence’s open arms,

Until nameless,

Until faceless,

Until placeless.

Beautiful Knife

Upon me rolls the wave

Of being,

Brought by the voice of the bird

Invisible in the thicket.

With the pick of her beak

And blade of her song

She cuts

The monoculture of mind

Bent on blandness

And domination,

And frees me

From the world of my cage

To world of my own.

Tell Me There Is No God

Tell me there is no God

And I shall die in my garden

Breathing the wonder,

My brain obliterated

By the green spring

And the blackbird

Fluorescing

Music and magnitude

And wielding the shrill knife

Of beauty’s grievous wound,

And I will say nothing,

But put the pen

On the paper

And write my pitiful, joyous attempt

At the writing of it,

And die in my tears

And laugh in my tears,

And cry for the love

That kills me

As I feel

Its world-ending enormity.

The Heart Sun

The sun gives

Without question,

Pulsing with energy

In an ever outward movement,

Gifting without requirement,

Being because it is.

And we, the myriad life

In all our forms

Receive this gift,

And dance

In light transformed,

Wholly containing it.

The inner sun,

The sun of our heart

Is not different

Or a photon less

Than its heavenly reflection

Benevolent beyond our sky.

My Friend

The Scots pine glows red-skinned

In the morning light.

He is always there,

Watching over my life.

Sometimes he stands out,

As beautiful as beauty itself,

And sometimes he is invisible.

Today, his presence is called

And warbled by the birds

Hopping among his branches.

The breeze too has its say

In the vibration of a myriad needles.