All is the Radiant Seed. Seed never dies nor is it born; it is only in constant transition -- seed gives way to root and stem, to petals that bloom, to more seed that falls to the ground and again is the beauty that roots to the earth and reaches toward the heavens. It does so in perfect harmony. It does not cling to any of its forms, nor does it race on to the next. It is Pure Being. Follow Nature's example, and you will be Free -- Perfection Unfolding.
Life is change. Allow it to be, or existence becomes a constant state of dying -- rejection of Life.
The Answer in the Silence
i went to visit my Goddess tonight i came to Her with a question written on my heart but She just smiled and She invited me to join Her so, i swung underneath Her branches and i left gravity behind the weight of my emotion the constriction of my fear the binds of my doubt the fixity of my tension and my soul flew while my body swung back and forth like a pendulum keeping time to the hypnotic groan of the chains in my hands that were setting me free and my Goddess stayed silent She just smiled and She wrapped me in the serenity of her green She called me to come closer obligingly, i dropped my feet onto the damp earth and i felt immediately the depth of Her infinite pool against my soles, against my soul i was connected solid and fluid transition in motion so utterly still and beautiful Her beauty was mine but i cared only to watch Her for one single eternal moment because Her image will last in my mind for quite some forever as i looked up at my Virgin bride glowing in all Her splendor draped in Her dress of purity dripping with celestial bounty and reaching out for love She waits to give i told Her that She was beautiful but She just smiled and She saw the question written on my heart and in the silence she sent a gentle breeze to erase it and replace it with Patience and with the faith of silent knowing She instilled i cried in the arms of my Goddess tonight but She just smiled and She called me to come closer freely then i stood at the feet of Her presence and when i touched Her i could feel Her beating heart She would forever be my Guardian and my Source Her pulse revealed as i felt the force of life flood through my open palms and feeling my Thank You She smiled and i whispered the softest I Love You before i let go of my Goddess and as the meaning occurred to me i turned and smiled i knew i wasn't ready for all the Secrets that she held but She would be waiting in the children's garden of Dreams and as i began the journey Home i gazed up at the night sky to see my Goddess in the space between the clouds and She just smiled and i heard the answer is on the wind that whispers between the trees beneath the feathering of your wings beyond predictability to possibility and bordering the galaxies killing time by banishing it for no want to waste it it is that wise wind it is that breeze that blows the kisses planting messages on your tongue and if you listen you will speak the words you seek to be said
This Side Up i'm just trying to stand to plant my own two feet in solid ground where roots can grow deep seeded in self-conceived wombs - i'm just looking for a place to call "home" inception and destination where orbicular revolutions reveal eternity through tree rings of life cut down - i'm just seeking to keep my balance in a tilted-axis world where ideas are top heavy and dreams weigh us down and we hope when the world turns around we might see right side up - i'm just aiming to touch the sky and let my body reach for light and in such learn to stretch beyond the heights of expectation and find the strength in stillness and surrender - i'm just finding that all beginnings stem from somewhere and growth may only be sustained in hope
Secret Promises there is something about the air in winter the air and the trees sometimes i swear they send secrets on the breeze their cold, soft whisperings brush my face bringing color to my cheeks they speak sometimes i swear to me they do the bare trees hold the promise of spring i catch them singing sometimes i swear their promise lingers in the air and i breathe it in the secret on the wind hope and it fills my lungs 'till it touches my heart and releases my tongue to whisper on the breeze to carry to the trees my hidden promise and we share secrets sometimes i swear just me and the air in winter the air and the trees
My feet are rooted to Earth no matter where I stand; I stand strong, solid, connected deep in the core of humanity. My hands and crown reach toward the Heavens, ever-present, ever-expanding, with wings to carry me, to lift me up, to keep me seeking Higher Ground. I am the flowing river; I am the rain that falls; I am the ocean from which they both originate and journey home to.
Why is Pure Natural Awareness considered an Altered State of Consciousness?
The human experience is that which is synthetic -- artificial, manufactured by human agency, by the mind alone. It is our most altered and most unnatural experience of the world.
The human experience is a drug, with which we are in constant search of the next High; we are addicted. And like blind fiends we seek our fix in all the wrong places. Any place we seek cannot be found. There is no destination, no arrival -- no coming, nor going. There is only HERE, NOW -- Ultimate Source. There is only what IS.
And in our ravenous seeking, in our hunger, we resist what is. Missing the Wholeness of the Present, we ravage the earth and its people -- hurting our selves and each other -- our Greater Self, our Spirit Complete.
Cut off from the world, our skin becomes a boundary, our flesh a gaping wound.
As the Lost and Forsaken Child, our reality is pain and suffering -- fear and longing, future and past, dividing us -- our reality is duality, a constant tear in two.
Form is an illusion, the stuff of no substance, little more than a dream that eludes us at our Waking. In Waking, we become Masters of our Experience.
In that Waking Awareness, that Timeless No-Boundary Awareness, we Are without end or beginning. We Are .. all that IS. There is no conceiving of this, there is no seeking of it, nor is it ever found. It is the Truth of what we are -- without ceasing -- our Essence, Itz, Nectar, Breath, Life.
There is no escaping it. You Are It -- even now. You need only be Aware of what Is. You need only allow what Is. In breathless abandon, shout it, simply -- Is!
That is our Ecstasy. That is our Ultimate fix. That is our Greatest High Unfolding -- our own manifestation of Heaven here on Earth.
We are Divine Beings, having a human experience, not the other way around.
Mastery of Self
wisdom tells me that the mastery of self is the greatest achievement in life; but that we as humans are masters of being what we are not. we spend our entire lives perfecting the art of imagery -- the image we project and sacrifice self to protect. yet, by creating this perfect projection of ourselves, we procure a personal discrepancy that invites emptiness, impedes self-love, and invariably effaces
any attempt to give oneself to another. how can one give of what they have yet to find? experience has told me that until i come to peace with my own self i will consistently be at war with my own reality fighting life instead of learning what it could be; that until i own my life deception will be natural and acceptable; that until i know who i am i will never know another; that until myself and i are joined as one the distance between myself and others will be forever greater than the sum of both parts; that until i am present in my own body my skin will never know the touch of another; that if i am not real my experience will never be.
i love
i love
my body
my body is a reflection
of my inner goddess
my legs stand strong and planted
like the roots of the ancient Madrone
to the Earth Mother’s womb
securing me to the core of humanity
nourishing me from Her enduring source
of vitality
i dance
i love
my body
my arms are soft yet sturdy
long and flowing
they reach for higher ground
they extend towards the heavens in praise
they come together before the heart
in prayer and meditation
these arms have burdened sandstone
and lifted children
connected to the shoulder for you to cry on
they give solace
i embrace
i love
my body
my core is of power
but humble
it is here
that my inner goddess resides
She takes comfort in my curves
that were meant
for giving
i draw on Her energy
and release Her life force
unto the gentle breezes
with my breath
my body is a messenger of light
my body is a vessel
i love
my body
Corporate Corporeality
Mangled manikins
Splayed in a lurid array
Made tenable the unattainable
In graphic display
Displayed pauciloquent
And passive: The
Parceled piecemeal sale
Of edible, beautiful
Bites
Bitten bodies, eaten by
Blind greed. Power
Stripped, stark naked, sold
For green
Green machine proliferates
The unseen. Advertising --
Not-so-inadvertently --
A blanket sexuality
Sexualized teens embody
What they see, wearing for
Show the struggle on their
Sleeves:Corporeality
Of the textual
Text doesn’t fit the skin
Sitting on the margins
Boxed into a [too-thin]
Reality
Realize:suppressed
Words reach through
What in silence
Keeps not silent --
Screams
The Tree of Life and I are cut from the same cloth made from the same mold bones and branches blossom from the same radiant seed the same Itz the same Life -- the same death and resurrection the same perfection -- flows through our veins bursting forth and breaking down building circles upon cycles of growth and we are so old our ringing is the air we breathe Truth is told on exhalation Love is known in All Creation a single body a single story of We:
our bones and branches beat with Blood of Earth that falls from Heart of Sky the sacrifice that creates Life -- the same death and resurrection the same perfection.
Nighttime held the sky
situated above our heads.
The moon, strung swollen
on its black chord, called us
away from the hypnotic motion
of cars hissing past.
We tried to penetrate
the buzzing fluorescent glow of
city life, our eyes squinched up
like bats, we aimed our sights
above concrete, brick, and steel
to solid moonlight. A casual
midnight stroll past shuffling
men who smiled through missing
teeth and girls who shrieked
with laughter.
Smiling,
he fingered the lighter
in his pocket, eyes waxing
in their tired sockets.
He smelled of smoke
and moist skin. Our timid palms
met in the middle of 10th St.
and Thyme, where the steady grind
of shoe against pavement gave way
to the nighttime's weary sigh.
Are you paying attention? tomorrow is just another day to borrow time for what we couldn't buy to save our lives because change is a dying art form and no one knows how to do it with grace and nowadays people save face at the expense of wasting existence the going rate is your soul SOLD to the highest bitter our fruitless bodies gone sour from disuse or abuse and limbs lie limp and useless as vestigial remnants of life yesterday i tried to write my wrongs out rhythmically i set them free across the page the ink bled Truth like open wounds do unabated hold onto a shred of truth like it's an illusion and let it lie verily under your pillow until you learn to speak it fluently like dreams do then let it go and wake up because today is the only reality worth anything and the question of currency is are you paying attention?
heaven isn't far off when you're reaching
i deviated from the culturally paved path and stumbled upon myself standing solitary in a New World of green and flickers of light dancing ever graceful playfully on life's wooden tongue tying spirit of awe i carved my way with care atop the clay-like Earth and i thought the Sun might consummate my walk for all eternity leaving beauty in my wake to lead the way for those who follow their dreams ~ i saw heaven on earth in a tangle of trees one had fallen from grief or some force of nature that struck out of anger seeking balance my heart smiled a sigh as the sight caught my eye this felled tree caught by neighboring arms branches intermingled and embracing warmed by the light of the sun shining down on they the ones who love who lift each other up who rise above who rise above who rise above these are they that love one another and their testimony stands in their outstretched hands that heaven lay in the heart of those who love
A Prayer
Great Spirit, help me to see the good in myself, always, to shine my own light, always, that I might see the good in others, always.
Let me learn to walk in harmony with myself, that I will know how to be in harmony with my Greater Self, All Creation.
Thus, my walk will be made in beauty, and my footsteps will show others the way.
Let my life become the greatest offering of my deepest gratitude for this infinite well-spring of joy we know as life.
i surrender i am not afraid to die to this world i am not afraid to lose everything i have i own nothing i have only what has been given to me i wish for nothing i need nothing i am grateful for All
i dance in the mystery i dance in the flames of kali's transformative fire i die the shaman's death i face all fears i embrace them i invite them to tea make them welcome within me i do not fight duality because i do not fight phantoms i do not fight reality because i create it
i call on my sisters and brothers wake up wake up from illusion your pain is a mask throw off your coverings face your self clean your mirror reflect your light tend your garden let go be free and remember love is always the answer.
if you ever feel like something is missing-- it's you.
you are the one you have been waiting for.
you can bang on heaven's door, but you are wasting your time. the kingdom is within. it is up to us to create it without
The product of a hard life maybe
he was sitting leaned against
the building across the street
his bare knees
held fast to his chest
brown-bruised by stone
blue-bitten by the cold.
Lost in thoughtno doubt
he wasdancing across
the nameless faces passing by.
A musing maestrohere
he wasconducting the city's
caustic symphony.
I studied him in his frame
latent laugh lines
graced
his lips
his brow
now weighted with the watching
of other lives.
Who was he once
a man with a familyby chance
a man who loved.
Left
impossibly broken by a dreamperhaps
intangible or otherwise unattainable.
I imagined himquixotic
contaminated by flightless fancies
a professormaybe evenonce
sitting much the way
that I am now staring
over a hot cup of coffee.
“Shotoku Taishi: At Age Two”
Shotoku:
The artisan’s practiced stroke
has carved you clean. Whittled
down to a fine sapling, your
youth glows. Your two-year-
old body, broken from the mold,
stares constant to the east.
You stand at attention,
disciplined, yet supple and
yielding still, with your hands
together in prayer, small
as my palms, held motionless,
full of purpose. Peace
has been sculpted in your
stature, in the very folds
of your garment that
falls, gracefully as it does,
far beneath your toes.
But it is your eyes, Shotoku,
that have me mesmerized;
there is a warrior in your
focus. It bores through me,
heart first, in search of my
silence.
Standing before you,
I am daybreak.
I ascend with your voice,
flushing the morning sky
with the light of Om.
i will stand innocently enough with patient will impassively though perhaps inappropriately in a field simultaneously shouting obscenities screaming insecurities and singing sweet like sangre somewhere south of sundown i will stand on a purple mountaintop majesty praying for peace atop the precious precipice powerfully pummeling preeminent utterances until they're easy to digest i will stand easily east of dew adorned dawns dancing dialogue drawing deaths and resurrections in sacred sands i will stand wild and wistful to the west of winter solstice waging war through witness speaking tongues and teaching transformation i will stand north of nowhere far from here where worlds are within reach of each and every elemental earthling siblings soaring ceremoniously in sanctified skies i will stand wherever winds are blowing breaking barriers by focusing body and breath i will stand for dissasembling detrimental -isms in decent dialectical designation of daring dreams i will stand for me which is we the people i will stand solitary i will stand sentient i will stand strong
i will stand for something
your lips: sweet summer rain, soft, fuchsia, flower petals
your eyes: honey and wheat, cedar bark, dark-chocolate-rimmed beauty, a hint of ash
your hair: feathers, down feathers, sunlight, blushing pear, a lion’s mane, untamed
your skin: adobe, a mix of; age, youth, clay, sand, and water
poemas a la madre
i saw the fabric of existence. it appeared, immaculate, in night's time, the dark hot void before me, a flash of light, brief candle, short thread of grandmother's burning white hair.
a web, reflected in moonlight, spider's spindle craft, the masterpiece of creation woven intricate as a grand design.
oh maker, sweet black dangerous mother of us all, may we know you as the very air we breathe.
~ ~ ~
i saw the Mother today, round and squat, wearing an olive green sundress.
it hugged Her almond skin, cincturing Her middle into stacked orbs. She was an overstuffed caterpillar.
She didn't walk, she waddled with Her bare duck feet as Her companion strode along, pushing a shopping cart full of dirty laundry.
"Gran Madre," i asked, "what are you doing?"
She smiled. "Nothing, hija." "Just taking my things to wash them.
as i turned to walk away, i felt the rain.
do you see the flowers?
Flower, that’s what I call her, she wears a smile, sends her son for Starbucks and cigarettes while she weaves roses out of reeds -- or weeds-- depending on how you see them.
Depending on how you see them.
Depending on how you see them, the people of the streets might be flowers.
Puppet likes to tell stories. Emphatic gestures greet infinite eyes in one fluid movement. He tells me the one where the tractor ran over his hand.
Pain is boundary-destroying -- here, we meet, and the healing of his hand is my miracle, too.
Henry is not from the streets, but he is wandering. Red wicker hat, crimson-rimmed glasses, grinning in his seventy years.
Laughter is his medicine.
He says the size of the human soul is one ten-thousandth that a single strand of hair, the spark of which is responsible for warming the entire physical body.
This is from the Bhagavad Gita.
Loretta just wants to go home, but she can’t afford bus fair. The hospital band, illumined by street light, looks foreign on her weathered, bony wrist.
Her liver is failing.
Michael’s fiancée died on 9/11.
He’s shouting at the Jack-in-the-Box security guard: “Back up off that woman. She’s trying to feed her baby. And I don’t give a fuck. I’ll go to jail for killing a rent-a-cop.”
We sit at the bus stop. He tells me he can see my aura. “Yes, it’s blue,” I say. “No,” he says, “it’s sad.”
William thinks I’m beautiful. I kiss his cheek. “I think you’re beautiful, too.”
She Sees
my child wants to live my child wants to swing and touch the tips of the trees with her toes she wants to dream and laugh with the freedom from an intrinsic trust in the world that i lost long ago she wants to run through fields of possibilities and scream with delight and not the fear that binds the frightened one the enlightened one is the child who smiles in silent knowing that she is love itself and the misconstrued and mangled misconceptions of the world have not yet tangled her perception of reality because she sees hope springs eternal in the arms of little ones and it's the hands that long to reach that will lift us up my child wants to dance in the rain and sing on the street smile at every stranger she meets because she sees God is everyone and everything she believes in God as surely as God is She my child wants to hum to her soul's content and creation's concerto playing hopscotch backwards while counting figures in the clouds and laying on her back in the grass spread eagle feeling she could fly higher than the mountaintops that she has never seen but in her dreams they are more real than anything that stands before her because she sees truth is known only to those who are honest and a promise is something you keep and it lasts forever is an eternity and a lifetime away but she'll experience it all because she sees time is an illusion that adults become slave to but she is everything in a single moment and she has faith in what she believes my child wants to cry so hard that she laughs because she knows in her being that it allows her soul to breathe and because she sees freedom is free
the [sum] of my parts < me
i am more than the sum of my parts more than eyes, than lips, than thighs more than sex and gender combined when they're not like fractions of self
more than cell and egg and counter-reproductive self-destruction
identity is -- or rather, will cease to be culturally constructed disorder of eating or any other kind
this right + that wrong does not complete me or solve the problem
there exists an unbalanced equation wherein the division of bodies and souls is long extinct -- or rather, will be within the unity of st rat is fied parts of me of you of we
lets take d o w n the WALL
and put our [selves] together again
ella cayó como un pétalo en otoño el desconocido le dijo que sus ojos fueron amable pero ella no pudo reconocer la luz, la maravilla, la fuerza serena residiendo en el brillo de sus estanques profundos ella estudió su reflejo en el espejo su mirada fija fue intransigente pero sus ojos brillantes no reflejaron bondadoso su visión, su visión de sí misma y su tristeza persistía porque sus ojos sólo pudieron revelar lo que su mente creyó ella miró mientras las lágrimas acumulaban en sus estanques profundos y caían como pétalos en otoño rough translation: she fell like a petal in autumn a stranger told her that her eyes were kind but she was not able to recognize the light, the wonder, the serene force residing in the shine of her deep reservoirs she studied her reflection in the mirror her gaze was intransigent but her brilliant eyes did not reflect kindly her vision, her vision of herself and her sadness persisted because her eyes could only reveal that which her mind believed she watched as the tears accumulated in her deep reservoirs and fell like petals in autumn
Neftalí Ricardo Reyes Basoalto
He was the Earth.
His skin was the color of
Chile’s sands. His hands
were rough as a hide,
folded like a gentleman’s,
indicative of the giving of
Love. His lips were two
twin tamales, leathery and
wet, a mouth of hot breath
and incendiary words.
His words tasted of passion.
He sat regal as the mountains
and, seemingly, as tall. His
eyes held the wisdom of
stone, and all its strength.
They said:
“Pido Silencio.”
“My soul is an empty carousel
at sunset.”
His voice was gravel at its
sweetest, mellifluous
to my small ears.
Pablo, what does it mean?
It means yo volveré. Life
is circles.
I visited his grave.
He was the Earth.
The worms fed on his
flesh, and the birds,
after breakfast, sang
his praises. And I, one
of many, keep his words
Alive.
“My soul is an empty carousel
at sunset.”
Yo volveré.
A Confession
i want to carry you on my tongue like a prayer,
say you until you become the echoing
of my everydayness, never dulling
against the whetting of my palate.
i want to press you firmly against the roof of my mouth
until your essence overpowers me, flooding
my oral floor to the point of slavering
as you water me, rain over me, reign
over me.
i want to take our not-two-ness to a new level,
make as above so below, bringing the Heavens down
in how i fall into you.
i want to fall into you.
i want to fall into your translucent surface
and make waves, make a sea of concave-
convex complexity, weaving in and out
as complementary aspects of one in the same
sultry skin-boundary.
i want to enter you on an inhale,
fill your lungs with life and therein
die
to be reborn
and die, be born, and die…
and be reborn as some immaculate conception
in your chest cavity
until you exhale me
and i am made bournless in your breath
Francis Jean Gaston Alfred Ponge (1899-1988)
Francis,
You have been taken from this place (been put out), moved on from one thing to the next.
Without you here, the world has lost some of its color, just a bit of its luster has been snubbed out by the crude rub of a chewed up eraser.
Time does that to things; it wears them down. But you were la voix de choses. You translated the wakefulness of things, saw models of the universe reflected in the most unlikely things.
Without you here, an orange is just a fruit –a dull one at that. It is still life. We do not approach its rind with anticipation – which it rightly deserves – for the pleasurable pealing and scraping of our fingertips, catching bits of juice beneath our nails. We are remiss, neglecting to smell its humility – less sweet than the apple, less sour than the lemon – content to be an afterthought of our awareness. The truth is, we cannot tell our oranges from our kumquats.
Your words gave life to ordinary things, gave that little extra to ordinary things. Like a canny magician, you filled the world with extraordinary things.
And we are children, enamored by your alchemy.
Please,
let us, through you, remember the raison d'être of the orange, the verdant life unseen within its seed – a magnificent portent of what is yet to be.
sea como cristo
i am god and this is not a statement of egocentricity but one of practicality and actuality and i do not find myself to be omniscient or omnipotent though quite possibly omnipresent as i am everything such as everything is me yet i digress from a point that doesn't really exist beyond my own perception *ahem*
i am god my body is a manifestation of god i was created in the image of god (as i have been taught to believe) and if all that is created contains the heart of its creator thus i must be as i have come to see that i am christ for i am the hands and feet of christ in the world i am the embodiment of an idea and my hands and feet were made to make ideas into realities making dreams the stuff of presence not of legend a certain presage or presentiment that Hope and Faith and Love and Truth would become my light to shine in the darkest of places but principally to See that we are all beings of light and to show the way through action of my hands and feet but being everything i find that i am human and am fallible at best but quite possibly careless is the worst thing that i could be so, i continue to walk and i continue to reach with the hands and feet of christ with the hope that i am working towards something greater than myself all that I AM which is all of creation and it will all begin with me a representation of the individual a single body with the hands and feet of christ just an idea but as a great man once said there is nothing more powerful than an idea whose time has come and what it stands for gives me the strength to stand on my own two feet of christ and use these hands to create what i believe
what is the gestation period of love?
suppose it is something like: the fluttering of a hummingbird’s wings ed. note: [during courtship, the hummingbird can flap its wings up to 200 times per second]
suppose it is something like the time it takes to recognize your lover in the proverbial ‘crowd,’ orface to face,the time for eyes to communicate the ancient dance of love within the soul ed. note: [this involves fire, drums, and movements i’ve forgotten]
i suppose it is something like no time at all
for what does time know of love – except its passing?
time creates a differentiation, a dissonance, between Then and Now there is no such difference
love exists outside of time love exists in All time
did i not love you from the very Beginning?
Truly, i tell you, you are my lover
Drawing Connections
we tied string around our wrists to heal the rift between
our hearts, torn apart by space, we danced our shadows
along the wall, while all the other kids laughed, but they were
the lonely ones.we set our differences aside, the left side
we decided was the best place to rest them. we were
silly then, seven years old and strong [-willed and-hearted], not yet
sorry for actions.guilt weakens the bones.did you know
the body replaces every one of its cells in seven years?
we were nothing of our first- born-selves, save our wonder.
love is watching a sunset from its very beginning, a moment indiscernible in a world of light impregnated with color.
there is no separation between things nor is there any distinction of time nor space. this All-time, All-space, ever-present-ywhere Grace is love this love is our love this love is you, is me, is we. love is the flower, unafraid, it clings to none of its forms or stages. it is constant becoming, blooming, blooming, rooted and reaching in perfect harmony. i love you like the flower. i love you like the flower loves the sun and the wind loves the flower and the rain falls… with eternal compassion. i love you as the Earth, receptive mother, womb of All, who takes the seed and warms it in Her belly. i love you as Her love, with Earth’s love, the resting place of your love, and you, my love, are always welcome here. Love, Love
Kerouac, I love you, darling
Nothing makes sense – and why should it? – when reality is a nonsensical mess of perfect order. Fuck. Shit. Reality – what we see – is not seen at all. It is the unseen screened by the manifestation of rotten non-sense. Left over conditioning played and replayed in a tired drama. Rewind to yesterday when you thought thinking thoughts and got lost in the play where … all the days are the same. Are you happy? You should be. Because you are The Golden Eternity. Now and now and… Now. What you ate for breakfast is what you spit out to strangers so be careful what you put in your stomach. Food for thought: Miracles grow on trees and lies are the echoes of eternity burning truth in concentric rings around my lips when I speak it. There is no difference between you an eye, so smile wide as a cracked canyon and let your river flow. Who do you know? No, who do you really know? Do you get it, yet? Who do you really know? Nothing no one no-thing. And it’s a damn good thing cuz there’s no separation btween wings in The Golden Eternity. We’re all flying. Rings, wings, and beautiful things all sing one note. Om. Note to self: I’m running out of things to say cuz words confuse the . The point I’m trying to make is – I am obviously restless in the forgetting of emptiness. The full-empty-Allness has been filled with clutter – and trash. And We need nothing more than to remember that The Golden Eternity is full-empty-Allness is nothingness is somethingness is everthingness is you is me is we is to know that remembering is a distraction. Just Be. Fruit your flower and taste the Divine nectar of Now.